From the beginning of time, humankind has grappled with the question of God’s intent in times of crisis. Does he inflict suffering? Allow it? Endorse it? Order it to teach us a lesson? Mandate it to mature us in our faith? Ignore it?
More than the questions about the biology of reproduction, our bodies, medical procedures, or even how to process grief, how to share the news with friends and family, or how to know if what we’re feeling is normal, the questions tangled up in our faith can be the most debilitating.
Have you ever found yourself asking God something like this?
“Why would you let this happen?”
“Don’t you care about me?”
“Why didn’t you save my baby?”
“Why would you give me a baby and then take him away?”
Perhaps you’ve wrestled with similar questions. Or perhaps you’ve kept them under lock and key because you felt like whispering them aloud would be akin to admitting you’re unsure of God’s goodness or his love. Maybe you’re afraid your faith isn’t as strong as it “should” be.
While I won’t spend chapters unpacking the issue of Is God to blame for our suffering? (though I do list resources for further study in appendix F), I would be remiss not to address this elephant of a question, squished here into the room we share.
He Gives and Takes Away—Are You Sure?
If you have pointed questions and loaded conclusions about God’s involvement in your suffering, you aren’t alone.
Listen to Naomi:
Things are far more bitter for me than for you, because the LORD himself has raised his fist against me. (Ruth 1:13)
“Don’t call me Naomi,” she responded. “Instead, call me Mara,1 for the Almighty has made life very bitter for me. I went away full, but the LORD has brought me home empty. Why call me Naomi when the LORD has caused me to suffer and the Almighty has sent such tragedy upon me?” (vv. 20–21)
Job might set the gold standard for the tough questions and pointed accusations he leveled at God (not surprisingly, considering all he lost and endured):
The LORD gave me what I had,
and the LORD has taken it away.
Praise the name of the LORD! (Job 1:21)
I am innocent,
but it makes no difference to me—
I despise my life.
Innocent or wicked, it is all the same to God.
That’s why I say, “He destroys both the blameless and the wicked.”
he laughs at the death of the innocent.
The whole earth is in the hands of the wicked,
and God blinds the eyes of the judges.
If he’s not the one who does it, who is? (9:21–24)
I was living quietly until he shattered me.
He took me by the neck and broke me in pieces. . . .
Again and again he smashes against me,
charging at me like a warrior. (16:12, 14)
I cry to you, O God, but you don’t answer.
I stand before you, but you don’t even look.
You have become cruel toward me.
You use your power to persecute me.
You throw me into the whirlwind
and destroy me in the storm. (30:20–22)
Throughout the centuries, Christians have praised the psalmists for their emotional honesty. Listen to a few examples from the psalms.
David said:
O LORD, how long will you forget me? Forever?
How long will you look the other way?
How long must I struggle with anguish in my soul,
with sorrow in my heart every day? (Ps. 13:1–2)
In Psalm 44 the descendants of Korah let loose a barrage of accusations, accusing God of tossing them aside (v. 9), butchering them like sheep (v. 11), and covering them with darkness and death (v. 19). The psalm then continues:
Wake up, O Lord! Why do you sleep?
Get up! Do not reject us forever!
Why do you look the other way?
Why do you ignore our suffering and oppression?
(vv. 23–24)
The prophet Habakkuk also takes his turn:
How long, O LORD, must I call for help?
But you do not listen!
“Violence is everywhere!” I cry,
but you do not come to save.
Must I forever see these evil deeds?
