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Very Rev. Dr. J. Sergius Halvorsen is director of St. Vladimir’s Seminary’s Doctor of Ministry Program and assistant professor of homiletics and rhetoric. He delivered this sermon at the Seminary’s Three Hierarchs Chapel on July 15, 2019, the Feast of Holy & Great Prince Vladimir.

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In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Every single one of us is called to ministry—to build up the Body of Christ; to serve and love and care for our neighbor; to obey God’s commandments.

We are all called to ministry.

But Christian ministry is hard, isn’t it? Yes, there are moments of radiant glory, like this morning’s celebration. But glory is such a tiny part of ministry. Most of ministry is hard, unglamorous work, just like the hard, unglamorous work of shepherds in Jesus’ day.

Today, Jesus reminds us that ministry is like being a shepherd.

Being a shepherd is common, hard, unglamorous work. Being a shepherd is not the kind of work that one does from the safety of a great city, surrounded by walls and soldiers. It is dangerous work that takes you out into wild places, where the flocks can find pasture.

Christian Ministry is hard.

So today, as we remember the heavenly patron of our seminary, St. Prince Vladimir, Equal to the Apostles—whose personal conversion led not only to the baptism of Kievan Rus, but to the birth of the Russian Orthodox Church and her many spiritual children throughout the world—as we remember our holy prince Vladimir, it’s only natural to be awestruck by his ministry.

According to legend, on the night before the people of Kiev were to be baptized, St. Vladimir declared throughout the city, “If anyone does not go into the river tomorrow, be they rich or poor, beggar or slave, that one shall be my enemy.”

And the sacred wish of the holy prince was fulfilled without a murmur: and “all the land glorified Christ with the Father and the Holy Spirit at the same time.”

Wow!

Imagine a ministry where your wish is fulfilled without a murmur. Wouldn’t THAT be something?

Of course, this is a holy legend, but even if there were actually a few murmurs among the people, I’m still awestruck by the glory and power of St. Vladimir’s ministry.

And then I think about my own ministry…

What has my ministry accomplished? How am I making a difference? How many people are coming to faith in Jesus Christ through my witness?

Then I start to think, “Maybe I’d be more successful if I was more like St. Vladimir. If I was wealthier, then I could fund great works to glorify God. If I had more power I could accomplish so much more. If I were more famous, if more people listened to me, then my ministry could be great.”

But this kind of thinking is actually the work of the devil, because even if I manage to increase my wealth, or power, or fame, there’s always someone wealthier, or more powerful, or more famous. And before long, wealth and power and fame become more important than Jesus Christ.

Then, trapped in the chains of envy and despair, fantasizing about the ministry that I want, the ministry I think I deserve, I’m not doing God’s ministry right now, here, today.

God warned us of this temptation in the commandment He gave to Moses: “You shall not covet your neighbor’s house, nor your neighbor’s spouse…”

And we could add, “You shall not covet your neighbor’s ministry.”

Because Christian ministry is ultimately not about being great, or wealthy or powerful, or famous. Christian ministry is about being faithful to Jesus Christ, and serving Christ through serving my neighbor; using whatever God has given me, no matter how great or how small, to serve the flock—to serve the people that have been entrusted to me today.

In Jesus’ time, being a shepherd was a family business. Your flock was entrusted to you by your father, and your job was to be faithful to those placed in your care. The shepherd lives with the sheep, cares for them, leads them beside still waters and into green pastures. And in times of danger, the shepherd protects the sheep with his life. At night, when the sheep had been led into their enclosure, the shepherd would literally lie down at the entrance, so if a wild beast came for the sheep the shepherd was the first one to be attacked.

This is what Jesus is talking about when he says, “I am the door of the sheep…If anyone enters by Me, he will be saved, and will go in and out and find pasture.” Jesus places himself in harm’s way, so that we may know God’s love and God’s faithfulness.

As Jesus says, “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.”

Through His death on the Cross, when the Son of Man is lifted up in glory, we see just how much the Good Shepherd loves every one of us.

Once, when I was in the Holy Land, near the river Jordan, I saw a young boy, barely older than fifteen, leading sheep down to the river to drink. The flock was small, but for this family it must have been tremendously valuable.

