I lost the question that never goes away
I lost the book I’m reading, ‘The Question That Never Goes Away’, while I was in a routine check-up in a hospital.
The book’s author, Philip Yancey, is a man intimate with pain. A little after his first birthday, Yancey’s father died of polio — an unexpected development, considering his father was just getting ready for an evangelical mission and hundreds of believers were praying for his recovery. Hope for healing was high — enough that his father agreed to get off life support. His father lived by faith, and they could almost taste the miracle they already claimed from the heavens.
It wasn’t the first nor the last time that God would be silent amid impassioned prayers.
His father’s death would be a persistent echo in his life — coloring the background, a subtle yet undeniable undercurrent. He grew up in a strict, fundamentalist church, which was, unfortunately, low on grace and high on racism. From time to time, Yancey would joke that he was “in recovery” from a toxic church.
These personal wounds and a host of others from his time listening and reading about other people’s pain as an editor of a Christian publication were instrumental when he wrote his seminal work on pain ‘Where Is God When It Hurts?’ more than 30 years ago.
It’s a question that would persist throughout his career. He would be asked to speak on the subject after the visceral tragedy of a school shooting or the petrifying horror of an indifferent tsunami. Hundreds would write to him, sharing their pain and seeking wisdom. It is the book that will always be mentioned whenever he is introduced.
Three decades after publication, Yancey revisited that indelible question: “Why, God?” with a new book, ‘The Question That Never Goes Away’. Sooner or later, he believes, we will all face a challenge that will test our faith. It is his hope to present a God of comfort in those dark times.
I read ‘Where Is God When It Hurts’ more than 15 years ago, and ‘The Question That Never Goes Away’ immediately after it reached Philippine shores. I’ve been re-reading both books recently, not as a bleeding man howling for answers, but as a quiet special-needs parent who knows he’s in this for the long haul.
I wanted to be mad for losing the book, not just because it’s a part of the Yancey subsection of my library, but also because I was in the middle of re-reading it. But then again, I couldn’t muster either anger or disappointment because I lost it in a hospital — a place frequented by people in dire need of comfort. I can’t help but think that someone who needs that book far more than I found it.
Maybe I was careless. Maybe it was meant to be. If I had learned anything from Yancey, it’s probably God doing good despite human folly.
