Can We Justify God?

February 17, 2013

Joshua, my son, you would have been 28 today.  I miss you, and yearn to hold you again.  One day….yes, one day.  Till then, rest peacefully.

 Joshua died  at the age of sixteen. I offer this chapter out of my ebook on The Shack and spiritual recovery in his honor.

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Oh, the depths of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God!
How unsearchable his judgments,
and his paths beyond tracing out!
“Who has known the mind of the Lord? Or who has been his counselor?”

Romans 11:33-34 (NIV)

The death of a child, especially the brutal murder of Missy, raises passionate questions about God’s handling of the world. Mack’s “last comment” to the Triune God around the breakfast table on that first morning was something we have all thought at one time or another: “I just can’t imagine any final outcome that would justify all this” (p. 127).

There it is. Bold. In God’s face. It is almost a gauntlet challenging God’s own imagination, his own resources—his wisdom and knowledge. Can anything justify the evil in the world?

This is the problem of theodicy, that is, the justification of God. Why does God create a world in which evil is so pervasive, strong and unruly? Why does he give evil this space to grow? When a cyclone kills over 130,000 in Myanmar, an earthquake snuffs out the lives of 80,000 more in China, and a tsunami kills about 20,000 in Japan, I have little interest in defending or justifying God.

When my son dies of a genetic disorder after watching him slowly degenerate over ten years and I learn of the tragic death of a friend’s son (John Robert Dobbs)—both dying on the same date, May 21—I have little interest in defending or justifying God.

How could I possibly defend any of that? I suppose I could remove God from responsibility by disconnecting him from his creation but I would then still have a God who decided to be a Deist. That’s no comfort—it renders God malevolent or at least disinterested. I prefer to say God is involved and he decides to permit (even cause–though I would have no way of knowing which is the case in any particular circumstance) suffering. I would prefer to hold God responsible for the world he created and how the world proceeds.

I’m tired of defending him. Does God really need my feeble, finite, and fallible arguments in his defense? Perhaps some need to hear a defense—maybe it would help, but I also know it is woefully inadequate at many levels. God does not need my defense as much as God needs to encounter people in their crises. My arguments will not make the difference; only God’s presence will.

I know the theodices and I have attempted them myself. Young utilizes a few of them. A free-will theodicy that roots evil in the free choices of human beings does not help me with earthquakes, genetics and cyclones. It certainly does not explain why God does not answer the prayers of his people with compassionate protection from such. A soul-making theodicy that says God permits evil to develop our characters does not explain the quantity and quality of suffering in the world. Suffering sometimes breaks souls rather than making them. There are other theodicies and combinations, but I find them all pastorally inadequate and rationally unsatisfying.

My rationalizations have all shipwrecked on the rocks of experience in a hurting and painful world. The way I most often approach God in the midst of suffering is now protest, a form of lament.

Does God have a good reason for the pervasive and seemingly gratuitous nature of suffering in the world? I hope he does—I even believe he does, but I don’t know what the reasons are nor do I know anyone who does. My hope is not the conclusion of a well-reasoned, solid inductive/deductive argument but is rather the desperate cry of the sufferer who trusts that the Creator has good intentions and purposes for his creation. I believe there is a Grand Purpose that overcomes the Great Sadness.

Lament is not exactly a theodicy, but it is my response to suffering. It contains my complaint that God is not doing more (Psalm 74:11), my questions about “how long?” (Psalm 13:1), my demand to have my “Why?” questions answered (Psalm 44:24), and my disillusionment with God’s handling of the world (Job 21, 23-24). It is what I feel; it is my only “rational” response to suffering.

I realize that I am a lowly creature whose limitations should relativize my protest (as when God came to Job). But, as with Job and the Psalmists, I continue to lament—I continue because I have divine permission to do so! Of all “people,” I must be honest with God, right? I recognize that my feeble laments cannot grasp the transcendent glory of the one who created the world and I realize that were God to speak he would say to me something of what he told Job. But until he speaks….until he comforts…until he transforms the world, I will continue to speak, lament and protest.

But that response is itself insufficient. I protest, but I must also act.

As one who believes the story of Jesus, I trust that God intends to redeem, heal and renew this world. As a disciple of Jesus, I am committed to imitate his compassion for the hurting, participate in the healing, and sacrifice for redemption. I am, however, at this point an impatient disciple.