This boy’s father had entrusted him with a great responsibility.

His job was to care for those sheep, and ensure their wellbeing. That young shepherd was using everything God had given him to do the will of his father.

Today, our Heavenly Father has entrusted us with a great responsibility: to use everything God has given us, to care for the people in our lives.

So, if you are the shepherd of a very large flock, like St. Vladimir; or if you are somewhere out in the wilderness with a ragtag flock of disciples, inquirers, and penitents like St. John the Baptist; or if your flock is as small, say just one tiny infant, like Mary the Theotokos caring for the infant Jesus, be faithful in ministry, be faithful in service. Care for those who are hard to care for. Serve those who are hard to serve. And love those who are hard to love.

For this is Christ’s work.

Now, if you are thinking to yourself, “Lord, I’m not sure about this.

I don’t think I’m good enough. I have doubts and temptations. I’m not sure I can do this on my own”—if you’re thinking this, don’t be afraid. Because Christian ministry is not our work, it is Christ working through us.

So, today, acknowledging our weakness, falling down in humility before Christ the Good Shepherd, God cares for us, just like he cared for his people in the wilderness. Like them, we are a tribe of broken, sinful shepherds on our way to God’s Promised Land. And just like the manna in the wilderness, God gives us this day our daily bread, providing us strength and courage and compassion to care for the flock entrusted to us today.

Glory to Jesus Christ!

Very Rev. Dr. J. Sergius Halvorsen is director of St. Vladimir’s Seminary’s Doctor of Ministry Program and assistant professor of homiletics and rhetoric.  He delivered this sermon on the Sunday of the Paralytic, May 19, 2019.

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Christ is Risen!

Picture yourself driving down a country road…at a moderate speed

It is a beautiful, bright spring day, the sky is clear, no traffic at all, just clear easy driving.

And up in the distance, you see a squirrel hop out onto the side of the road.

He twitches his bushy tail a few times and then…he darts across the road.

No problem, so you slow down a bit, to give him a chance to make it across the road safely.

He’s got plenty of time, no crisis, all he needs to do is just run across the road and jump into the bushes.

Everything looks fine…but…just before he makes it across the road to safety he hears you coming,

And what does he do?

Of course, he STOPS…in the road.

He only needs to go a few more feet and he’d be safe and clear,

But no, he’s stopped in the road, looking up at this big giant thing zooming straight at him.

When I’m the one driving the car, sometimes I actually start talking to the squirrel,

“Dude, what are you doing? Don’t just stand there, you’re so close, keep going, get out of the road.

No…no…don’t turn around and go back…OK, fine, but just keep going, just get off the road

WHAT?!? No. Don’t turn around again? Will you just make up your mind and get off of the road!?!”

In moments like this, we know exactly what the squirrel needs to do, it is so obvious.

But for some reason the squirrel just can’t do the right thing.

He’s paralyzed with fear, in the middle of the road.

I imagine that inside of that little squirrel brain, barely as big as a grape, there’s a furious conversation going on:

“Road, car, noise, run, road, car, noise, run, road, car, noise, run…”

Somehow, in that moment, events have overwhelmed the tiny squirrel mind, and this leads to some very bad decision making—or, to complete paralysis.

Both options can lead to a very bad outcome.

Now I must confess, that even though I am a human being, and I possess a brain that is vastly larger than the tiny creature on the road, I find myself in similar situations of being overwhelmed, making bad decisions, or feeling like I’m totally paralyzed.

Sometimes I know exactly what I should do, but I can think up all sorts of reasons not to do it. Maybe I do something, or say something to someone in the heat of the moment. And then afterward I say to myself, “Why in the world did I do that? Why did I SAY that?”

“Oh, no, what does he thing about me? Is he angry? Maybe he’s REALLY angry. Oh, no, is he going to talk to other people? Is this going to lead to some big crisis?”

“But, wait a minute, I wasn’t entirely in the wrong, something had to be said, someone needed to put his foot down…”

“But…did I have to say it in just that way? Oh, man, I really could have said it better…”

“Maybe I should just go and apologize and ask forgiveness…BUT…what if he didn’t even notice…that could turn it into an even bigger deal…”

“OK, I’ll just say nothing, and let it pass…BUT…what if he’s really angry?”