Why must I watch all this misery? (Hab. 1:2–3)
Now, to be fair, this is a sampling plucked out of scripture, so we need to remember these are pulled from the stories that give them context. But my point here is to show you we have always questioned God (yes, even the faithful saints who’ve gone before us, whom we hail as heroes of the faith). Throughout the centuries we have ascribed malicious intent to and cast blame on God when grasping to make sense of the chaos around us. We’ve wondered why he seems silent and have assumed that meant absent. We’ve been baffled over why he didn’t intervene to heal, deliver, or change a desperate situation. We’ve felt abandoned, forgotten, and uncared for. We’ve even accused him of orchestrating (or specifically allowing) some of the very things that have caused us—and dare I say him—gut-wrenching pain. (Like our miscarriages?) We’ve forgotten his job description, which is to give life, and have, at times, credited him with the work of the enemy of our soul, which is to steal, kill, and destroy.2
I realize examining these scriptures—and God’s role in suffering or how his will and humankind’s free will plays out—might feel challenging, perhaps even confrontational. These are not easy theological concepts to grapple with. But as you consider these passages, keep in mind that all of these examples are people who loved and served God. All of them explicitly praise him even in the midst of their suffering. (Paul reminds us of the importance of this in Romans 5:3–6, exhorting us to let pain and suffering become our teacher and to receive God’s sacrificial love even there as we learn.) Bear in mind these heroes were also human: They praised and accused, sometimes in the same breath.
Even When We’re Wrong
Here’s something we must seriously consider: What if these accusations we level at God—you’re butchering me like a sheep, forgetting me, taking me by the neck and breaking me in pieces, laughing at innocent death, destroying my home and family and livelihood—aren’t true? What if they are included in the Bible so we can see the history of God’s people in all its gruesome detail? What if God treasures our emotional integrity and willingness to bare our whole selves before him even when we’re wrong? What if he’s confident his kindness can lead us to repentance when we’ve misjudged him?3 (We see an amazing example of repentance in Job 42, when Job realizes how wrong he was about God in his earlier accusations about God’s role in his demise.)
What if God is trying to demonstrate to us how normal it is to feel what we feel, and to let our best questions rip, while also showing us how to proclaim his faithfulness, continue to trust him, and ultimately allow him the space to incarnate himself into our mess and bring about a rebirth from within it? What if the whole Bible is about making broken things whole, answering the problem of suffering with the hope of glory, and exchanging the sorrow of death for abundant life?
What if it’s a redemption story after all?
God is in the business of making all things new. This is always the point.
He doesn’t prescribe pain and suffering for some mysterious greater good, or to teach us a lesson, or to shape us into better versions of ourselves like a mother sneaking broccoli into her child’s spaghetti sauce. He is not manipulative and he will never abuse his power. He doesn’t exploit our vulnerability or trick us into growth—a bait and switch, swapping bread for stone behind our backs.4 He takes dead things and makes them alive. He heals wounds. He binds up the darkness. He inspires hope. He gives his life for ours, because that’s exactly what love looks like.5
Our Honesty Gives Him a Chance to Set the Record Straight
And in case you’re still hesitant, here’s where I want you to lean in close, sister, and consider the words of one more person from the Bible. Listen to what Jesus cried during his darkest moment:
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? (Matt. 27:46 ESV)
This word forsaken means “abandoned, rejected, despised.” We can imagine it said this way: My God, why have you abandoned me? What did I do to deserve this rejection? Do you despise me? Hate me?
This, coming from within the Trinity, from Jesus to the Father. This, coming from a man intimately acquainted with humanity and divinity, bridging the divide for us all. Yes, even this man still leveled with the Father. He spilled out his guts to him before spilling them for us—what trust, what hope, what love he demonstrated!
My point, again, is this: God is not threatened by our difficult, pointed questions. He’s not disappointed by our humanity—our doubts, fears, anger, confusion, or despair. He can handle it all, even our accusations, knowing they don’t automatically cancel out our belief in, or commitment to, him.
God loves our honesty because it gives him a chance to set the record straight.
As you wade through grief, remember this: Your grief—your emotions, your questions, your mess—none of it is “too much” for God. Like a mother longs to gather her hurting child into her arms, so God wants to gather you into his.6 He’s not offended or surprised by your human response to grief and suffering; he simply wants to be born into it and through it. Your humility to approach him exactly as you are releases his grace over your life.7 He is present to help you.
