How Can You Believe in a God Who Allows Suffering? Part 1: Setting the Stage

Where has God been the last two years?

• Millions of people around the world have died from COVID

• Millions more have suffered from the virus

• Millions have lost their jobs

• Mental and emotional distress has increased exponentially

• George Floyd was murdered by a police officer on his neck

• American citizens tried to overthrow the US Government

• Afghanistan has fallen once again into the hands of the Taliban

And that doesn’t include ongoing poverty, homelessness, people killed by drunk drivers, and the growing chasm between the have and the have nots!

If God is a loving God, why does God allow all of this suffering? Why doesn’t God put an end to it? Why doesn’t God intervene? Where has God been?

That question, along with the Hell question, presents one of the biggest stumbling blocks to faith and has done so since humans could ask questions.

In times of chaos, upheaval, and suffering we all look for something to make sense of it all—to bring meaning to the meaninglessness of it all.

And for people of faith the search for meaning begins with God (and that holds true even for those who don’t consider themselves religious).

There are generally two go-to responses to the question of suffering:

The first is the-God-is-control answer.  One of the common encouragements used to bring some hope in the midst of hardship is: Don’t worry. God’s got this. God is still in control!

For example, consider this word of hope from social media:

Sorry to break up the big panic, but the coronavirus will not take anyone outta this world unless that’s the good Lord’s plan. And you’re not gonna change that no matter what you do or what you buy. 

In other words, none of this is beyond God’s control.

But… if this is what God-is-in-control looks like, what does it looks like when God isn’t in control?!

This view of a God who has everything under control pictures God as a master puppeteer. Think Geppetto with Pinocchio, controlling and manipulating every move at every moment of every day; pulling the strings of human interactions, circumstances, and world events.

But when we dig down into that view of God, we find that it makes God responsible for all of the death, violence, chaos, and loss that we all experience in life. It makes God responsible for pandemics and cancer and divorce and suicide and car accidents and poverty and war and the Holocaust, etc.

If that’s what God is like, no wonder people want nothing to do with God!

The second response is the same as the first, but rather than fixing suffering onto God to bring hope, suffering is blamed on God in order to dismiss God altogether. How can a loving God allow suffering?

The argument goes something like this:

• God is all-powerful so can prevent suffering.

• God is good and loving so you would imagine God would want to eliminate suffering.

• But suffering exists so God is not all powerful or good or loving.  

And with no seemingly viable answer those questions, many people either abandon the faith or give up on the possibility of a God before even getting started with the questions.

But when we dig deeper into this second view, we also have some unresolved issues.

Let’s take God out of the equation for a moment. Many people who simply can’t believe in God because they can’t believe in a loving God who allows suffering, still have the problem of suffering.

Suffering doesn’t go away if we give up on God.

So how then do we explain it or come to terms with it?

Here’s atheist Richard Dawkins on suffering and evil:

The total amount of suffering per year in the natural world is beyond all decent contemplation. During the minute that it takes me to compose this sentence, thousands of animals are being eaten alive, many others are running for their lives, whimpering with fear, others are slowly being devoured from within by rasping parasites, thousands of all kinds are dying of starvation, thirst, and disease. It must be so. If there ever is a time of plenty, this very fact will automatically lead to an increase in the population until the natural state of starvation and misery is restored. In a universe of electrons and selfish genes, blind physical forces and genetic replication, some people are going to get hurt, other people are going to get lucky, and you won't find any rhyme or reason in it, nor any justice. The universe that we observe has precisely the properties we should expect if there is, at bottom, no design, no purpose, no evil, no good, nothing but pitiless indifference. (River out of Eden: A Darwinian View of Life)

If Dawkins is right, if life is chance or pitiless indifference, where does that leave us?

But what if it’s true that God’s love and suffering are related, but not in the way we’re often taught?

What if a loving God speaks to suffering, to this seemingly pitiless indifference, not in the way we think God should, but in the way we need God to? Does suffering automatically prove that God isn’t loving or powerful? That God doesn’t exist?

More to come next time.

You can connect with me at Tim@TimWrightMinistries.org

The Trouble with God. Part 1

The God of the Old Testament is arguably the most unpleasant character in all fiction: jealous and proud of it; a petty, unjust, unforgiving control-freak; a vindictive, bloodthirsty ethnic cleanser; a misogynistic, homophobic, racist, infanticidal, genocidal, filicidal, pestilential, megalomaniacal, sadomasochistic, capriciously malevolent bully.
― Richard Dawkins, The God Delusion

Wow! I’m with Dawkins. Who would want to believe in a God like that?

“If God is all loving, and all powerful, why is there evil in the world? Can he not do anything about it. Does he choose not to? Is the evil in the world the result of his desire to give us free will? Ok then, what about famine and disease and floods and all the suffering that isn’t caused by humans and our free will? If God is loving, why does he send people to hell?”  --Jon Steingard, Hawk Nelson.