Does this mean that there are no comforting “words” for the sufferer? No, I think the story itself is a comfort; we have a story to tell but we must tell it without rationalizing or minimizing creation’s pain. We have a story to tell about God, Israel and Jesus. God loves us despite the seeming evidence to the contrary. God listens to our protests despite our anger and disillusionment. God empathizes with our suffering through the incarnation despite our sense that no one has suffered like we have. God reigns over his world despite the seeming chaos. God will defeat suffering and renew his creation despite its current tragic condition. The story carries hope in its bosom and it is with hope that we grieve.

Mack could not “imagine any final outcome that would justify” all the evil in the world. This is something that Mack says before he sits on the judgment seat before Sophia, but it is a function of the judgment seat to decide what would justify evil and would not. If humans can’t imagine it, then it can’t be possible, right? And that is the crux of the problem—human imagination has become the norm rather than trusting God’s wisdom and knowledge that is beyond searching out, plotting or understanding.

Human imagination or trust in divine wisdom? Which shall we choose? The former, as a criterion, excludes the latter. The latter is patient with the former’s limitations.

But trust is the fundamental problem. At the root of distrust is the suspicion, as Papa tells Mack, “that you don’t think that I am good” (p. 126). We humans tend to trust our own imagination (or rationality) more than we trust God’s goodness. We doubt that “everything—the means, the ends, and all the processes of individual lives—is all covered by [God’s] goodness” (p. 126).

In one of the most powerful scenes in The Shack Papa acknowledges that he could “have prevented what happened to Missy.” He “could have chosen to actively interfere in her circumstance,” but he decided not to do it (p. 222). Only love enabled Mack to trust God with that decision.

We can’t imagine what could possibly justify evil? But, at one level, that is the wrong question. God’s purpose is not to justify it, but to redeem it (p. 127).

My favorite scene in Mel Gibson’s The Passion of Christ is when Jesus, carrying the cross, falls to his knees under its weight. His mother runs to him and their eyes lock. With blood streaming down his cheeks and holding the symbol of Roman power and violence, Jesus says, “Behold, mother, I make all things new.”

This is the promise of God—a new creation, new heavens and a new earth in a new Jerusalem. There the old order will pass away and the voice of God will declare: “I am making everything new” (Revelation 21:5a).

A day is coming when there will be “no more curse” (Revelation 22:3). There will be no more darkness–the glory of God will fill the earth with light. There will be no more violence–the nations will receive healing and walk by its light. There will be no more death, mourning or tears–the Tree of Life and the Water of Life will nourish the people of God forever.

That renewal, however, is not simply future but is already present. Hope saves us even now. As the Father pours out his love into our hearts by his Spirit, includes us in the Triune fellowship at his breakfast table, and walks with us in our suffering, we can experience the joy of relationship, the peace of love and the hope of renewal.

Mack discovered it when he learned to trust. We will too.

23 Comments | Theology | Tagged: , , , , | Permalink
Posted by John Mark Hicks

Providence and Suffering: Can God Be Trusted? (SBD 11)

May 23, 2009

[Note: I am attempting to keep these SBD installments under 2000 words each, but that is--of course--quite inadequate for the topics covered. Consequently, these contributions are more programmatic than they are explanatory or defenses of the positions stated. You may access the whole series at my Serial page.]

Defending God is not my job. Good thing because I would be awful at it. However, my faith does seek understanding; it looks for answers even when I cannot find them. Exploring the mysteries of divine providence and human suffering is a journey into the recesses of the divine mind and most of it is inaccessible to humans. So, the real question of providence and evil is not can we explain it but can God be trusted with the answer even when that answer is inexplicable or incomprehensible to us or when our best efforts ultimately just don’t make sense. I think the answer to that question is “Yes”.

Providence—A Metaphor

Traditional Language. Providence (God’s provision for the creation as one who “sees ahead”) is traditionally encompassed under three headings: conservatio (conservation or preservation), concursus (concurrentism), and telos (governance toward an end or goal). The first and third are the least controversial in the history of theology. The first affirms that God sustains the creation by divine power. The cosmos is not self-sustaining but is dependent upon the action of God (cf. Hebrews 1:3; Isaiah 42:5). This sustenance includes God’s preservation of human meaning and purpose within the creation. The third affirms that human history and the creation are moving toward a divinely appointed goal (Isaiah 41:20; 43:10; 45:3; 46:10). God so governs history and creation—through whatever means, including natural agencies—that God orders their movements to secure the ends of the divine telos.

