“Why do bad things happen to ‘good’ people?” This vexing question was posed long before the events that are recorded in the Book of Job, which some scholars believe might be the oldest book in the Bible. Indeed, from time immemorial myriad calamities have befallen the morally upright, the elderly, the feeble and the young — those who seemingly don’t “deserve” to suffer greatly. As Rev. Martin Luther King said, “unearned suffering is redemptive.” There is a name for this spiritual dilemma: “theodicy.” Theodicy can be defined as “a vindication of God’s righteousness in a world that is filled with evil.” In other words, God has a purpose for our pain — even though we might not understand it.
Agnostics and skeptics see things differently. They assert that “god” either is (1) willing, but not able, to stop evil or (2) is able, but not willing, to do so. The former, in their view, would indicate that God is arbitrary or even sadistic (i.e., not all-loving); the latter would indicate that he is impotent (i.e., not all-powerful). There are several variations on this theme, but I don’t have space to offer a comprehensive theological treatment. You get the point …
For those who are not familiar with Job, he was a very wealthy man whom God extolled for his morality and faith. Yet, God allowed the devil to afflict Job in order to demonstrate his faithfulness. Perhaps the most troubling aspect of Job’s experience is the fact that God initiates the dialogue with the Devil that results in this man’s unfathomable suffering. (We use the phrase “the patience of Job” to indicate some people’s ability to endure hardships without complaint, but that phrase would be more accurately worded as “the perseverance of Job.” Job wasn’t patient, but he did endure until God restored what he had allowed to be taken.) Some argue that God “hustled” the devil at Job’s expense — like the pool sharks or expert gamblers who initially lose on purpose in order to entice their opponents into being overconfident.
Recently I read about Martin Weingarten, who resided in Carmel. Weingarten was 100 years old when he died on April 16. As a child, he had survived the Spanish flu. As a young man, he had survived the Nazis. As an old man, he was surviving dementia. Yet, he succumbed to COVID-19. According to his nephew, Weingarten was “very friendly, very happy” and “always the nicest guy in the room.” For anyone who possesses even modest compassion, this elderly gentleman’s death from the coronavirus seems like a cruel irony. Some will look at his passing and see God’s arbitrariness or even failure. Others will look at it and see God’s sovereign will, which is not subject to our approval — or even our understanding. Where we fall along that spectrum depends on the degree to which we have allowed God to form a relationship with us. (Note: God does not force his way into our lives.)
Of course, all of us suffer to some degree, irrespective of our level of iniquity. Thus, whether we are “as pure as the driven snow,” or “as guilty as sin,” it often feels as though our pain is disproportionate to any transgressions that we have committed. No matter who we are, the “cosmic scales” often seem to be out of balance (just as our all-too-human judicial scales often seem to be weighted against us). We imagine that “Lady Justice” is peeking out from under her blindfold.
In the end, I believe that it is critically important to understand the role that free will plays in human suffering. Our suffering can generally be traced back either to our actions or the actions of others, whether we’re discussing lung cancer, famine or climate change. (And it’s important to remember that the first two people, Adam and Eve, messed things up for everyone who has been born since.) It would be wrong to blame Toyota if we got drunk and injured ourselves or others in a car crash. Likewise, it is wrong to blame God for the consequences of our actions, whether as individuals or as humanity collectively.
Regardless of what we go through, it is important to learn — and always to bear in mind — that we have a heavenly father who cares for us. Jesus, in his model prayer (often referred to as “the Lord’s Prayer”), entreats us to acknowledge God as “our Father.” Similarly, the Apostle Paul in Romans 8:15 affirms the right of God’s children to address him by using the word “Abba.” An appropriate translation of that word is “daddy.” Some Christians might be surprised, or even taken aback, by what appears to be a colloquial — almost disrespectful — description. But I agree with theologian William MacDonald, who wrote “… He who is infinitely high is also intimately nigh.”
Christians should not consider it paradoxical that God’s absolute holiness does not contradict his desire to be close to us. (Please note the use of masculine pronouns for God is a biblical construction; God is not and has never been human, except in the person of Jesus Christ while he walked among us 2,000 years ago. Assigning a gender to God is an anthropomorphism that helps us to relate to him better.)
As a minister, I have long wrestled with these and other questions, both because of my personal inquisitiveness and because distressed people frequently turn to the clergy for solace and clarity in times of crisis. In trying to help people navigate the currents of life, there are times when it is appropriate to be a theological analyst; there are other times when it is infinitely better to be a sympathetic comforter. The reality is that it is often difficult to judiciously apply unvarnished truth and patient compassion at the same time, or even to discern when to apply one as opposed to the other. Above all, my role is to stress that God — our daddy — loves us more than we can possibly imagine. Admittedly, that is often difficult to believe given what we experience (directly or indirectly). But, in the wise words of our ancestors, we can take refuge in the knowledge that we’ll understand it better “by and by.”
Larry Smith is a community leader. Contact him at larry@leaf-llc.com.