“What am I saying? I’m a Christian! I should just ask for forgiveness…”

“Ahhh…but what if he sees that as a sign of weakness, and uses it against me…”

This is the human equivalent of being the squirrel in the road.

Asking for forgiveness is the obvious decision, I know it is the right thing to do.

Jesus says, that if I have offended someone, then I should stop what I’m doing, go and make amends with that person. But yet, it is so easy to get balled up in all sorts of reasons, and counter reasons, and arguments and counter arguments, and before I know it I’m like that squirrel that runs, then stops, then jumps back, turns…and then just freezes, paralyzed in the road in the face of danger.

Today we hear about a man who is paralyzed, lying near a pool that is supposed to have healing properties, but only if you are able to get into the water at just the right time.

Seems kind of like a cruel joke doesn’t it?

The man is suffering from paralysis, and in order to be healed he has to MOVE at just the right time. He’s in a real crisis. The one thing that he needs to do in order to get better, to get on with his life, is EXACTLY the one thing that is the most difficult.

In his mind, he thinks that the problem is that he doesn’t have anyone to get him into the pool at the right time. He might have been saying to himself, “If I just had the right kind of friends, the right kind of family, not the small, timid kind, but a the big burly, strong, loud tough kind, the kind who could hold everyone else back, and lift me up, and carry me into that water at just the right time—Ah, then I could be cured! Then I could get on with my life!“

This man is certainly not the first person to find himself in this kind of situation.

Many, many years before, the people of Israel were traveling in the wilderness, and God commanded them to enter a new country, a place where they could be safe and healthy, and prosper.

So they sent scouts to see what they land was like, and the scouts brought back word that the people who lived there were big, and powerful, and frightening.

God said to them, “Don’t be afraid, I will be with you. Enter the land, I will protect you, just like I protected you when you left Egypt. Everything will be fine.”

But the people said, “Well, we’re not so sure. Maybe we should just stay here and play it safe.”

And they did nothing. They stayed right where they were, out in the wilderness.

But after a while, the people said, “OK. We’re not quite sure if God is going to be with us, but we’ve got a plan of our own. Now we’ve got it figured out, now we can do this.”

So off they went, armed with their own plans and their own cleverness…but things turned out very badly. There was a great conflict and the people were chased away and they were forced to stay out in the wilderness for a long time, a very long time. They were stuck there for thirty-eight years. (Deut 2.14)

Sound familiar? Remember our man who’s paralyzed, lying by the pool with all of the reasons for why he can’t be healed?

Yes, he’s been there for THIRTY-EIGHT years, just like the people of Israel who had imagined that they could somehow solve their own problems through their own cleverness.

Now, to be clear, it is a blessing to have a mind, and to be intelligent, and to be able to think about the world and life, and make informed, thoughtful decisions. But the danger is that our thoughts can become the primary obstacle to doing God’s will.

On one hand, we may think that we can figure it all out, and like the people of Israel in the wilderness, decide that we can work outside of God’s plan. This can lead to disaster and being stuck in the wilderness.

Or on the other hand, we can find ourselves completely paralyzed by our own thoughts, immobilized by all the powerful reasons why we haven’t got the right family or friends or colleagues, or opportunities, and we’re stuck, paralyzed, so close to the healing pool, but yet so far away.

Today Jesus comes to that man at the pool, physically infirm and paralyzed by his own rationalization, and Jesus comes to us, and He asks,

“Do you want to be healed?”

The man starts into this classic explanation for why he’s there, “Sir, I have no man to put me into the water at the right time and other people get into the water before me.”

And here, it is like Jesus says, “Uh-uh, stop talking. I got it. You’re stuck, you’re clueless. Rise, take up your bed and walk.”

Rise, take up your bed and walk.

And that’s it.

Jesus did not interrogate the man, “Do you want to be healed? Do you REALLLY want to be healed? If I heal you, are you willing to do what I tell you to do? Do you promise?”

Of course not, Jesus knows that the man is broken: his body is broken, his mind is broken, and his heart is broken.

Jesus knows that the man is paralyzed in his body, and paralyzed in his soul, so of course Jesus is not going to demand that the guy make some demonstration of his cleverness and clear thinking.

