06/03/2026
“Why?”
A Sermon on Faith in the Midst of Suffering
by Priest Nectarios Yangson
In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Dear Beloved in Christ,
There is perhaps no question more ancient than the word, “Why?”
Why did this happen?
Why is my family suffering?
Why did God allow this sickness?
Why did this person die?
Why did my prayers seem to go unanswered?
Why, Lord?
Many people imagine that asking God “why” is somehow a sign of weak faith. We are often told that it is a question we should never ask. Certainly, we should trust in God. We should have faith in Him. Yet we are weak. We are human. We suffer. And when we open the pages of Holy Scripture, we discover something truly remarkable: some of the greatest saints, prophets, and righteous ones asked that very question.
“Why?”
Moses asked why.
David asked why.
Jeremiah asked why.
Job asked why.
Even the holy Apostles often struggled to understand God’s ways.
The question itself is not a sin.
The danger comes when we stop trusting God while we are asking it.
Consider the holy Prophet Moses.
God appeared to him in the burning bush and gave him a sacred mission: “Go unto Pharaoh and tell him, Let My people go.”
Moses obeyed.
Yet what happened immediately afterward?
Things became worse.
The Israelites were beaten more severely.
Their burdens increased.
Their suffering deepened.
The people turned against Moses.
They accused him.
They questioned him.
And Moses himself cried out to God:
“Lord, wherefore hast Thou so evil entreated this people? Why is it that Thou hast sent me?” (Exodus 5:22)
Moses had obeyed God, yet all he could see was darkness.
He could not see the Red Sea opening.
He could not see Pharaoh’s defeat.
He could not see the pillar of fire.
He could not see Mount Sinai.
He could not see the Promised Land.
He only saw the pain.
And perhaps many of us know exactly how that feels.
You pray, yet the situation worsens.
You obey God, yet the burden grows heavier.
You try to do what is right, yet suffering increases rather than decreases.
And in those moments, the question rises naturally from the depths of the heart:
“Why?”
The righteous Job knew this question.
In a single season he lost his children, his possessions, his health, and his reputation.
He sat among the ashes scraping his wounds.
His friends offered explanations.
But explanations did not heal his grief.
Job wanted God.
And throughout his suffering he cried out with questions.
Yet even amid his anguish he proclaimed:
“Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him.” (Job 13:15)
That is faith.
Faith is not pretending that suffering does not hurt.
Faith is not denying grief.
Faith is not forcing a smile when the heart is broken.
Faith is continuing to trust God when nothing makes sense.
The holy Patriarch Joseph also asked “why.”
Why was he betrayed by his brothers?
Why was he sold into slavery?
Why was he falsely accused?
Why was he forgotten in prison?
Year after year, Joseph could not see God’s plan.
All Joseph could see was the pit.
But God saw the palace.
Joseph could only see chains.
God saw the throne.
Joseph could only see betrayal.
God saw salvation for an entire nation.
The pit was not the end of the story.
It was part of the road.
How often do we judge God’s plan by a single chapter?
We stand in the middle of the story and conclude that God has abandoned us.
But the Lord sees the entire book.
We see one page.
He sees eternity.
My brothers and sisters, one of the greatest spiritual temptations is demanding that God explain Himself according to our timetable.
Yet throughout Scripture, God rarely gives explanations.
Instead, He gives Himself.
When Job cried out, God did not explain every tragedy.
He revealed His presence.
When Moses was afraid, God did not reveal every detail of the future.
He simply said:
“Certainly, I will be with thee.” (Exodus 3:12)
When the Apostles were terrified in the storm, Christ did not first explain the storm.
He stepped into the boat.
This is the Christian answer to suffering.
Not a philosophical explanation.
Not an intellectual formula.
But the presence of Christ.
The Son of God Himself entered our suffering.
He was betrayed.
He was mocked.
He was rejected.
He was scourged.
He was crucified.
And from the Cross humanity heard the mystery of suffering expressed in the words:
“My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?” (Matthew 27:46)
Christ Himself voluntarily entered into that abyss.
He descended into the deepest darkness of human suffering.
He entered into our grief.
He entered into our loneliness.
He entered into our abandonment.
He entered even into death itself.
And there, in the depths of Hades, He shattered the gates of brass and broke the bars of iron asunder.
He broke the chains.
He sanctified every human sorrow.
He transformed suffering from a dead end into a path toward Resurrection.
This is why Orthodox Christians never view suffering as meaningless.
We may not understand it.
We may weep because of it.
We may struggle beneath its weight.
But we know it is not meaningless.
The Cross appeared to be defeat.
Yet it became victory.
The tomb appeared to be the end.
Yet it became the beginning.
And at times the things that seem like the end of our story are merely the place where God is preparing a Resurrection.
Perhaps today some of you are asking “why.”
Why the illness?
Why the pain?
Why the loss?
Why the loneliness?
Why the disappointment?
Why the burden that seems too heavy to carry?
I do not stand before you today pretending to know the answer to every one of those questions.
But I do know this:
God has not abandoned you.
He has not forgotten you.
He has not ceased loving you.
The same Lord Who stood beside Moses stands beside you.
The same Lord Who sustained Job sustains you.
The same Lord Who lifted Joseph from the pit is watching over you.
And the same Lord Who rose from the dead walks beside you even now.
Remember the holy disciples.
On Great and Holy Friday, they watched their Master betrayed, arrested, mocked, scourged, crucified, and laid in a tomb.
Everything they had hoped for seemed shattered.
Everything they believed seemed to be slipping away.
The Kingdom they expected did not appear.
The promises they had heard seemed impossible.
All they could see was death.
All they could see was defeat.
All they could see was a sealed tomb.
What they could not yet see was the empty tomb.
They could not yet see the stone rolled away.
They could not yet hear the angel proclaim, “Why seek ye the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen.”
They could not yet see the Risen Christ standing in their midst saying, “Peace be unto you.”
On Friday they saw the Cross.
On Sunday they saw the Resurrection.
On Friday they saw death.
On Sunday they saw Life Himself standing before them.
And so it is often in our own lives.
We stand on our Friday asking questions, while God is already preparing Pascha.
We stand before the Cross while God already sees the Resurrection.
We see the tomb.
He sees the empty tomb.
We see the tears.
He sees the joy that shall come in the morning.
We see the suffering.
He sees the glory that shall be revealed.
One day, perhaps in this life, or perhaps only in the Kingdom to come, we shall understand what today remains hidden.
But until then, we walk by faith and not by sight.
Faith is not pretending that everything makes sense.
Faith is not the absence of questions.
Faith is trusting God when we cannot yet see what He sees.
Faith is believing that Christ is present even when the darkness seems overwhelming.
Faith is believing that the tomb is not the end of the story.
For trust is not knowing why.
Trust is knowing Whom.
And even before the waters part…
Even before the prison doors open…
Even before the healing comes…
Even before the answer arrives…
Even before the stone is rolled away…
God is still God.
God is still good.
Christ is still risen.
Christ is still victorious.
And Christ is still with us.
To Him be glory, together with His Father Who is without beginning, and His All-Holy, Good, and Life-Creating Spirit, now and ever, and unto the ages of ages.
Amen.
