Does Everything Happen for a Reason?

By Sarah Grandfield-Connors

Everything happens for a reason, people often claim. When I lost my daughter, this became a most hated response to my grief. What reason was there for the pain I was feeling? What rationale could be applied to my grief as I viewed her body in its tiny casket?

Everything happens for a reason isn’t a balm to the mourning heart. It’s a harsh truth that no one wants to acknowledge. It goes to the core of what each of us believes about theology, Lutheran or not. All humans wonder about the afterlife, and we’d like to think that whatever answer we come up with is based on our intellectual reasoning. In that sense, we all can conceptualize that everything does indeed happen for a reason, no matter what our belief system. It’s the deep philosophy behind this fact that causes us to avoid dwelling on it.

As my grief unfolded and deeply took root during my second year of mourning, I found myself unable to rationalize much of anything. I began to avoid God. I was angry. I stopped attending church on a regular basis. We Lutherans are very big on music, and since music is so soul stirring, it was difficult for me to read the words in my hymnal and hear the voices around me sing out about God’s truth. I didn’t want to hear the truth; I wanted my baby back.

I finally did begin attending church regularly again after I had moved and found a new LCMS church close by. This church was very different than the one I had previously attended, which had been a modern church with a praise band and had featured sermons which were preached in a very motivational speaking style.

This new pastor’s preaching style was “oldfashioned” and wordy. Each sermon was rich with information I could bring home and mull over. There was an organ and a choir that sang only traditional hymns. The service was reverent, and when the institution of the Sacrament began, the sanctuary was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. This was comforting to my broken heart. The constant “sameness” of each Sunday was healing and reassuring. The order of service was the same one we had used in my childhood church, and being a part of this Lutheran liturgy was like coming home.

I became more involved in the church and made friends with members of the church, inviting them into my life in person and via social media.

Then it happened.

On a social media platform I posted an image which said, “Not everything happens for a reason.” I received a message from my new pastor explaining that, in fact, all things do happen for a reason.

I fired off an angry response. That dreaded notion had reared its head again when I thought I had finally found some solace. I didn’t want to believe that everything happened for a reason, because that would mean I would have to accept my child’s death on God’s terms.

As the days went by, I dwelled on this conversation. I wavered. I thought about leaving the church once again. I wondered if I would ever be able to love church again. I pondered over whether I would ever be able to sing hymns without feeling such deep sorrow.

I loved and needed Church so much, however, that “everything happens for a reason” began to work its way into my mind. I had a choice: it was either accept this as a truth, or turn my back on my faith.

As I continued attending services, I watched colors and seasons change. Children were baptized, families buried their loved ones, and each Sunday our pastor was there preaching the Gospel—never wavering in his convictions, quietly answering most of the questions in my heart during the sermons. In this church I began to comprehend that everything does happen for a reason. I have been a lifelong Lutheran (with a few forays into other Christian belief systems as a young woman), but I used to tell people I wasn’t a Christian until I lost my daughter. The concept of “every knee shall bow” hits home when you hold your dead child in your arms, but this was not the beginning of my Christianity, like I thought—just the beginning of my true understanding of the Law and the Gospel.

I suffered because I had been keeping my entire focus on the Law. The despair of loss made me forget the promise of the Gospel: the promise of life. I almost stopped at my suffering, validating the Law as the means of my salvation.

I understand now that my daughter’s death did happen for a reason. After all, we live in a sinful, fallen world. Death is our evidence of this fact. We cannot escape it. It is a constant reminder of our failings as human beings. Yet because I have been so well catechized, I have learned to focus not just on the Law, but also on the Gospel. Within a richer context, I understand that death is not the end, and so this has allowed me to accept my child’s death. This is a monumental admission. Very few families ever reach the point of acceptance. I see so many women suffering, and I grieve for their losses, not just of their children but of the faith they barely held onto before their losses.

My baptism secured the Gospel promise for me. Regular attendance at church and weekly communion allow me to consistently receive God’s gifts and feed my wavering faith. Emphasis on liturgical worship and its focus on different seasons reminds me of life changes we all go through; the liturgy reminds me that there will be times of deep grief and times of great joy.

It has been almost six years since my daughter died. I am able to sing with my fellow worshippers, and instead of feeding sorrow, the hymns bring me a deep and abiding comfort. I am so grateful for my Lutheran church, which teaches me that bodily death is an inevitability but also reminds me that, by the grace of God, I have been baptized into new life and there is a resurrection to come. And it is the same for you, no matter what losses you have experienced or have yet to face. Jesus’ death and resurrection happened for a reason, too: to bring you forgiveness and salvation!

Sarah Grandfield-Connors is a wife, mother of four and founder of limbbodywallcomplex.net, a pro-life, diagnosis specific website which supports parents who continue their pregnancy after receiving the same lethal diagnosis which took her daughter, Beatrix.