Jeus says, “Arise, take up your bed and walk.”

And the man is healed.

This is how God works in our lives.

The Son of God came into the world in the form of a servant, lived among us, taught and preached, healed the sick and cast out demons.

And when the powerful and clever and self-righteous rejected him, he allowed them to humiliate and torture and kill him on the Cross.

And then God raised Jesus from the dead, so that we would know that the hatred and evil and sin of man, is powerless in the face of God’s love.

And God did not do any of this because we deserved it, or because we had pleased him, or because we had made sufficient promises to guarantee that we would be obedient. Because, that is not love, that is a legal business transaction.

God did what God did, and God does what God does, not because we have done anything to deserve it. God did what God did, and God does what God does because he loves us, and because he wants us to be whole, and because he wants us to find true and everlasting life in him.

Today Jesus heals the man at the pool as a gift, a free gift of mercy and grace. And today, Jesus heals us as a free gift of mercy and grace.

How does Christ heal us? Our Lord heals us through his Resurrection, because in the Resurrection we know that suffering and death are not the end of the story. In the Resurrection we see that through suffering and death, through the Cross is the way to life.

Christ did not come into the world to eliminate the pain of life, He took on the pain of life to show us how to truly live as God created us to live—how to live in the midst of suffering and death in a way that brings life and love and hope to others.

In Christ, in the Risen Lord, suffering and tragedy is no longer a dead end.

When Christ was placed into the tomb, it appeared that it was the end, that it was all over.

But it was not, for the tomb is empty, and Christ is risen.

I was once talking with wise friend, and he asked me why I had not done something, a good work that I knew I should do. And I told him all of the good reasons that I had not to do it all of the great excuses I had for not doing God’s will, for not using the gifts that God gave me.

And this friend patiently listened to all of my reasons, just like God patiently listens to all of our reasons, and then after I finished talking, he looked at me with this gentle smile.

And there was a moment of silence, and with a twinkle in his eye he said, “Do it scared.”

Do it scared.

This is what it means to live in the Resurrection of Christ.

We see the challenges and dangers of the world, we do not live a blind faith, but we are obedient to Christ’s commands, we do what the Lord commands us to do, and sometimes we do it scared, not because we are clever or tough or strong, but because Christ is risen. Because the love of God is more powerful than our fear.

This is why a parent doesn’t hesitate to go into harm’s way to save a child. Because of love.

This is why a spouse will run into a burning building to save the one they love. Because of love.

This is even why a soldier who has finished his tour of duty will volunteer to go back to war, in order to help keep his fellow soldiers safe. Because of love.

When God commands us to do what is difficult and frightening, motivated by love—by divine love—we do it scared.

This is how a frightened fisherman like St. Peter, a man so timid and confused that he publicly—PUBLICLY—denied Christ, could go on to become the chief of the apostles. In Christ’s resurrection Peter’s fears and worries and personal clever agendas were no longer a dead end, but became a way to new life.

For us, the greatest miracle of Christ’s resurrection happens in our hearts.

So, today, in our suffering, we do God’s will confessing Christ is risen. In our brokenness, we do God’s will confessing Christ is risen. In our confusion, we do God’s will confessing Christ is risen.

Christ is risen! Indeed He is risen.

Amen.

7 April 2019

Deacon Basil Crivella is a 3rd-year Seminarian in St. Vladimir’s Seminary’s Master of Divinity (M.Div.) program. He belongs to the Orthodox Church in America’s Diocese of the Midwest. Deacon Basil prepared this sermon for the Fourth Sunday of Great Lent, the Sunday of St. John Climacus.

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In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen!

Today we hear the story of a man who is at the end of his wits. He is totally desperate. His son, whom he loves, is severely afflicted. And this man, this father, is doing everything he can think of to help.

Imagine how much he has spent on trying to get help. How many people has he gone to see?  How many healers? How many specialists? How many doctors and pharmacists? And picture how hard he works to pay for the treatments: the long hours and blisters on his hands. All of it so he can scrounge the money to pay for the help; pay for the medicine; pay for the special equipment.

Imagine how, after working the extra hours, he comes home to his son, even though he is exhausted. Even though his back is killing him, and his eyes are heavy with the need for sleep, he stays with his son.

