My friends, we come together today with heavy hearts. Our eyes have seen the images, our ears have heard the reports. We think of our brothers and sisters in the Philippines, in places like Cebu, who in the span of just a few short months have felt the very earth give way beneath them—first with a terrifying earthquake, and now, buried in the mud and water of Typhoon Kalmaegi.
We hear the numbers—hundreds of lives lost, communities shattered, families torn apart. And if we are honest, our faith is shaken. We are confronted, face-to-face, with the hardest question a believer ever has to ask: "God, where were you?"
Where was the Sovereign Lord when the ground trembled? Where was the King of Creation when the winds howled and the waters rose? We believe in a God who is all-powerful. We believe in a God who is all-good. How do we hold that faith in one hand, and the reality of this devastating loss in the other?
We cannot preach a simple sermon today. We cannot offer trite phrases like "everything happens for a reason" to a mother mourning her child, or "God is in control" to a man whose home and livelihood are gone. Those answers feel hollow in the face of such profound pain.
Today, we must first do what Scripture does: We must lament. Before we can find answers, we must sit in the ash and the rubble, like Job, and acknowledge the agonizing reality of our broken world. This is not the way it was supposed to be. Creation itself, as the Apostle Paul says in Romans 8, is "groaning" in bondage to decay. These storms, these quakes—they are the painful, violent groans of a fallen world.
I. A Refuge and Strength
It is into this very chaos, this groaning, that our text from Psalm 46 speaks. Notice what the psalmist does not say. He does not say, "Because God is our refuge, the earth will never give way." He does not say, "Because God is our strength, the mountains will never fall."
Instead, he says, "God is our refuge... THEREFORE we will not fear, THOUGH the earth give way."
This is a radical, world-changing truth. The sovereignty of God does not mean we are exempt from the storm. It means we have a fortress in the storm. His sovereignty is not a shield from pain, but an anchor in pain.
When the disciples were in the boat on the Sea of Galilee, a furious storm came up. Jesus was in the boat with them. The storm was real. The fear was real. And the disciples, much like us, cried out, "Master, don't you care that we are perishing?"
Where was God's sovereignty? It was right there, in the boat with them.
We look for God in the prevention of the storm, and we are disappointed. But God's sovereignty is often revealed in His presence and His purpose.
* His Presence: God is not a distant architect watching His creation crumble. He is, as the psalm says, "an ever-present help in trouble." He is with the rescue worker pulling a survivor from the rubble. He is with the mother weeping over a lost child, weeping alongside her. Jesus Christ is called "Immanuel," which means "God with us." He is not a God who is unfamiliar with suffering; He is a God who has endured the cross. He meets us in our darkest valley.
* His Purpose: We will never, on this side of eternity, have a satisfying answer for "Why this storm? Why this child?" The Book of Job teaches us that. When Job demanded an answer from God for his suffering, God didn't give him a reason. He gave him a revelation—a revelation of His own infinite wisdom and power. He essentially said, "Job, you see this one thread; I see the entire tapestry."
We must trust that the one who ordains the end of all things from the beginning, the one who can bring life from death on a Roman cross, is still weaving a plan. This does not make the pain go away. But it gives us a sliver of hope to hold onto: this is not the end of the story.
II. "Be Still, and Know"
So what is our response, as the Church, as believers, as we watch the waters roar?
First, we must "Be still, and know that I am God." This is not a call to passive inaction. In the Hebrew, it's a command to "Stop striving! Let go! Surrender!" It means we stop shaking our fist at the sky long enough to unclench our hands and receive His grace. It is a call to trust in His character when we cannot see His plan. To be still and know that He is good, even when the circumstances are not.
Second, we are called to be the hands and feet of Christ. If we are asking "Where is God in this tragedy?" the world should be able to find the answer by looking at us. God is in the donations we send. He is in the prayers we pray. He is in the teams that go to rebuild. Our human response to disaster is our most powerful sermon. We must love, give, and serve sacrificially, showing the world the compassionate heart of the God we serve.
Finally, we hold fast to our ultimate hope. Romans 8:28 promises that "in all things God works for the good of those who love him." This does not mean the earthquake was "good." It does not mean the typhoon was "good." It means that for those who are in Christ, God will take the rubble and the ruin—all of it—and He will redeem it for an ultimate, eternal good that is greater than our present suffering.
The mountains may fall, but our God is a fortress. The waters may roar, but our King is on His throne. And one day, He will wipe away every tear, and there will be no more death, no more mourning, no more crying or pain.
Until that day, we will not fear. For God is our refuge and our strength.
Amen.