The most controversial is concurrentism (concursus). This affirms that divine and human actions (or nature, if a natural phenomenon) are concurrent in every event within the world. In other words, God is always working within every event, and each event is some kind of cooperative effort between God and the creation. God, therefore, is always a cause that works through or alongside other causes both human and natural. Consequently, nothing happens in the world in which God is not somehow involved and where God does not intend that something specific happen. In every event God acts alongside his creatures to accomplish specific goals, even if God’s goal is different from other actors in the drama. For example, whereas a human being may intend evil, God may, through that same event, intend good as in the case of Joseph in Egypt (Genesis 50:20; cf. Isaiah 45:1, 7, 12-13). As a result, God and human agents worked concurrently to produce the event, but with different intentions and ultimately with the divine telos accomplished.

A Game Metaphor. If we imagine that the comos is a field sport (like football or soccer), a broad typology for Providence emerges. In a Deistic theology, God is a mere spectator even though God is also owner and inventor (e.g., Langdon Gilkey). In some versions of postmodernism personalism, God is more like a coach who encourages and directs from the sidelines but does not participate in the field action (e.g., Rabbi Kushner). In more traditional models, God is an owner-player-coach who is actively participating in the game on the field.

Within the traditional framework, we can extend the game analogy to distinguish three further typologies. For some, such as Reformed theology, the game is determined by the owner’s decrees as to how each play will unfold, who will score and which players will win or lose (e.g., Ulrich Zwingli). Reformed theologians, generally, embrace concurrentism but maintain that God is the primary, determinative cause though God also uses real secondary causes (human will or nature; cf. Paul Helm). Thus, every choice that human beings make—whether good or evil–is “already predetermined” (G. I. Williamson, The Shorter Catechism, 1:26-27). To be fair, there are “harder” and “softer” versions among Reformed theologians and some of the “softer” versions are barely—yet still—distinguishable from Classic Arminianism.

For others, such as Free Will theism (or Open Theism), God serves more as an emergency substitute who occasionally intervenes but rarely (e.g., John Sanders). Free Will theists reject concurrentism as do some Arminians (e.g., Jack Cottrell) even though they do not necessarily agree with particular dimensions of Open Theism (e.g., their rejection of traditional omniscience).

“Classic Arminianism” affirms that God is always on the field, active in every play, and directing the game toward its telos (e.g., Robert E. Picirilli). This is would amount to a strong concurrentism without determinism (or compatibilism). Others, less “classic,” would only suggest that nothing happened on the field without specific divine permission even if God was not actively on the field (e.g., Jack Cottrell).

A Concurrentist Providential Theology. Arminian concurrentism suggests that God, as player, is synergistically creating the future with the creation itself. God, as owner and coach, is the ultimate reality in the universe and sovereignly directs the game toward the divine telos. God, then, acts within the creation to secure the divine telos but acts in concert with or concurrent with the created reality. The sovereign God permits players to act—indeed, gives them a moral agency out of which they freely act—but they do not act autonomously as if their freedom is absolute since their freedom is circumscribed by the divine purpose. This divine permission, which empowers other players (both human and natural), is both specific and self-limiting, but it is not impotent. The divine purpose will not be frustrated. Nevertheless, the freedom of creation is an authentic divine gift and undetermined by divine decrees.

The critical question, then, is the nature of the divine purpose or telos. Since God’s ontology is relational (Triune) and God’s identity is holy love, the divine purpose is communion with the creation in a way consistent with God’s own nature to love in freedom. The praise of God’s glory is located in communion with the good creation who loves in freedom just as God does. God sustains history, acts in history, and governs that history toward that telos. God will accomplish the divine purpose while at the same time sustaining the freedom of the creation because God values the authenticity of loving communion.

Suffering—A Problem

Whence Evil and Why? Ultimately, I don’t know. Mystery acknowledges that our finite understanding cannot fathom the purpose and meaning of divine acts or permission. This incomprehensibility does not undermine faith since “for Christians,” as Marilyn McCord Adams has written, “as for others in this life, the fact of evil is a mystery. The answer is a more wonderful mystery—God” (Rationality, Religious Belief, and Moral Commitment, 267).

