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There are three rooms in the city of Raleigh, and though they are different in size and shape, they have one thing in common. The three rooms are located in three hospitals. They are intensive care waiting rooms.

Let me describe one of these rooms. It is on the second floor of the Wake Medical Center. Surrounding it are three units: cardiac care, surgical intensive care, maximum intensive care. A lot of us have seen the inside of that waiting room. It is divided into small seating areas, so that the concerned people who are there have some degree of privacy. There is a coffee urn and a telephone, and vending machines that dispense candy, Cokes, sandwiches, and other food items. Over in one section toward the back of the room there are sofas and chairs around a television set -- an attempt to divert immediate thoughts to fantasy.

Let's imagine that we are in that intensive care waiting room. It is late at night. The visiting hours are over. It's quiet. All day long families have huddled in the corners of that room, exchanging stories of how relatives are doing, expressing hope, listening to a doctor, breaking down in grief.

The business of the day is over. We are there keeping vigil, waiting for the latest word on a loved one's condition. The doctors and nurses will not be coming in to give reports until the next morning, unless there is a drastic change, maybe death.

So we curl upon a couch and try to drift off to sleep. Our mind begins to wander. Why? Why, God? Why this pain for my loved one, for me? Why does he have to die this way? What about the little girl in the bed next to his? It is such a nice young family, why do they have to suffer? God, if only you could tell me why, maybe I would live with all the pain and agony and heartache.

There are thousands of those kinds of waiting rooms. And that's only one situation in thousands about which we may ask the same question, "Why?" If only I could personally see God and ask him, then maybe I could accept this situation and go on. "God, give me a reason, and maybe I'll be content!"

Today we are facing one of the oldest questions that humankind has asked: "God, why did you do that? Why is there so much suffering in the world? Why is there calamity? Why are there accidents? Why do we have pain and disappointment?"

In order to face those questions, along with some others, we are, during Lent this year, attempting to compare the struggles and difficulties of the Old Testament figure Job with the agony and suffering of Jesus.

Last week we saw how both of these men faced the reality of where they were in life. Neither of them denied what was happening to them, nor did they veneer their sufferings with some kind of sunshine theology.

Job had lost everything: his property, his servants, his children. He lost the support of his wife and his friends. And finally, he lost his health. His questions were very simply put. Why, God? Why did you allow me to be born in the first place? Why didn't I die at birth? If my life was going to be so hopeless and useless, why did you ever let me live? Why should anyone who is to suffer ever be born? Why is life given to people who find it so bitter? Job sat on his ash heap and he screamed for a reason why.

It was Thursday night, after he had shared the evening meal with his twelve disciples, that Jesus went to a secluded spot in a city park. And he did as Job had done as he sat on his ash heap. "Why? Why a cross? Is this the only way?" In the rock opera, Jesus Christ, Superstar (Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice), Jesus asks some questions in the "Gethsemane" number: "Why should I die? Would I be more noticed than I ever was before? Would the things I've said and done matter anymore? Can you show me now that I would not be killed in vain?"

For three years Jesus had been proclaiming the good news of God's kingdom. He had settled in his own mind, right at the beginning of his ministry, that the kind of kingdom he was bringing would not be a popular one. It would not satisfy all our worldly desires. It would not be a magical kind of thing that would protect us from real life, but would throw us in the midst of life. It would not add prestige and power, and would make us servants instead of masters.

But Jesus kept hoping and praying that his words, his way of life, his relationships, his openness, his integrity would convince the world of the reality and eternity of God's kingdom. His ash heaps piled up: rejection by his hometown folk, trick questions by the religious authorities, accusations that were unfounded, the uneasy feeling that even his closest friends didn't trust him, and the pain that one of them would witness against him for a measly sum of money.

Jesus knew from the beginning of his ministry what the results would be. He told a band of followers three times that there would be plots against his life and that those who sought to kill him would be successful.

Job sat on that ash heap and wept because of all that he had lost. It was a painful thing for him. He never blamed God for his going bankrupt, or losing his children, or being rejected by his wife and his friends. But from that ash heap he did scream for a reason why all this tragedy had come about. Why, God? Why was I born if all this was in store? Why did you ever let me live if my life was going to be hopeless and useless?

