When I was a young pastor, a well-known preacher I had met crashed and died flying his small airplane for his ministry. Not long after, a man in my church pulled me aside and asked, “What sin do you reckon he committed for God to take him out like that?”

That question stung, not because I didn’t have words to answer, but because it revealed a way of thinking that many of us carry. We assume every tragedy must be tied to some hidden sin. We want someone to blame. We want to connect the dots and make life’s pain neat and tidy.

But that’s not how Jesus saw it.

The disciples saw the blind man and asked the question we all ask when bad things happen: “Who’s at fault?” Jesus answered with a redirect. It wasn’t about blame. It was about God’s purpose.

You see this pattern all through Scripture. Adam blamed Eve. Eve blamed the serpent. Job’s friends spent thirty chapters trying to convince him that his suffering was punishment. When the tower of Siloam fell in Luke 13 and killed 18 people, folks wanted to know if those who died were worse sinners. Jesus said no. In Acts 28, when a snake bit Paul, the islanders quickly decided he must be a murderer. When he survived, they just as quickly decided he must be a god. The human heart rushes to judgment.

But Jesus keeps leading us back to this: the question isn’t “Who sinned?” The better question is, “What is God doing in this?”

That truth changes everything. Life is not primarily about what happens to us. It’s about how we respond. We may not get explanations for why tragedies come, but we do get grace to carry us through them. And perspective. God’s works are displayed when we stop obsessing over the “why” and start asking, “How can I respond in faith?”

It also calls us to rest in God’s character. He is too wise to make a mistake and too loving to be unkind. Not every storm is sent to correct us. Many storms are sent to direct us. What looks like chaos to us is never outside His hand. Our trials are not accidents. They are appointments.

And most of all, we need to remember that suffering is not a sign of God’s absence, but often the very place of His presence. The blind man wasn’t abandoned. He was at the stage where God’s works were revealed. The real question in suffering isn’t “Why did this happen?” but “Who walks with me in this?” In Christ, even our darkest valleys become places of communion.

There is also a mystery. We may never have tidy answers to why certain things happen. Pain does not always come with an explanation, but it does come with a promise. God is shaping us like a sculptor working on stone. We feel the chisel, but He sees the finished beauty. What now feels unbearable will one day be outweighed by a glory so great it makes the present pain seem light and momentary.

When the preacher died in that crash, there was no secret sin to uncover. There was only grief, loss, and the need to lean hard into God’s presence. Sometimes, the only way to walk through pain is to quit asking “Why did this happen?” and begin asking, “What will God do through this?”

You may not get to choose what happens to you. But you can choose your response. You can choose despair, or you can choose trust. You can live in the blame game, or you can live in the grace game. You can fixate on questions, or you can rest in promises.

Jesus said,

That’s where our confidence rests, not in finding someone to blame, but in trusting the One who has already overcome.

This vessel bears the marks of time,A fragile frame, a fractured line.The world would call it marred, undone,Yet through the breaks, the light has come.

What once was hidden, sealed away,Now shines in glory’s bright display.Not strength of stone, nor flawless art,But treasure poured through broken parts.

O wondrous grace, that weakness tellsA greater story where mercy dwells.Not crushed by weight, nor lost in lack,For God is light through every crack.

So let the fissures show and gleam,The Potter works through what may seemToo weak to stand, too scarred to mend.In brokenness, His power bends.