The Biblical narrative itself raises the question “why?” The particularities of suffering are not answered by a poetic Psalm, a prophetic oracle, a Jesus sermon or a Pauline letter. Instead, the question “Why?” reverberates throughout the narrative on the lips of believers from Moses (Exodus 5:22) to the Psalmists (10:1; 42:9; 44:23-24; 74:1; 88:14) to Job (3:20; 7:10; 10:18; 13:24) to the prophets (Jeremiah 14:19; Lamentations 5:20) to Jesus (Matthew 27:46).

Philosophers have attempted many strategies to answer the question without much success though some perspective has been gained. For example, Free Will Theodicists claim that God created a world with the possibility of evil and has a good reason for doing so (e.g., a world of free beings is better than a world of coerced ones or no morally significant beings at all). The Free Will Defense argues that free will means that God can not guarantee the absence of evil once God decided to create beings with free will (Alvin Plantinga). But this, even if successful, does not begin to answer the “why” questions that consume so many (e.g., tornadoes, tsunamis, etc.).

The Soul-Making theodicists argue that the process of maturing human beings involves a refining fire. Suffering is a necessary condition for the maturation of human beings. It claims that there is good(s) that is worth the existence of evil (John Hick; Austin Farrar; Thomas B. Warren). But this does not explain the quantity, quality and intensity of the evil present in the cosmos, and it often assumes a Deistic understanding of how God relates to the world.

Natural Law theodicists (Bruce Reichenbach; Richard Swinburne) argue that natural law establishes cosmic parameters in which freedom can be deliberately exercised. Natural law enables predictability for choices, but that predictability entails natural “evil” as those laws function independently of human or divine choices (Bruce Reichenbach; Richard Swinburne). But this distances the Creator from the creation as if nature has autonomy and it does not explain why God does not sometimes—particularly in major catastrophes—intervene. Surely God would make some exceptions.

The Christian Metanarrative. But the Christian narrative does not leave us totally in the dark as if we were wholly blind though the light is dim due to our finitude, feebleness, fallibility and fallenness.

The story, as I read it, begins with the divine intent to share the Triune love in communion with creation and ends with the divine purpose fulfilled. This loving communion entails a freedom to love that is rooted in our relational ontology that images God’s own love. Yet, the risk of love entails the possibility of hate and thus rejection. Humans have consistently chosen to reject God’s love. This is a part of the evil in the cosmos.

God, in response, pursues us with an unrelenting love and sometimes a “tough love.” God, the Psalmist declared, does whatever God pleases (Psalm 115:3). Humans have no concept of the radical nature of evil until they see it or experience it. Human history, unfortunately, is strewn with examples and God—as the biblical narrative tells it—has unreleased the evil human heart in order to allow evil to fully reveal itself and permitted natural chaos to refine humanity.

God is willing to use “tough love” to remind humanity of their relationship to the Creator and move them toward embracing the divine purposes for human existence. Ultimately, as I once learned from Philip Yancey through his reflections on Job, God is more interested in our faith (loving communion) than in our pleasure (in the way broken humans think about happiness).

The Purposes of Suffering in the Story. One size does not fit all in the biblical narrative. There are multiple purposes for suffering; some overlap, some are distinct. Some apply to one, and sometimes none seemingly apply. These purposes certainly do not dictate how we should view our own experience of suffering though some may apply as we interpret our situations. Nevertheless, they are present in the story as lights to guide us in our reflections on suffering.

In particular, the story unveils—as I see it—these purposes (and my list is not exhaustive): (1) punishment and deterrence (Amos 3:6); (2) cosmic and/or personal testing (Job 23:10; Genesis 22:1); (3) pedagogical discipline (Hebrews 12:7) like a refining fire; (4) gifting and equipping for ministry (2 Corinthians 1:3-7); and (5) painful but redemptive experiences for the sake of others (Genesis 45:7-8; 50:20).

Living within the Story

Living within the story means seeing ourselves as part of the biblical theodrama. We are players on the field and actors in the drama, but we did not create the game or write the play. God lovingly calls us to participate in the story and see the world through the lens of divine intent, actions and goal. Living within the story is ultimately faith seeking understanding.