Writing Purpose into Our Pain
While I don’t believe God orchestrates suffering or death, scripture makes it abundantly clear that he can and will employ every means possible to bring about good in our lives from it. Remember Romans 8:28, which we unpacked in chapter 6? “We know that in everything God works for good with those who love him, who are called according to his purpose” (Rom. 8:28 RSV, emphasis mine).
He brings about good from any situation with us. He didn’t take our three babies so we could welcome our youngest son, Micah, into the world, though it’s true he wouldn’t exist had we not miscarried Scarlett, Oliver, and Ruby. (And obviously we’re profoundly thankful for Micah’s life.) But God doesn’t take a life in order to give a life; he’s the author of life, the source of life, the resurrector of life. He’s a miracle worker, always taking what was intended for evil and turning it around for good. We see this repeated many times throughout the Bible, but chiefly we see it in Jesus himself.
Jesus’s crucifixion was a sacrifice of love, but its origin was our doing—our sin, our rebellion, our inability to recognize him as the Messiah. And yet even there, among the consequences of humanity’s sin, Jesus was working toward God’s ultimate, overarching will: the reconciliation of all things, the kingdom of heaven that cannot be thwarted, the new city the apostle John speaks of where there will be no tears and no more suffering in the age to come.8
The very thing that was meant to destroy him became our deliverance. Astounding.
The suffering of the cross became the pathway to freedom. Breathtaking.
The evil and injustice and agony of the crucifixion became our doorway to abundant life. Staggering.
His is a story of grace like Scarlett—the stuff of an upside-down kingdom, foolish things confounding the wise, and dead things becoming alive. No mind could comprehend this kind of revolutionary love that would enter something evil and transform it into something powerful enough to redeem the darkest soul—resurrection of the dead, joy from mourning. The crucifixion was never God’s original design; it was his redemption plan.
Friend, suffering was not his design for you either, but he’ll use it as a pathway for redemption. It’s what he does—he makes broken things whole; he makes dead things come alive. God’s sovereign promise to us is this: He has the final word.
For I am God, and there is no other;
I am God, and there is none like me,
declaring the end from the beginning
and from ancient times things not yet done,
saying, “My counsel shall stand,
and I will accomplish all my purpose.”
(Isa. 46:9–10 ESV)
Nothing Will Be Wasted
Jesus is in the business of tear-wiping, of making all things new, of lighting up the dark places, and of stomping out death, bringing beauty from ashes, and making broken hearts whole. He will turn your Scarlett into his grace. The gospel is such good news.
The truth is, he hasn’t forsaken you. He hasn’t abandoned you. He’s not some cruel taskmaster or sneaky manipulator orchestrating tragedy in your life in order to teach you a lesson or mature your faith. He takes no delight in our suffering, but he does promise to fellowship with us there and grow us more into his likeness, embracing the opportunity to teach and mature us. This is God’s miraculous ability to write purpose into our pain when it inevitably comes.
Amazing.
So, friend, please don’t let false notions of who God is cause you to lose your trust in him. A. W. Tozer said, “What comes into our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us.”9 Our view of God changes everything. It affects the way we see ourselves, the world, and life itself.
Will you let your hardest questions lead you closer to the Lord? You might feel a sense of injustice that makes you stand and rage, or perhaps you feel a crushing sadness that sends you back to your knees. Whatever you feel, will you let him answer with his goodness and show you what he’s really like? You will never make a better investment in your life than time spent discovering who God is. He is beautiful, he is Love, and he can be found.
Part V
Invitation
Journal Prompt: Write a letter to God and include all of your Big Questions. Let ’em rip. Yes, he knows them already, but he longs for the sort of relationship where you hold nothing back from him—total transparency. He wants your whole heart, and this includes your willingness to be vulnerable and be fully known in his presence. Don’t sugarcoat your doubts, fears, confusion, or accusations. Like Job, Naomi, and David, get them all out in the open, if you haven’t already. Follow the example of Jesus: He asked the Father his anguished question (“Why have you forsaken me?”) and then committed his spirit into God’s hands.10 Jesus questioned and he trusted—God invites us to do the same.