I’ll never forget the day I yelled at God.
I was in seminary, and I had recently lost my sister, Therese, and my brother-in-law, Joe, to death by suicide on the same day. This came years after my brother, Tom, had died by suicide when I was in eighth grade. I was hurting, I was angry and I had no idea why God let all of this suffering take place.
At the time, I was studying at the University of San Diego. I went for a walk in my unrest and found myself at a large, empty field that overlooks Mission Bay.
“When am I ever going to find some peace, Lord? Why are you permitting all of this mental health stuff in my family?” I was yelling, but more than that I was begging the Lord for peace. “Grant me peace, Lord. Please…”
I didn’t hear a response, and I sure did not understand. But I trusted, and I went on to finish my studies and was soon ordained a priest.
Fast forward about 30 years when I received an unexpected phone call asking if I would accept the role as Auxiliary Bishop for the Diocese of San Diego. Never did I think I would be a bishop! After I said yes, I walked over to the University of San Deigo. I wasn’t really thinking, just wandering, when I stopped. Looking around, I realized this was the exact same spot where the empty field was the day I had yelled at God.
Only it wasn’t an empty field anymore.
In that very place I had begged for peace decades before now stood a huge building called the Joan B. Kroc School of Peace Studies. There were also two statues: one that looked like a bishop and one of St. Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of peace.
I knew God was saying something to me on that first day I was named a bishop. “I have plans that you cannot see, John. I have been bringing good out of this immense suffering all along.”
There is still such a mystery to His plan and that fact that out of everyone God could have chosen, He plucked me of all people out of a normal family in California to become a bishop and to begin an Office of Mental Health Ministry in the Diocese of Phoenix — a ministry that has since reached across the U.S. and around the world, including the Vatican, becoming its own sort of “school of peace.”
God answered my prayer in that empty field in a much bigger way than I ever could have imagined.
Whatever suffering or lack of understanding you’re going through in this season, I encourage you to stand at the edge of your own empty field — whether that’s a hospital bed you’re suffering in, a stack of unpaid bills on the kitchen counter or a huge business deal that just fell through.
Cry out to the Lord, yell from your heart and know that He sees you.
Even if you can’t perceive it yet, God has a great plan for your empty field. As you look out over the seemingly hopeless expanse, have peace as you hear Him speak these words to you by name: “I have plans that you cannot see. I have been bringing good out of this immense suffering all along.”