In relation to the problem of suffering, we will have to decide whether we trust (believe) because we have resolved our cognitive (rational) and existential (personal suffering) difficulties or whether faith is the mode in which we seek understanding. Is there reason to trust? Can God be trusted?

This is where Christology functions in my theodicy. Christology provides the ground for trusting God even in the darkness of our suffering. We have reason to trust because we hear and see the “good news of the kingdom” enacted in the ministry of Jesus. We have reason to trust because we see the love of God demonstrated in the cross of Jesus. We have reason to trust because we see the victory of God over death in the resurrection of Jesus.

The incarnation reveals both divine intent and divine love. God seeks communion with humanity by uniting God and humanity in Jesus. The love of God shines through the empathy that God shares with humanity. God’s incarnational involvement in the world to redeem, restore and heal through suffering is a testimony to God’s ultimately redemptive relationship to suffering. God will resolve the problem of suffering in a renewed and restored creation free from mourning, death and pain. This is the “eschatological verification” of God’s project (John Hick).

So What?

While the mystery of evil is disconcerting and generates questions, the denial of God seems to create more questions, problems and conundrums. To choose the mystery of God over the mystery of evil is neither dishonest nor irrational. For example, apart from God, what grounds ethics so that “evil” is something more than personal or social taste? Can we speak of “evil” without God? In other words, does naturalistic intuitionism justify/define good without recourse to some more fundamental religious intuition? The existence of objective evil means there is some ground for why evil is evil. Again, as another example, is there a religious intuition (encounter) for which the denial is more problematic than the problem of evil?

The mystery of evil emerges within the biblical narrative through the practice of lament which contains protest, complaint and questioning doubt. Lament can be a faith-filled response for people living within the story. Lament—even angry complaint against God (Job 7:11-21)—should not be discouraged. It is an expression of faith as it addresses God as the one responsible for the cosmos.

The mystery of providence means that God is at work in the creation to move the world towards the divine telos. God uses various means to accomplish this goal, including human freedom, natural events, nation states, etc. God’s actions—and human actions concurrently working to co-create the future with God—have meaning. We do not always know nor see the meaning, but the sovereignty of God gives meaning to everything within the creation.

Ultimately, we don’t know, but God does and God cares. Ultimately, we don’t understand, but God has reasons. I have reason to trust the God of Israel and Jesus. Therefore, despite my pain, hurt and suffering, I will continue to trust the Creator who loves me more than I love myself.

Further Reading

Anthologies:

Michael L. Peterson, ed., The Problem of Evil: Selected Readings (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1992).

William L. Rowe, ed., God and the Problem of Evil (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishers, 2001).

Steven Davis, ed., Encountering Evil: Live Options in Theodicy (Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1981).

Marilyn McCord Adams, ed., The Problem of Evil (New York: Oxford University, 1991).

Classic Modern Theodicies or Defenses

John Hick, Evil and the God of Love (New York: Harper & Row, 1966).

Alvin Plantinga, God, Freedom, and Evil (New York: Harper & Row, 1974).

Austin Farrer, Love Almighty and Ills Unlimited (Garden City, NY: Doubleday and Company, Inc., 1961).

Richard Swinburne, Providence and the Problem of Evil (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998).

Bruce Reichenbach, Evil and a Good God (New York: Fordham University, 1982).

58 Comments | Theology | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , | Permalink
Posted by John Mark Hicks

May 21 – A Shared Day of Pain with John and Maggy Dobbs

May 21, 2009

May 21, 2001 and May 21, 2008 have something in common. Those are the days on which our children died–my son Joshua and John & Maggy Dobbs’ son John Robert. The memories are painful and today we will each remember, commemorate and reflect.

I pray for peace for John & Maggy today, but I know it will come with great difficulty if at all. They will remember as they determine. I will remember today by going to the grave of my son, sitting in my chair and writing in my journal. It is a beautiful day today. While I usually resist visiting the grave, today I am drawn to it and see the blue skys as hopeful, life-giving and calming.

In memory of Joshua Mark Hicks and John Robert Dobbs, I am republishing a post from May 24, 2008 which expresses my own protest, pain and disillusionment after I learned of John Robert’s accident. It still rings true for me.

May the God of peace and comfort be with you all–the world is much too broken to live in it alone.

John Mark Hicks

Defending God

When a cyclone kills over 130,000 in Myanmar and an earthquake snuffs out the lives of 80,000 more in China, I have little interest in defending or justifying God.

