Jesus didn't 'take the wheel' when my daughter died

Carrie Underwood released a hit song, “Jesus, Take the Wheel” about a distracted mother, ruminating over her troubled life while speeding in her car on Christmas Eve, with her baby in the back seat, when the car went out of control. The mother threw her hands up in the air and shouted, “Jesus take the wheel.” Both she and her baby survived the accident, unscathed. Deeply moved by the divine intervention, and the realization that the out-of-control car reflected her out-of-control life, she prayed to God to give her one more chance to change and save her from the road she was on. This conversion experience may have changed her life for the better and forever; we do not know for certain, but this story continues to be heard and told year after year.

I have heard similar stories from 12-Step participants, church folk, spiritual but not religious types, politicians, and many others; all seeming to say that a supernatural entity’s divine intervention proved not only that God exists, but also that they were spared as a special person, for a special reason to some day be revealed.

But Jesus did not take the wheel of the vehicle in which my 6-year-old daughter, Maya, died as the result of a stupid act by a negligent driver. The driver survived virtually unscathed and unpunished, but my daughter did not. Did the negligent driver claim divine intervention because their life was spared? Did my daughter’s death prove that she was less special or blessed because her life was not?

I never question the experiences of those with heartfelt Jesus-took-the-wheel stories. I don’t want to put the kibosh on anyone’s epiphany or trifle with their assurance of divine intervention on behalf of themselves or their loved ones. But my dead daughter is no less special or blessed than those still living.

The unjust death of my daughter actually deepened my relationship with the God of my understanding. When I was younger, I assumed that if I was a good boy, then God would certainly put gold stars on my report card. When I grew older, I became a good man and a good parent, leading a good life. And then, one day, through no fault of my own, I experienced every parent’s worst nightmare. A few days later, my daughter’s body was as cold as the earth she was buried in.

But still, I accept and believe, God doesn’t owe me anything. God’s love cannot be earned because it is freely given. My faith is not contingent on a miracle occurring on my behalf. I am made stronger by becoming better able to bear witness to the many burdens my earthly siblings share. Being smitten or spared, victorious or defeated, are the blessings and indignities bestowed on anyone who has ever drawn a breath. Blessings are not bragging points. Horrible tragedies befall devout Christian ministers such as I, and devout atheists such as somebody else. So be it.

Back to the hit song, “Jesus, Take the Wheel”: Where, then, was Jesus when my daughter rolled six times in a car and died in 2005? Years of painful contemplation, outrage, longing and doubt led me to believe that if Jesus was anywhere — he was not in the car as an on-demand chauffeur. He was there loving and comforting my daughter and weeping. I do not ask or pray for my will to be done. I offer thanks for the gift of strength, vulnerability, and humility necessary to accept life on life’s terms, whatever they may be.

This guest essay reflects the views of Dwight Lee Wolter, author of “The Gospel of Loneliness” and several other books, and the pastor of the Congregational Church of Patchogue on Long Island.