On that Thursday night, just before he was arrested and crucified, Jesus did as Job did from his ash heap. He screamed for a reason why. He knew in the darkness of Gethsemane as he prayed that the bitter cup of defeat might pass from him. He cried out for a reason why.

All these questions -- the ones we ask, the ones Job asked, the ones Jesus asked -- can be embarrassing questions because we believe in a good God. We believe that God is love. This is the message of the New Testament from beginning to end: God is love.

The idea of a loving God and the reality of our suffering, of Job's agony, or Jesus' crucifixion just don't seem to go together. So, how do we answer these screams for understanding? Why is there suffering in the world? Why did Job go through such agony? Why was God's Son crucified?

We have a devastating habit of using the phrase, "It is God's will." We do it because that is what we have been taught, and too often taught by the church. We develop the habit of declaring it to be God's will because we have thought that's the way to endure disaster, tragedy, suffering, sorrow. It's a kind of brave fatalism to say, "God's will is being done."

I have had trouble with this concept all my life. I still have trouble with it whenever I hear someone trying to comfort a grief-stricken person by saying, "It was God's will."

I was a teenager during the Second World War. My scoutmaster was inducted into the army. Within two years the news came that Clyde had been killed in action. That's when the war became a reality for me. In my memory I can still recall hearing some well-intended people tell his young wife and his parents that "it was the will of God and you must accept it." I was revolted at that suggestion, for to me Clyde's death may have been the will of Adolf Hitler or Benito Mussolini, but certainly not the will of God.

Pick up the daily newspaper. The headline reads: "Grandstand collapses. Dozens are killed." Is that tragedy the will of God? An investigation of the accident reveals that a greedy promoter oversold the tickets, and thus overloaded the seating. Further investigation showed that a greedy contractor cut corners on the necessary reinforcement of the bleachers in order to make more money. God did not will for the grandstand to collapse. The suffering was the result of greed on the part of both the promoter and the contractor.

Practically every day we hear of automobile accidents. Thousands lose their lives this way. Is the will of God that people die in these accidents? No, most of the time it is the result of human error: rebellion against wearing seat belts, rebellion against speeding laws, rebellion against the rule, "don't drink and drive."

The will of God is not to be found in disaster or tragedy!

Was it God's will that Jesus be crucified? That's a really touchy question when we have been told that he was sent to die for our sins. Maybe we need to ask some other questions that should come first.

Was it the will of God that the Pharisees hate Jesus with such bitterness? Their hatred was a selfish thing. They feared the loss of place and power if people believed in Jesus as the Messiah. They feared that the truths he taught would really make people free. Did God will that the Pharisees be bitter?

Was it the will of God or the cowardliness of Pilate that allowed the crucifixion? Pilate's weakness left him unwilling to risk an honest judgment. His sick ambition to retain power made him submit to the demands of the crowd. When his duty called for him to be courageous, his selfishness led him to a decision that was less costly.

We cannot understand the cross of Christ or begin to probe the will of God until we comprehend God's gift of moral freedom. Long ago, before the world got started, God made a gallant gamble, took a chance with his creation. He breathed the breath of life into human beings, gave us a world to live in, minds with which to think, spirits with which to dream, wills with which to decide. And then God limited his power. He set us free. Wonder of wonders, he gave us the right to be wrong. Without that right there could be no virtue, no integrity, no courage, no faith, no character. Thus God did not send Jesus to the cross. It was the jealousy of the Pharisees, the weakness of Pilate, and the folly of the crowd that sent him to die.

But God took the cross and used it. If the words and deeds of Jesus could not save us from our willfulness, if the daily ministry of love could not overcome our cantankerousness, then maybe a cross could awaken our dull souls.

God took the cross of Jesus, which was fashioned to destroy God's dream, and used it for his purpose. He took a thing of cruelty and hatred and made it symbolize the noblest things we can know.

It is not the will of God that there be suffering. It was not the will of God that Job be thrown on the ash heap. It was not the will of God that Jesus be crucified. None of the agonies of the world are the will of God. But in the midst of them God calls: "Look up, and lift up your heads. My will is redemption, not disaster. My will is goodness, not evil. I will for you peace and joy. And my Son has shown you the way. Even from the cross, the way has been shown."