I think most of us would agree — we don’t like going to funerals.
It’s not that we aren’t willing to pay our respects. It’s not that we didn’t genuinely love the person who passed.
We don’t like going because we don’t know what to say.
We’ve all been there. We want to say something comforting. Something profound. Something that will ease the ache just a little.
And sometimes, with the best intentions, we end up saying things that are… a little off.
“God needed another angel.” That’s mixed up. Human beings don’t become angels. That would actually be a demotion.
Or this one: “God moves in mysterious ways.”
People say that like it’s a Bible verse. It isn’t. It’s an old hymn. Or, if you’re from my generation, it’s an old song by U2. Now it’s true — we don’t always understand God’s purposes. But that phrase has a way of shutting down questions.
But there’s one phrase that’s harder to untangle — because it actually is a biblical principle:
“Everything happens for a reason.” That phrase is meant to bring comfort, but it almost never does. In moments of deep grief, it can feel like a slap in the face.
When pain is raw, being told “everything happens for a reason” can feel like someone is trying to explain away your tears.
And by the way — when you go to a funeral, you don’t always have to say anything. Remember Job’s friends? For seven days, they just sat with him in silence. It wasn’t until they started explaining things that everything went off the rails.
So today, we’re going to tread carefully. We’re going to open our Bibles and ask: What does God actually say?
I invite you to read Romans 8:28-39 with me. Please stand to honor the reading of God’s word.
[READ]
This is God’s Word. Thanks be to God.
Our Definitions Are Too Small
One of the reasons God doesn’t say “Everything happens for a reason” the way we mean it is because any list of reasons we would come up with is too small. Too limited. Too human-centered.
If we were going to write the list, it would sound something like this:
• “To reward faithfulness.”
• “To punish sin.”
• “To build character.”
• “To teach a lesson.”
But Scripture shows us something different. In John 9, the disciples see a man who has been blind from birth, and they immediately reach for a reason.
“Rabbi, who sinned? This man or his parents, that he was born blind?”
The disciples have two categories: Sin in him. Or sin in his parents. That’s it. That’s the list.
But Jesus answers them in a way that blows up their categories.
“It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him.”
Now I want to be careful here — Jesus is not saying its good to be born blind. He’s not trivializing the man’s suffering.
He’s telling His disciples that their list is too limited.
They thought there were only two explanations. There were more.
And that’s the problem with “Everything happens for a reason” when we say it too quickly.
We assume whatever the reason, it will fit one of our familiar boxes. But God’s purposes are deeper than our categories.
Our definitions are too small.
Now, I want to be careful here, because when we talk about suffering, it’s not an abstract concept.
Some of you are not wrestling with inconvenience. You are wrestling with devastation.
The death of a child. A diagnosis that changed everything. An act of violence that split your life into “before” and “after.”
There are horrors that happen in this fallen world that cannot be reduced to clichés.
And I know that in moments like that, people lift their hands to heaven (or shake their fists) and cry, “God, why?”
That is not a faithless question. That is a human question.
But here is something we have to wrestle with.
If God chose to answer that question — if He said, “Here is the reason your child died,” or “Here is the reason that diagnosis came,” or “Here is the reason that act of violence happened” —Would that explanation actually heal you?
Would the reason make the loss smaller?
Would the logic make the grave less empty?
Or would it simply give you something to argue with?
Now, if we’re going to talk honestly, we can’t just talk about car wrecks and cancer. We have to talk about Auschwitz and Rwanda and Mother Emmanuel church in Charleston.
We have to talk about gas chambers and burning crosses and drive by shootings. We have to talk about famine in the Sudan and flooding in Texas.
If “everything happens for a reason” means God directly scripted every event for some tidy moral lesson, then that sentence becomes monstrous.
Whatever we believe about God’s sovereign rule over history must line up with the character of Jesus — who does not delight in evil but defeats it.
The Bible makes distinctions between:
• What God commands: justice, mercy, love, holiness.
• What God permits— rebellion, violence, betrayal.
• What God hates: injustice, oppression, shedding innocent blood.
• And what God redeems: suffering. Pain. The cross.
Romans 8 will not allow us to say God is helpless, or that evil wins. Instead, Scripture tells us we live is a fallen world, where human beings commit real evil. It says creation is groaning. It says rulers and authorities rebel. It says the enemy comes to steal, kill, and destroy.
And it says God, in Christ, entered that very evil — and was murdered by it.
God did not stand outside suffering explaining it. He stepped inside suffering absorbing it.
That means when you ask “Why?” you are not asking a distant deity. You are crying out to a crucified God.
Sometimes what we think we want is explanation. Romans 8 does not promise explanation. It promises that evil will not be ultimate.
Romans 8:28 does not say, “God causes all things to make sense to those who love Him.”
It says, “All things work together for good.”
