Sometimes we inquire to no one in particular, but it is a question frequently laid to rest at my feet, presupposing I have expertise in matters escaping normal minds of casual observation.
But I confess my own ignorance. My response usually comes back, “I don’t know.” And in many cases, that reply is my honest assessment of my inept and inconclusive attempts trying to make sense of those events that make no sense. I
simply don’t know.
Sometimes I wonder if we can know.
People often ask me, a pastor, one with theological training and a religious education, as if I have some exclusive pipeline to the Almighty, or if by my ecclesiastical vocation, I have secret knowledge in the ways God works, or in some cases, doesn’t seem to work. But I confess, more times than not, I just don’t
I don’t like not knowing, especially when people expect me to know. It’s as if people come to me and say, “Don't we pay you to know?" Other times, it’s as if people want me to utter those mystical words of comfort to make everything magically, and painlessly work out. But we also know those words don't exist, and even it they did, it seldom does.
However, my inability to answer difficult questions delivers an ironic sense of hope that some day the answers will come as the purposes of God unveil themselves. Until I find a satisfactory answer, if such an answer is even possible, I need to embrace the peace that exclusively comes with the faith that, “Only God knows.”
Then trust that God does, and leave it in God’s hands. The One who knows that what we cannot know, will also take care of that what we cannot do.