Praying During Senseless Tragedy

I’ve done a lot of praying recently, because every time a tragedy happens, I’m drawn to prayer, and since a lot of tragedies have been happening recently, I’ve been praying a lot.  Tragedy – and terrorist tragedy at that – typically is much more complex and confusing than what I know to do with it.  But one thing I do know is this: Jesus commanded that His people cry out to him day and night (Luke 18:6).  So the safest place I know to go when dealing with grief is the arms of Jesus – He in fact says to come, and His death for me proves that He isn’t lying in His invitation.  I'm not always quick there - and in fact am too often sluggish.  But He seems to draw me each time, for which I'm thankful.

But I’ve noticed recently that some well-meaning friends have taken offense that a person would respond, especially to a gun crime, by saying they’re rushing to prayer.   Based on my reading and hearing responses, it seems to me that critics think of a prayerful response as an escapist pie-in-the-sky excuse to not actually do anything, “because I’m too busy praying.”

But I think they respond this way because of a pervasive defective view of God and of tragedy.  God is sovereign –which means He’s in control – even when I don’t understand why.  Ask the sold-into-slavery-by-his-brothers Joseph on his way to Egypt, the betrayed-to-the-cross Jesus suffering Roman crucifixion, or any Christian undergoing intense painful trial, while God’s Word tells them that such trials are necessary (Matthew 18:7, 1 Peter 1:6).

When tragedy strikes, we typically rush to one of two extremes: Blame God who could have stopped it (which He could have), and so He must not be good because He didn’t; or treat God as though He’s powerless because it can’t be true that it’s His will for tragedy to happen, which did happen.  But what if there’s a third way, where God grieves with us in our suffering, and yet has a sovereign plan which He is working out behind the scenes, like there was when He Himself came to earth to get involved in the suffering at the cross?  That worked out pretty well, didn’t it? 

The real reason I think people respond with anger at “I’m praying” is that they really don’t think God is active and working today, and they hear in the prayer response a meeger well-wish from the pray-er, saying they hope God comforts the victim or their family.   And of course that is a well-wish.  But the critics of such a notion say that that doesn’t go far enough – so you should instead act.

But when I say I’m praying, what I mean is this: Our real problem is seen most keenly in senseless tragedy such as murder.   The disease of murder that is in the shooter is in me, and is in you.  Jesus equated resentment with murder (Matt. 5:21-22), as did his brother James (Jms. 4:2), and John the Apostle (1 Jn. 3:15).  Jesus went even further, to teach that that kind of capability doesn’t get sown into you from the outside – instead it comes from the inside, “out of the heart of man” (Mark 7:21).  If I’m capable of a resentment and a hatred that holds a person under a grudge (and I am capable of it), then what if that resentment is allowed to fully grow?  James gives the answer: it leads to death (James 1:15).  Therefore when a tragedy like this strikes, it doesn’t just reveal something about the killer.  It reveals something about me, you, and all of us.

So when I say I’m praying, what I’m saying is that only God can change the heart and uproot the bitterness, hatred, and delusional reality that leads a person to act this way, and that that is what I’m praying for.  Ask King Nebuchadnezzar about God’s ability to humble the proud and restore a person’s reason (or, since Nebuchadnezzar is dead, read Daniel 4).   If I’m praying, it is because I’m seeing the power of God over my life, in that He’s transformed me, given me new desires that accord with His Word, and is working repentance in me daily as I walk by faith, and I’m wanting that for others, and asking God to do it in them.  When a person responds, “Prayer is not enough,” I’m not surprised.  But I’m also not duped – it is enough, because we will never outrun tragedy or murder.  But God can outrun the tragedy or murder that is in a person’s heart (see the Apostle Paul).

Should we consider changing laws to prevent murder if we can? Absolutely.  But will we legislate tragedy, and even senseless tragedy, out of existence?  No we will not.  The Bible’s diagnosis for the world is this: Hatred from one to another (Titus 3:3), and swiftness to shed blood (Romans 3:15).  Each speaks peace to his neighbor but inwardly plans ambush (Jeremiah 9:8), and – get ready for this – all toil and work result from man wanting to outdo his neighbor (Ecclesiastes 4:4)  My point is this: we will never kill killing.

But this is the message of the Bible: God looked at the fallen world, came into it, took killing on himself, and rose again to begin defeating death at that time, until one day it’ll be put down completely (1 Corinthians 15:26).  If God can call creation into existence, uphold all things by His own Word, give to mankind life and breath and everything, and rise up from death at His own will, then the God whom I call upon can change the hearts of men.  That’s why I pray.

And I actually am hopeful that this is precisely how God will use all of these senseless tragedies: In our education-driven self-trust, where we assume that all that’s needed is to on one hand learn and on the other hand follow our hearts, we are appalled at tragedy because we just don’t understand how it’s even possible, with all of our advancements, expertise, and knowledge now.  My hope is this: That said false narrative of reality will be exposed for the fool’s gold which it is, and we’ll realize that we need life from the dead ourselves.  And that only comes through the death of One who was unjustly killed a long time ago, that He’d rise again and defeat death once for all.

So at death, I grieve, but not as one without hope.  I hope, because one died to defeat death.  And He lives now, that we’d call on Him in our grief. 

So I pray.