If that’s what God is like, no wonder Christians are jumping ship. No wonder people want nothing to do with God.

This is the view many Christians and non-Christians alike have of God.

But… this God is nothing like the God of Jesus.

Jesus painted many pictures of God through his parables, actions, and death and resurrection. But perhaps the most shocking, radical, and dare I write, reckless, picture of God is found in Jesus’ story of the Father and his two sons.

(My thanks to Kenneth Bailey for his insights into this story.)

In Luke 15, responding to criticism from the religious elite that he spends too much time with the wrong kinds of people, Jesus tells a story in two parts. He uses this two-part story to show us what God is like.

The first part centers on a rebellious younger brother:

One day the younger son approaches his dad to ask for his inheritance early. In Jesus’ day, that very request was scandalous. In essence the son was saying: Dad, I wish you were dead. I’d rather have your money than live any longer with you!”

In no uncertain terms this young man was bringing shame onto his father. In an honor/shame culture, you couldn’t get any lower than that.

The father relents and gives his son the money. The son takes it and leaves his home and village.

Living in a small community, this request would have rocked the whole village. The son’s request not only shamed the father but the entire neighborhood. Should that son ever try to come back home the community would grab him, beat him, and banish him for life from the village.

Then it gets worse.

The son heads to a far-away land, code for a non-Jewish land, and spends all of his money on wild living. He eventually winds up broke just at the moment a recession hits the area. He’s forced to feed pigs.

The audience hearing Jesus tell this story for the first time would have been shocked and horrified. The son: 

• Insults and shames his father (and the community) by asking for the inheritance early—strike one

• Lives in a non-Jewish land—strike two

• Feeds pigs: unclean animals—strike three

From their perspective this young man was dead to them. Any chance of reconciliation was over. He was done.

Eventually the son realizes all he has lost and decides he’s going to take a risk and head home.

It’s at this point that Kenneth Bailey’s insights are important and profound:

We often hear that the young man goes home a changed man, ready to repent and humble himself before his father—throwing himself on the mercy of dad.

But that’s not the case. The son is not going home to repent. He is going home to try to pull another one over on his dad. He creates a scheme:

• He will admit the obvious—he can’t be a son again. But if dad will just hire him as a regular worker, perhaps he can pay back all that he lost, work himself back into his father’s good graces, and then maybe, just maybe, dad will let him back into the family.

This son is not repentant. He’s going to try to trick his father into letting him back into the family bit by bit. Nothing about him has changed!

As the son gets closer to the village, he must have wondered how he would make it down the street without the other villagers catching him first. If they do, they will beat him and banish him.

But surprisingly, he doesn’t have to figure it out.

Because to his shock, running down the street toward him is his father.

Again, Kenneth Bailey fills in the blanks.

In Jesus’ day a father, especially a man of import in the community, would never run in public. It would bring shame on him. And he would never lift his robes and run. It would ruin his reputation. A mom might run to her child, but never a dad.

But this dad didn’t care. He had to get to his son before the villagers did. He sacrificed his reputation and his character in order to reclaim his lost son and restore him before the villagers could carry out justice.

The father threw his arms around his son—to protect him.

He threw his robe around his shoulders—to say that he was under the Father’s protection.

He put a ring on his finger—to say that this is his son.

He put sandals on his feet—because servants go barefoot; sons wear shoes.

Then he led his son home and threw a party for this child who had rejected him, shamed him, and humiliated him; this son who came home to manipulate him one more time.

All of this an act of scandalous, reckless, lavish, irresistible grace!

And that, says Jesus, is what God is like.

God does not run to us to punish us. God doesn’t run to us out of anger to condemn us. God doesn’t wait for, or even expect us, to clean up our act before God embraces us. God isn’t hell bent on sending us to hell.

God always, and only, runs to us for one reason: To embrace us with grace. To clothe us with forgiveness. To put the ring of sonship/daughterhood on our fingers. To immerse us in the joy of his love for us.

It was the only time I ever saw him run

And then he ran to me, took me in his arms

Held my head to his chest

Said, “My son’s come home again”

Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes

With forgiveness in his voice

He said, “Son, do you know I still love you?”

He caught me by surprise and brought me to my knees

When God ran, I saw him run to me.

--When God Ran by Benny Hester and John Parenti

That God of Jesus, by the way, is the God of the Old Testament, the God that Dawkins and so many others find so horrifying. That’s who Jesus sees in the arc of the Hebrew Scriptures. That’s his starting point for God.

And in looking at the tough questions about life and God, that’s where Jesus invites us to start as well.

But there’s another son, the older son, waiting in the wings, offering Jesus another chance to show us the real face of God.

If you want to connect with me you can do so at Tim@TimWrightMinistries.org