And that brings us to our second point.
Point 2: God’s Purposes Are Too Big
Lots of people are familiar with Romans 8:28. But too often, they stop halfway through the verse.
“We know that all things work together for the good of those who love God…”
And if you stop there, you can make “the good” mean anything you want.
Good circumstances. A better job. A happy ending. A lesson learned.
But Paul doesn’t stop there.
“We know that all things work together for the good of those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.”
So wait a minute.
You’re saying the good all things are working toward isn’t just about my plan? My timeline? My comfort?
Now you’re getting it.
It is for the good of those who love God and are called according to His purpose.
And then Paul tells us what that purpose is.
“For those whom He foreknew He also predestined to be conformed to the image of His Son…”
There it is.
That’s the good.
Looking like Jesus.
That is a much bigger purpose than we usually have in mind.
We define good by circumstances: Health. Security. Comfort. Relief. Success.
God defines good by character: Christlikeness. Holiness. Dependence. Glory. Resurrection life.
Romans 8:29 does not say, “For those He foreknew He predestined to have easy lives.”
It says, “He predestined them to be conformed to the image of His Son.”
What is that image? It’s the image of a suffering servant. Who was obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.
God’s purpose is not merely to improve your circumstances. It is to transform your character. To shape your soul. To carve Christ into you.
When I was a youth minister, we had a drama team, and one of our favorite skits was called The Chisel Skit.
It begins with a guy praying, “God, do whatever it takes to make me more like Jesus. Amen.”
And when he opens his eyes, God is standing there holding a hammer and a chisel.
God says, “You asked.”
And He explains that in order to make him look like Jesus, He has to chip away everything that doesn’t.
At first, the guy is excited.
But then the chiseling starts.
At lust. At anger. At pride. At laziness. At control. At selfishness.
And with every strike of the hammer…he flinches.
Because transformation is invasive. Holiness requires radical renovation. And when you are doing a radical remodel, you are going to have some demo days.
Let me be clear.
Not every hardship is a chisel strike from God. We live in a fallen world. Sin and suffering are real.
But here is the promise of Romans 8:
Whatever enters your life, God will not waste it.
He will work it. He will bend it. He will redeem it. He will use it in the long work of making you look like Jesus.
It was said of Michelangelo that when he looked at a block of marble, he could already see the statue inside. He already knew what David looked like. So his job was simply to chip away everything that didn’t look like David.
Romans 8:29 is telling us something staggering. God sees the finished work. He already sees Christ in you. And He is committed to removing what does not look like Christ.
Look at how Paul stacks up the verbs in verses 29 and 30 like a golden chain:
29 For those he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, so that he would be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters. 30 And those he predestined, he also called; and those he called, he also justified; and those he justified, he also glorified.
Notice Paul says “glorified,” not “will glorify.” Past tense. As if it is already done.
Why?
Because in God’s purposes, the end is secure.
And if the end is secure, then everything between justification and glorification is being worked toward that end.
Not random. Not pointless. Not ultimate.
But part of a story that ends in glory.
Here’s the third reason “Everything happens for a reason” doesn’t make sense:
3. Life is too short
This past Wednesday we started a new Bible study through the book of Ecclesiastes. And if you’ve never been part of our Wednesday night Bible study, this would be a great time to start.
Because Ecclesiastes may be the most direct contradiction of “Everything happens for a reason.”
The first words of the book are: “Meaningless! Meaningless! Everything is meaningless.” He uses that word 38 times in the course of Ecclesiastes.
And for the rest of the book, Solomon uses one phrase 29 times: “under the sun.” It’s a phrase that describes life as we can see it. Life as we experience it. Life as it unfolds in real time.
And when you look at life under the sun, you see things that look senseless.
The righteous suffer. The wicked prosper. Justice is delayed. Prayers seem unanswered. Time marches on without explanation.
Under the sun, there are funerals. Under the sun, there are hospital rooms. Under the sun, there are graves that are dug too soon lives that feel too short.
And if this life is all there is — if seventy or eighty years is the entire story — then yes, there are events you cannot convince me “happen for a reason.”
Life is too short to see the whole arc of redemption. That’s why the phrase feels hollow at funerals.
But Solomon also says (in the same book, even):
“He has set eternity in the human heart.”
That’s why we struggle. That’s why we ask “Why?” That’s why we aren’t satisfied with meaninglessness.
We are built for more than under-the-sun perspective. We are built for an arc of history that bends toward justice. Toward everything sad becoming untrue.
And Romans 8 gives us that higher vantage point. Paul does not deny suffering. He doesn’t sanitize it. He doesn’t minimize it.
Back up a little and look at verse 18
“I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is going to be revealed.”
He tells the church at Corinth something similar in 2 Corinthians 4:17–18
17 For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, 18 as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.
Paul isn’t saying suffering is small. He says it cannot be compared.