The father strokes his hair. The father helps to dress him and feed him. The father watches over him, lest the poor afflicted boy throws himself into the fireplace, or drowns himself in the nearby stream, or tries to hurt himself in some other way.

Imagine how this father feels when nothing that is supposed to help his son works—the grinding despair.

His hopes rise. A new treatment. A new person who might be able to help. This will finally be it.  This will finally bring relief to his beloved son.

And then, the hopes are smashed into pieces on the ground. The medicine doesn’t work. The treatment doesn’t help. The experts are all confounded.

Even the Apostles seem to be powerless.

Brothers and sisters, as most of you probably know, this gospel reading really cuts close to my heart. I have a lot in common with this father.

But it’s not just the affliction of our loved ones that brings us to hopelessness like this father. Sometimes we ourselves are the afflicted one, desperately looking for a cure. For help. All of us come to moments where we’re hurting, where things are totally messed up, and it feels like there’s no one there that can help us; like no matter what we do, we can’t find a way out of the mess life has put us into; that there is no hope.

This is the great lie that the fallen world whispers to us in these moments.

The demons say, “Your relationship with your family, your friend, or your neighbor is ruined.  Don’t even bother trying to love them. There’s no hope.”

The demons say, “Your health, or the health of your loved one is just wrecked.  It’s going to be nothing but pain and misery forever. Don’t even bother trying to get help. There’s no hope.”

The demons say, “That situation with your schoolwork and grades, or your job and making ends meet—Don’t even bother with those. Nothing is ever going to change. There’s no hope.”

The prince of lies tells us in our deepest sufferings that there’s no hope, especially when we cry out and seek for help, and nothing seems to be working.

The evil one tells us, “There’s no hope, because God doesn’t really care!”

It’s like the Tom Waits song: “God’s away, God’s away, God’s away on business.”

Business! You’re not important to Him!

But God isn’t away! He’s not off being too busy with something else. Christ is in our midst! God sees you when you’re struggling. God hears you when you cry out to Him! God is present with you in your pain. Even in your darkest moments, when you feel like everything is falling apart, you can turn to Him. Like the man who has suffered so much, we can come to Christ!  We can pour our heart and our sufferings out to Christ.

The man who kneels before Christ cries, “If you can do anything, have pity on us!  Help us!”

Christ tells us, “All things are possible to him who believes!”

The one who believes has their sufferings transfigured by Christ.

The pain, the despair, and the uncertainty no longer lead them to lash out; to look for someone or something to blame; to yell at the family and neighbors who visit or try to help; to get angry with the doctors or professionals when the results aren’t what we want or need; to just throw up our hands in despair and not care anymore.

Instead, our own sufferings become our opportunity to show Christ to others—to be like Christ when He suffers; Christ who shows love to the world despite the sufferings we inflict on Him, despite the pain He endures: the love that doesn’t look for someone to blame but carries the cross up the hill; the love that doesn’t show anger or outrage but endures with patience; the love that doesn’t give up or quit, but continues on; the love that opens our heart to the suffering and pain of others.

What I’ve learned more than anything from the suffering and sorrow of my own life, of my own situation, is that EVERYONE suffers. And even though the situations I suffer through are mine—the pain, the frustration, the fear, the sadness—they’re the same.

For me. For you. For the father in the story. For the person sitting next to you. For everybody.

And the love that Christ has is the love that He shows during His own suffering, the love that leads Him to carry His cross all the way up to Golgotha and die on it for us.

That love that doesn’t judge. That love is patient. That love is kind, even to the end and despite the suffering.

We can show that same love, and in the same way—even during our own sufferings.

To me. To you. To someone like the father in the story. To the person sitting next to you. To everybody.

And we show that love every time, despite our own pain and our own sorrows, and our own problems; we seek out someone else that we know is hurting. And we spend a little time with them. And we listen to them.  And we pray for them.  And we try to be like Christ to them. And when someone who sees us hurting and comes to us, we spend time with them, too. And we listen to them. And we pray for them. And we try to be like Christ to them.

The love that God has that will raise us up on the last day to a place where pain, sickness, sorrow, and even sighing have fled away!

And God gives us that love even now. And even during our greatest sufferings, we can share it with others.