When my son (Joshua Mark Hicks) dies of a genetic disorder after watching him slowly degenerate over ten years and I learn of the tragic death of a friend’s son (John Robert Dobbs)–both dying on the same date, May 21–I have little interest in defending or justifying God.

How could I possibly defend any of that? I suppose I could remove God from responsibility by disconnecting him from creation but I would then still have a God who decided to be a Deist. That’s no comfort–it renders God malevolent or at least disinterested. I would prefer to say God is involved and decides to permit (even cause–though I would have no way of knowing which is the case in any particular event) suffering. I would prefer to hold God responsible for the world he created and how the world proceeds.

I’m tired of defending God. Does God really need my feeble, finite, and fallible defensive arguments? Perhaps some need to hear a defense–maybe it would help, but I also know it is woefully inadequate at many levels. God does not need my defense as much as God needs to encounter people in their existential crises. My arguments will not make the difference; only God’s presence will.

I know the theodices and I have attempted them myself (see my old “rational” attempt which is on my General Articles page; I have also uploaded the companion piece on the Providence of God). A free-will theodicy does not help me with earthquakes, genetics and cyclones; it certainly does not explain why God does not answer the prayers of people with compassionate protection from such. A soul-making theodicy does not explain the quantity and quality of suffering in the world; suffering sometimes breaks souls rather than making them. There are other theodicies and combinations, but I find them all existentially inadequate (which is an academic understatement!) and rationally unsatisfying.

My theodic rationalizations have all shipwrecked on the rocks of experience in a hurting and painful world. My theodic mode of encounter with God in the midst of suffering is now protest.

Does God have a good reason for the pervasive and seemingly gratutious nature of suffering in the world? I hope God does–I even believe God does, but I don’t know what the reasons are nor do I know anyone who does. My hope is not the conclusion of a well-reasoned, solid inductive/deductive argument but is rather the desparate cry of the sufferer who trusts that the Creator has good intentions and purposes for creation.

Lament is not exactly a theodicy, but it is my response to suffering. It contains my complaint that God is not doing more (Psalm 74:11), my questions about “how long?” (Psalm 13:1), my demand to have my “Why?” questions answered (Psalm 44:24), and my disillusionment with God’s handling of the world (Job 21, 23-24). It is what I feel; it is my only “rational” response to suffering.

I realize that I am a lowly creature whose limitations should relativize my protest (as when God came to Job) though not minimize it. But, as with Job and the Psalmists, I continue to lament–I continue because I have divine permission to do so! Of all “people,” I must be honest with God, right? I recognize that my feeble laments cannot grasp the transcendent glory of the one who created the world and I realize that were God to speak God would say to me something of what he said to Job. But until God speaks….until God comforts…until God transforms the world, I will continue to speak, lament and protest.

But that response is itself insufficient. I protest, but I must also act.

As one who believes the story of Jesus, I trust that God intends to redeem, heal and renew the world. As a disciple of Jesus, I am committed to imitate his compassion for the hurting, participate in the healing, and sacrifice for redemption. I am, however, at this point an impatient disciple.

Does this mean that there are no comforting “words” for the sufferer? No, I think the story itself is a comfort; we have a story to tell but we must tell it without rationalizing or minimizing creation’s pain. We have a story to tell about God, Israel and Jesus. God loves us despite the seeming evidence to the contrary. God listens to our protests despite our anger and disillusionment. God empathizes with our suffering through the incarnation despite our sense that no one has suffered like we have. God reigns over his world despite the seeming chaos. God will defeat suffering and renew creation despite its current tragic reality. The story carries hope in its bosom and it is with hope that we grieve.

My love-hate relationship with God continues…I love (trust) him despite my unbelief. God, I believe-I trust; help my unbelief–heal my doubts. Give light to my eyes in the midst of the darkness.

May God have mercy.

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Posted by John Mark Hicks

“Why Not Me?”

May 25, 2008

It almost never fails. Every time I raise the question of “Why me?” I hear the kind, mild and well-intentioned rebuke that perhaps I should ask the question “Why not me?”

I understand the point–I think. Of course, why should it not be my child that dies? Why should it not be my wife that dies? Did my son and my wife deserve to live while others do not? Of course not! My son no more deserved to live than any other child (including thousands in China) nor does my wife deserve to live any more than anyone else’s spouse (including thousands in Myanmar). In that sense “why not me?” is a good question as it reminds me that my family has no privileged standing in this chaotic world. It forces a certain humility upon me which I often need.