Comparison assumes shared scale: Apples to apples. Paul is saying there is no shared scale between our light momentary affliction and the eternal weight of glory. It’s like comparing apples to every banquet and state dinner and thanksgiving feast and wedding reception that has ever been and ever will be.
Life under the sun is too short to make sense of everything. But eternity stretches the timeline.
Carol Burnett had a great definition of comedy. She said, “Comedy = tragedy + time.” She was saying that given time and distance, even painful moments can become stories we tell with laughter.
And I think we can tweak her quote and come away with a rock solid truth: God’s glory is tragedy plus time.
This life is too short for every tragedy to make sense. But there is more than this life. We weren’t just created for under the sun living, but above the sun eternity.
Paul can say suffering can’t compare to glory. Not because suffering is trivial. But because glory is vast.
Point 4: God’s Love Is Too Strong
Romans 8 does not end with an explanation. It ends with a question. Look at verse 31 with me:
“What then shall we say to these things?” If God is for us, who is against us? He did not even spare his own Son but gave him up for us all — how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?”
That’s not abstract theology. That’s the cross.
If you ever wonder whether God is for you, don’t look at your circumstances. Look at Calvary.
God did not stay distant from suffering. He stepped into it.
He did not remain immune to grief. He wept. He bled. He died.
And then Paul stacks the questions:
33 Who can bring an accusation against God’s elect? God is the one who justifies. 34 Who is the one who condemns? Christ Jesus is the one who died, but even more, has been raised; he also is at the right hand of God and intercedes for us. 35 Who can separate us from the love of Christ? Can affliction or distress or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?
Notice that Paul does not say those things won’t happen. He says they won’t separate you.
“In all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.”
IN all these things. Not AFTER all these things. IN them.
In the hospital room. In the courtroom. In the grief. In the waiting.
IN whatever you are dealing with right now, you are already more than a conqueror. Why? Because He loves you.
And then he reaches the summit: Verses 38-39:
38 For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, 39 nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Nothing will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
That’s the answer to “Everything happens for a reason.”
Life under the sun is too short. Our definitions are too small. God’s purposes are too big.
And His love…His love is too strong.
Too strong for cancer. Too stronger for betrayal. Too strong for violence. Too strong for genocide. Too strong for corrupt politicians. Too strong for the grave.
You may not get an explanation. But you do get a resurrection. You get a risen savior
Who wept at the grave of Lazarus.
Who suffered under Pontius Pilate.
Who died on the hill of Calvary.
Who rose from the garden tomb.
Who ascended from the Mount of Olives.
Who is coming back on the clouds.
And who promises, “I am with you always.”
And if that is true — then tragedy is not ultimate. Suffering is not sovereign. Death is not final.
Love is.
Conclusion/Invitation
Can I tell you something personal?
This week, while I was working on this sermon, wrestling with suffering and sovereignty and Romans 8 — something unexpected happened.
I wasn’t wordsmithing anymore. I wasn’t trying to come up with a memorable outline, or figuring out what to cut so we could get out in time.
I was weeping.
Because it suddenly hit me:
If “everything happens for a reason” in the tidy way we often mean it… then God would never have saved me.
There is nothing reasonable about His love for me.
Nothing practical. Nothing efficient. Nothing deserved.
No cosmic cost–benefit analysis where heaven looked at my life and said, “Yes, he’s worth it.”
Grace is not reasonable. It is lavish. It is disproportionate. It is excessive.
I started singing that old hymn “I Stand Amazed in the Presence.”
“I wonder how He could love me, a sinner, condemned, unclean.”
And I couldn’t stop weeping. The prayer that came to my lips this week was simple:
“God, let me behold You beholding me.
Let me see You seeing me… and loving me anyway.”
This morning, let’s get beyond the typical time of response categories we always use. Of course, If you need to give your life to Christ, the invitation is open.
If you need to join this church, the invitation is open.
If you need to kneel and pray, the altar is open.
But for many of you, the invitation is simply this:
Be still. See Jesus seeing you, and loving you.
We are about to sing, “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross.” That word means astonishing. Beautiful. Awe-inspiring.
How can we call the cross wondrous? A cruel, rough, splintered, bloodstained instrument of execution?
How can we call the most tragic day in human history “Good Friday?” That day on which the Prince of glory died?
Because God’s glory is tragedy + time.
In three day’s time—Jesus rose again.
In forty day’s time, Jesus ascended.
And there will come a time when time itself will no longer have meaning for us. When whatever tragedy we thought defined our life won’t carry the crushing weight it carries now—any more than a scraped knee from childhood does today.
You may never be given a reason for the things that happen to you. But when you behold Jesus beholding you, and loving you, you won’t need one.
Now let’s stand and sing.
