A Man Called Otto: Good Hidden Under Apparent Evil - Lutheran (Romans 8:28)

In the heart of a quiet neighborhood, where the sound of laughter mingles with the rustle of leaves, lived Otto—a man whose world was painted in hues of gray. He had lost his wife, and grief draped over him like a heavy shroud. Day after day, he sat on his front porch, staring out into the street, convinced that life had dealt him a cruel hand. To Otto, the sun barely rose; it merely trudged across the sky, a reluctant participant in his sorrow.

But unbeknownst to him, just behind the veil of his desolation, God was orchestrating a symphony of grace through the very neighbors he deemed bothersome. There was Marisol, the energetic woman next door, who constantly knocked on his door with homemade cookies, her laughter echoing like a melody he couldn’t yet hear. And then there were the children playing in the yard, their joyous squeals piercing through Otto's fortress of grief, beckoning him to join their world of innocence and joy.

This is where the theology of the cross becomes profoundly personal. Romans 8:28 whispers a promise that can feel like a distant echo when all we see is devastation: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him.” God works sub contrario—beneath the surface of our trials, weaving together a tapestry of redemption that we cannot yet perceive.

Just as Otto learned to embrace the interruptions—those moments he once saw as annoyances—he began to awaken to the truth that healing often walks hand in hand with suffering. Faith, my friends, is the lens through which we begin to see the good hidden amid the ashes. In the depth of our darkest nights, when we cannot trace the patterns of God’s work, we must trust that good is indeed coming, even if it’s cloaked in unexpected forms. So, let us lean in together, trusting that God’s hand is at work, weaving our stories into something beautiful, even when we can’t yet see it.