But “why did my son die” (etc.) is a totally different question and the two are not mutually exclusive. This question asks why did my son die while others lived. It asks why was my son the 1 in 100,000 births with his genetic condition. It asks why is my wife a statistic where she is the 1 in 10,000 who dies ten days after her back surgery.

“Why not me?” does not undermine the intensity or legitimacy of the question “Why me?” or “Why my son?” or “Why my wife?” That question is not about what anyone deserves or does not deserve; it is not about the assumption of privileged position. Quite the contrary–given the reality of the situation, the question seeks the meaning of the event. “Why this?” “Why now?” “Why me?” are questions about meaning, purpose and significance.

Sometimes I feel some want to deligitimize the question “Why?”  I have even heard people gently (sometimes not so gently) hushed in the midst of their grief or, worse, judged for asking the question as if the question is an arrogant and distrustful one. Rather, they are told to ask ”why not me?”–so I have heard people told and I myself have been advised. Supposedly, it is a more noble and faithful response to suffering.

In my experience this suffocates the sufferer. It covers the sufferer with guilt for feeling the question and wanting to throw it in God’s face or simply express it to other believers. Instead of asking “why not me” within the story of Scripture, faithful lamenters in Scripture asked “why this?”. They wanted to know the purpose and meaning of their suffering. The question was certainly a venting, but I think it was more.  It touched the deepest desire of a sufferer, that is, to understand and “make sense” of what is happening. It is a question that belongs to faithful lament. Listen to some of their questions.

Psalm 10:1, Why, O LORD, do you stand far off? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?
Psalm 42:9, I say to God, my rock, “Why have you forgotten me? Why must I walk about mournfully because the enemy oppresses me?”
Psalm 44:23-24, Rouse yourself! Why do you sleep, O Lord? Awake, do not cast us off forever! Why do you hide your face? Why do you forget our affliction and oppression?
Psalm 74:1, O God, why do you cast us off forever? Why does your anger smoke against the sheep of your pasture?
Psalm 88:14, O LORD, why do you cast me off? Why do you hide your face from me?
Job 3:20, Why is light given to one in misery, and life to the bitter in soul,
Job 7:20, If I sin, what do I do to you, you watcher of humanity? Why have you made me your target? Why have I become a burden to you?
Job 10:18, Why did you bring me forth from the womb? Would that I had died before any eye had seen me,
Job 13:24, Why do you hide your face, and count me as your enemy?
Ex. 5:22,Then Moses turned again to the LORD and said, “O LORD, why have you mistreated this people? Why did you ever send me?
Judges 21:3,They said, “O LORD, the God of Israel, why has it come to pass that today there should be one tribe lacking in Israel?”
Isaiah 63:17, Why, O LORD, do you make us stray from your ways and harden our heart, so that we do not fear you? Turn back for the sake of your servants, for the sake of the tribes that are your heritage.
Jeremiah 5:19, And when your people say, “Why has the LORD our God done all these things to us?” you shall say to them, “As you have forsaken me and served foreign gods in your land, so you shall serve strangers in a land that is not yours.”
Jeremiah 14:19, Have you completely rejected Judah? Does your heart loathe Zion? Why have you struck us down so that there is no healing for us? We look for peace, but find no good; for a time of healing, but there is terror instead.
Lamentations 5:20, Why have you forgotten us completely? Why have you forsaken us these many days?

The question “why” presumes that God has his reasons and purposes. I believe that; otherwise, I would be forced to believe that the deaths in my life are purely arbitrary (and thus subject to meaninglessness) or they are the chaotic results of a disinterested, perhaps apathetic, God who does not get his hands dirty in his own creation.

I prayed for the health of my wife; we prayed for a successful surgery and recovery; we prayed that she might be able to bear children to full term (we had already lost one in a miscarriage). Barbara and I prayed for a healthy child; we prayed that he would grow into a leader among God’s people.

Now here’s my problem. When I petitioned God for those healthy and seemingly “within the will of God” kind of outcomes, what did God do or say to me? Did he say, “Well, John Mark, I would like to do that for you but I just don’t do that kind of stuff. We will have to see how it all turns out. We’ll hope for the best.” Or, did he say, “Well, John Mark, I will do what I can and work for that goal because I also think it would be great, but there are some things just outside of my control.” Or, did he say, “No.”

