After my first child was born with multiple birth defects, a priest recommended that I read this book to help me deal with my grief. It is a collection of sermons written by John Claypool during the time his daughter’s painful illness and drawn out death. While I related intimately with Claypool, as his suffering was so similar to my own, I found that his sermons did me more harm than good. Reading them actually made me sick to my stomach and I waited patiently as I continued to read to find some message of hope in his words, but there was none. He actually seems to discourage trying to find any reason why or to seat our suffering in any larger context of understanding. Ultimately, it seems that he attributes the cause of the death of his daughter to God and finds comfort in focusing on gratitude for the gift of life. God gives life and arbitrarily takes it away and we should just be grateful that at least we got to experience some shadow of life, because we don’t have any right to life…it’s a gift. Claypool’s idea of God left me with the impression that God is the ultimate Indian giver, which really left me grieving in despair.
What I find even more troubling is what Claypool didn’t mention in his sermons; nothing about the frustrated and decaying world that we have inherited from Adam, nothing about how the victory of Jesus give’s us hope of an inheritance of a renewed and everlasting world, nothing about the need for forgiveness as a means of coping with grief, and nothing about the future resurrection of our bodies. As time has passed and I’ve learned how to grieve in hope, I have often thought of John Claypool and pitied him, because even with all of his Christian education and pastoral experience, he didn’t seem to ever make the connection between the gospel of Jesus Christ and his own personal struggles.
As such, this is probably one of the worst books I’ve ever read. Two better books that have helped me are Evil and the Justice of God and Surprised by Hope by NT Wright.