In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen!

By Sarah Byrne-Martelli, Seminarian

Sarah Byrne-Martelli, BCC, was Board Certified with the Association of Professional Chaplains in 2004. She is a Chaplain at Massachusetts General Hospital and is endorsed by the Antiochian Orthodox Christian Archdiocese. She received her Master of Divinity degree from Harvard Divinity School and currently is a Doctor of Ministry (D.Min.) student at St. Vladimir’s Seminary.

She wrote the following essay for a broad audience (Orthodox and non-Orthodox!) as part of an assignment for her D.Min. class, “Advanced Preaching and Communications.”

Sarah also co-hosts a podcast on Ancient Faith Radio called, “The Wounded Healer.” Sarah, her husband, Peter, and their son, Rafael, are members of St. Mary Orthodox Church in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

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Why do bad things happen to good people? Why do good things happen to bad people? We hear these questions a lot, and wonder how to make meaning of this. Do we deserve the good things, the bad things? Where is God in all of this? If we do good things, and live a decent life, not hurting anyone, it seems like we should have some guarantee that life will be good. But a quick glance around shows us that this is not the case.

We all know the stories…. Our sweet, elderly neighbor, who goes to Mass every day, had a stroke and is in the hospital. Your boss is a complete jerk, who disrespects people at every turn, and yet he gets promotions and accolades while you get nothing. My friend’s young wife is dying of cancer and they have a six month-old baby. And so on and so on…. And after a while, it’s too much to bear: bad things happening to good people, and good people suffering, all the time.

Some people respond by rationalizing these questions from a rigid religious perspective. There is this idea that God controls literally everything, from whom you marry, to your job offers, and your daily experiences. It’s like God is a micromanager. God helps you find your keys, and grants you that sweet parking spot you got at the supermarket. It’s related to the old “everything happens for a reason” line that people love to say, to reassure themselves. If I had been standing a foot to the left, that tree would have fallen right on me and I would have died. Everything happens for a reason! Hashtag #blessed. Well, that’s good for you, but what about the man it did fall on? What was the reason for that? Was that guy bad? Are you good? Was he good? What does that even mean? It makes you want to give up.

Perhaps more appealing is the idea that God is not involved at all, and we are the authors of our own destiny. You’ve probably heard of bestsellers like “The Secret,” with its “law of attraction.” Simply put, the law of attraction states that if you put out positive energy into the universe, you will receive it back. If you put out negative energy, you will receive it back. It’s like your mind is an existential magnet. If you manifest your vision, you deserve all the good you get. That sounds really appealing…until something bad happens. What’s the reason? What about the wonderful person who manifests positive energy, yet gets cancer? Did she deserve it? Is she to blame?

These ways of thinking are at best internally inconsistent, and at worst incredibly hurtful. If you have a tragedy, and someone responds with, “Well…everything happens for a reason!” or “You must not have manifested enough positive energy,” you know it feels like a straight punch to the gut.

And you have full permission to reject these responses. The good news is there is a better way to face the troublesome fact that seemingly bad things do happen to seemingly good people.

As you know, my tradition is Orthodox Christian. Reductive responses and cheery slogans don’t resonate with the rich theology of the Church. We don’t have this idea that God is a creepy puppeteer, orchestrating everything. God is not a cosmic babysitter, or a petty micromanager. If He were, I wouldn’t want to believe in Him either!

And we’re also not just sending and receiving energy into the cosmos, like rechargeable batteries. It doesn’t work that way.

I’ll start with an important premise. God is good. Everything and everyone who God created is good. Everyone. Yes, even those people who seem “bad.” We are all made in God’s image. And this God created us to be free. Real love doesn’t force anyone to do anything. We can do whatever we want.

But as humans, we tend to do things in a way that prioritizes our own pride, our own needs, our own selfish ways. This allows the force of evil—a twisting of the good—to take hold in people. This is what it means to live in a fallen world: that the second humanity had a chance to do something selfish, they did—cue Adam, Eve, and the apple. It took them about one second to mess with the freedom that God gave them. With this freedom came sin, and death, and suffering, all inherited, in a sense, from our ancestors. With this freedom comes a world of struggle and tragedy.

