A mother weeps beside the dead body of her son at a chapel in the aftermath of Typhoon Haiyan in Tacloban. She cried bringing him into this world; screamed in frustration as she nurtured him; and now weeps as her hand caresses his cold, lifeless cheek. Her heart is broken; the grief overwhelming. The wooden cross on the distant wall is utterly unapproachable.

Multiply this mourning by 10,000, and add countless millions who are now homeless, jobless and without food or clean water, struggling to survive after what is believed to be the most devastating natural disaster in recorded history. The photographs pierce the heart: the catastrophe, destruction and havoc are unimaginable. Wives have lost their husbands, and husbands sob their hearts out at the loss of their soul-mates. Thousands of children have been orphaned. Lawless hordes are looting. Bodies are rotting in the streets.

Like the suffering Job, some will be pleading to God, asking “Why?”

But this is not a time for theodicy. The whole creation is groaning, as in the pains of childbirth. Life is a tragedy: it is one bitter problem followed by another; a day of trauma followed by a week of anguish followed by a month of sorrow and a year of unbearable pain. And then, at last, you die.

We can reflect and pray: the Archbishop of Canterbury leads the way.

Read the whole thing and then act. Cranmer describes living in a broken world like it is. You have the chance to be the eyes, ears, voice, and heart of Jesus. Consider donating the the Anglican Relief and Development Fund by clicking here.