Asking Why

Oct 23

I have always been a firm believer in starting with why. I think that it’s the most fundamental human question and far too often we simply drift through life trying to keep ourselves busy or amused or whatever just so we don’t have to face that question.

Every parent of an autistic child asks why. Why did this happen to my child? Why did this happen to me? Why is my child acting this way? Why can’t I have one normal day? Why, God? Why? (With alternating exasperation and rage, I find.)

I wish I had a good answer. I don’t. But then I am not a finished product yet, and neither is my autistic son. Sometimes there simply isn’t a why, at least not one we can get to in the here and now.

In my self-pitying moments I wonder if God ever asks himself why about us. I have multiple theological degrees. I can give you the arguments and the clichés about God not being surprised by the dumb things that we do.

But then I think about Matthew’s account of Jesus on the cross and that most disturbing question: “About three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, ‘Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?’ (which means ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’)” (Matthew 27:46, NIV).

Jesus asks why. He knows the answer. That’s not the point. The point is that God himself, the second person of the Trinity, knows such extreme agony, such extreme suffering that he calls out, “WHY?!” to the Father.

For most of us, when it comes to our kids, when it comes to the pain in our spouses and all of the lost hopes and dreams, “why” is less about a good reason than it is a demand that this all matters somehow, that it means something. To be sure, we would like reasons too.

I am learning to come at why from new angles. And I am learning that sometimes why is less important than I thought. Sometimes you need to get in there and do even when you don’t have all of the right answers or even half of the information that you feel like you need.

As much as I want it, Nate can’t give me a why. He can’t explain it. And he gives few clues to figure it out. And that is perhaps the hardest part. Sometimes you have to break things down into component parts to figure out how they fit together, to get to why. I would have never thought that years of oil and sawdust and hammers and wrenches and watching my father tear apart cars and rebuild garage doors from scratch—and well, a hundred other things I don’t remember—would help me to understand my son. I never would have thought that it might take a son with autism to jump-start me from being paralyzed by why and start doing something.