“Preacher, I have some good news for you.” “Good. I could stand some good news. What do you have?”

“I have a truckload of clothing, men and women’s clothing, boys and girls, babies. Really good stuff, almost new. Where do I send it?”

“Friend, I sincerely thank you. I know you went to a lot of trouble to assemble these gifts from wonderful people. That means so much to us. However….”

“We don’t need clothing. The people who need clothing are those who have lost their homes and all their contents. We have lots of homes like that, but the people are not here. There’s no place for them to live here, so they’re still wherever they evacuated.”

Long silence. “You can’t take them?” “No, sir. I’m sorry, because I know you need to get them out of your truck and get back home. I’m sure there are people needing the clothes, but they just aren’t here.”

I have that conversation by phone at least twice a week. Thursday morning, it was face to face. The nice man met me coming out of one of our churches. “Where do I unload all this clothing?” He was bright-eyed and friendly, and I hated like anything to tell him we can’t use it.

A young friend whom I met recently serves as the missions minister at his Tennessee church. After the hurricane, his church was gearing up to help the Mississippi Gulf Coast and his members began assembling donations. “We don’t need clothing,” he announced. When some protested, he said, “When I get back, I’ll show you why.” He made a quick trip to Gulfport with water and food and pampers, talked to some people, and took some pictures. On his return, he showed the church his photos. A mountain of clothing–several trailer-truckloads–had been unloaded on a parking lot, just dumped, no organization, no sorting, just a massive pile. “Everyone cleans out their closets,” he said, “but that is not what these people are needing.”

The man in front of the church was disappointed, you could tell. Then he said, “I know who needs this. The people in the earthquake need it. The question is how to get it to them.”

A young adult friend who has joined one of Houston’s mega churches emailed me. I’ll let him tell you his question…

“I walked in late to a Bible study last night only to hear Katrina was God’s judgment on New Orleans. I was going to wait until dinner to strangle the guy who said it, but he never showed up. The rest of us ended up in a heated debate on whether natural disasters are of God. That God makes hurricanes and earthquakes and uses them to his purpose. I argued that it’s part of a fallen world and like you have said that he works through people to bless and comfort those who are afflicted by storms…. But is it really God’s will that a family dies in a car accident? or a child gets molested? Can we really say that those things are God’s will and if He had control over it, why would He let it happen?”

At the end, he handed me my assignment: “Take your time if you want to answer me back or just send that article you wrote on hurricanes….lol.”

I wrote him back and said ‘no.’ “I’m not going to answer your question. God gave you that question and He will give you the answer. My observation is that cheap, quick answers have very little value when they arrive. However, when we struggle in thought and prayer and study to answer a question that really bothers us, when it finally comes, it brings such insight and joy that it becomes a part of who you are from then on. I’d hate to deprive you of that.” I did recommend C. S. Lewis’ little book “The Problem of Pain.”

I could have told him how I’ve struggled with similar type questions over the years–issues such as the resurrection of Jesus as attacked by a Jewish writer, the subject of baptism from the Church of Christ, the question of the real gospel of Jesus from the Mormons, the meaning of the cross of Jesus as presented by the Jehovah Witnesses–and what the answers have meant in my life and how I would not take anything for the struggle because it made the answers more precious, but it was not the place or the time.

It’s like constructing a building. If it’s going to be a shed, you need no foundation at all. But the greater the edifice, the more you will need to dig down first and plant a deep, solid foundation before you begin going upward. Our struggles with these issues, the wrestling with these questions in thought and prayer and study, is like digging downward. You’re clearing out room where a skyscraper can be erected. When you find the answers to your doubts, they will come with such insight and joy you will stand taller, feel more confident, believe in God so much more confidently, and have such a stronger witness.

And the next time someone hits you with, “The hurricane was God’s judgment on New Orleans,” it will not make you angry and not upset you. You will be able to quietly listen to your friend, and eventually tell him why you used to struggle with that issue and what you finally decided. It will carry a far greater impact than if you simply said, “Well, let me tell you what this preacher friend of mine says about that.”

I will confess that I’ve known people who struggled with the questions and never stayed around long enough to find the answers. Their spiritual and intellectual landscape reminds me of the movie “Holes,” pock-marked with diggings here and there, nothing built, not even a shed and certainly no skyscrapers. If we’re going to bother God with the questions, it does appear we could stick around long enough for the answers.

An hour after we had this email exchange, Jana Gabrielse called from Atlanta to tell of the death of Scott Walters in a car wreck. This young pastor of a Mississippi church was one of our finest. He and Ramona had belonged to our church during their seminary days and she worked in the church office. I’ve been so proud of the work they are doing in the Kingdom. They have two sons who must be devastated today. I’m broken-hearted for the boys, for Ramona, and for their church.

All of a sudden my slick answers on why God allows tragedy in this world seem shallow and irrelevant.

I keep remembering something Otto Graham once said. This football hall-of-famer and his wife lost a child in death many years ago. “I struggled with ‘why’ for years,” he said. “How could God let this happen? What was His purpose?” Then he said, “I never received an answer. But I received a faith that could go without an answer.”

Sometimes that’s the answer. Just keep on trusting. The old hymn says, “Farther along we’ll understand why.”