Suffering comes as a result of this inheritance. But that’s not the end of the story.

God responds to suffering in the person of Jesus, who was real, who lived and saw everything that was going on. Jesus walked and talked and knew what it was to be human. He responded to the suffering He encountered with compassion and clarity. He calmly turned things upside down. Instead of condemning an adulterous woman, He called the crowd to examine their own failures. He touched the supposedly “unclean;” He welcomed the noisy children; He taught that every suffering person is our neighbor. Jesus loved the poor and ate meals with sinners. Every human experience, every tragedy, every joy and grief—all are known to Jesus.

It can seem like the end of everything when a tragedy happens to someone we love. We ask, Why? We ask, Do I deserve this? Those are good questions, and Jesus himself asked questions like this, as He approached His own death. Again, He gets it, because He was fully human. He faced the pain of suffering, betrayal, and death head-on, with compassion, forgiveness, and love.

Life is not just about doing good works or having an impressive faith so nothing bad happens to you. It is not about judging others or making assumptions about another person’s “energy.” It’s about a path of holiness that constantly seeks peace and radical kindness to ourselves and others. It’s about approaching suffering with gentleness and introspection, not as if we deserve it or don’t deserve it. It’s not about good people and bad people and good things and bad things. It’s about seeking the only truly good thing: aligning ourselves with the heart of God, the love of God in us and around us. It is a daily choice—a choice that God gives us.

Well, then, you say, why does God need us to choose it? If God is so powerful, then why doesn’t God just do something?

Well, God has already done everything. God has done everything in the person of Jesus. And even Jesus was not immune to tragic feelings. He cried with compassion for his friend Lazarus who died. Jesus shows us so tangibly what God is like. We can do the things that He did.

When a tragedy happens, we hear that wonderful quote of Mr. Fred Rogers, telling us to look for the helpers. Mr. Rogers was a minister, you know, and his faith was quietly woven throughout his work. He said, look for the helpers. The helpers are choosing love, kindness, compassion. This is where we see God, when bad things happen. When we look for the helpers, we see that God is not distant, God is not gone. God is alive among us. And in moments when we don’t see any helpers, then perhaps the helper is already close by. Perhaps we are the helpers, the ones called to love someone in need.

The ultimate fear—that life has no meaning and tragedy is unavoidable—is conquered by a love that fills and surrounds everything that exists. That’s what I mean when I say that God has done everything, and He is never far away.

Now of course, sometimes we still grieve, we still fear, we still shake our fists at the sky. We don’t just magically bask in God’s glory and act perfectly. Life can be incredibly sad, and overwhelming, and heartbreaking. I have spent countless hours with people in the midst of traumatic loss. I have witnessed a mother and father cradling their stillborn twin babies. I have witnessed my best friend going through a terrible divorce. I have witnessed the shock of a new diagnosis, the shock of sudden loss, the shock of a heart attack. It is honestly a mystery. We don’t know why. But faith helps us abide and be brave. Faith turns to God in the shock, in the sadness, in the heartbreak. Faith gives thanks for the helpers and empowers us to help, in love and in faith.

The grief we feel is a cue in our hearts that this is not right, that death cannot be the end. Grief is borne out of love, and this love cannot be overcome. And honestly, sometimes there are no words. Sometimes silence is the most loving response.

On the cross, with His last breath, Jesus said, “It is finished,” and was silent. “It is finished” doesn’t mean it’s over or it’s done. “It is finished” means it is complete. Even the final tragedy— death—was conquered by the love that never ends. God does everything that can possibly be done. It is God’s complete way of saying: My children, I love you, and I’m here with you.

The question “Why do bad things happen to good people?” isn’t the question we should keep asking. Instead, we must bravely ask: How can I be a helper? We must say, God is good, and life is messy, and God has redeemed it all. We must say, Lord have mercy. We must say: Help me understand, help me love.

Does everything happen for a reason? Yes, but it’s not the reason you think. It’s not because you deserve one thing, and someone else deserves something else. The reason is that everything in life—loss, joy, grief, gratitude, everything—is a chance to pray and a chance to love. It’s a chance to seek the helper, to be the helper, and to pray, cry, and give thanks. Helping others, we witness true goodness, and we share this goodness with a world that so desperately needs it.