No? How could God say “No”? Is this an arbitrary roll of the dice or was my number was just up? Is it the apathy of a God who really does not get his hands dirty in the details of life? Or, is this a purposeful, meaningful and mysterious answer?

I prefer the purposeful, meaningful and mysterious answer. The “No” is not arbitrary but a reflection of divine wisdom and purpose. “John Mark,” God might be saying, “this is gonna hurt, but I have a purpose in this. I know it won’t make sense to you, and I know it will be painful, and you might even deny there could ever be any purpose worth the price, but I have a special interest in this matter. I am doing something beyond your imagination–something you would not believe if I told you. John Mark, my beloved, trust me on this one.”

Why do I prefer that answer? Well, it gives meaning to my suffering even though I don’t know what that meaning is. But, more importantly, I think it is consistent with the story we have been given. As God deals with individuals and communities in his story, he deals with them out his purposes and invests meaning in their lives. He actively engages their stories and integrates them into his story.

Why did these tragic events happen to me? I don’t know, but I keep asking, exploring and searching. In this I am following faithful lamenters and exemplars in Scripture. In this I follow Jesus himself who cried “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Given his cry, I think I can ask the same question with full legitimacy!

Why shouldn’t it happen to me? There is no reason it should not–I have no privileged position in the universe; nothing in my life–including my own life–can make any claim on God. Why did it happen to me? I don’t know but I trust God has his reasons. And I trust God–though I am often frustrated with him. I wish I knew the reasons, but I doubt if it would lessen the pain.  There is just too much that I don’t understand and if God explained it to me I would probably end up as confused as a three-year old to whom a Lipscomb Physics professor is trying to explain quantum mechanics.

In the end, I don’t really need to know the reasons why; I don’t really need to understand the divine goals in each specific situation.  I want to know them but I don’t need to know them for the purposes God has in mind for his creation, that is, communion with him and with others. In the end, it is not about rationalizations or deductions or inductions or syllogisms.  In the end, it is about faith, about trust. It is about communion, about relationship.

6 Comments | Pastoral Care, Personal, Theology | Tagged: , , , , , , , | Permalink
Posted by John Mark Hicks

Defending God

May 24, 2008

When a cyclone kills over 130,000 in Myanmar and an earthquake snuffs out the lives of 80,000 more in China, I have little interest in defending or justifying God.

When my son (Joshua Mark Hicks) dies of a genetic disorder after watching him slowly degenerate over ten years and I learn of the tragic death of a friend’s son (John Robert Dobbs)–both dying on the same date, May 21–I have little interest in defending or justifying God.

How could I possibly defend any of that? I suppose I could remove God from responsibility by disconnecting him from his creation but I would then still have a God who decided to be a Deist. That’s no comfort–it renders God malevolent or at least disinterested. I would prefer to say God is involved and he decides to permit (even cause–though I would have no way of knowing which is the case in any particular event) suffering. I would prefer to hold God responsible for the world he created and how the world proceeds.

I’m tired of defending him. Does God really need my feeble, finite, and fallible arguments in his defense? Perhaps some need to hear a defense–maybe it would help, but I also know it is woefully inadequate at many levels.  God does not need my defense as much as God needs to encounter people in their existential crises. My arguments will not make the difference; only God’s presence will.

I know the theodices and I have attempted them myself (see my old “rational” attempt which is on my General Articles page; I have also uploaded the companion piece on the Providence of God).  A free-will theodicy does not help me with earthquakes, genetics and cyclones; it certainly does not explain why God does not answer the prayers of his people with compassionate protection from such. A soul-making theodicy does not explain the quantity and quality of suffering in the world; suffering sometimes breaks souls rather than making them.  There are other theodicies and combinations, but I find them all existentially inadequate (which is an academic understatement!) and rationally unsatisfying.

My theodic rationalizations have all shipwrecked on the rocks of experience in a hurting and painful world. My theodic mode of encounter with God in the midst of suffering is now protest.

Does God have a good reason for the pervasive and seemingly gratutious nature of suffering in the world? I hope he does–I even believe he does, but I don’t know what the reasons are nor do I know anyone who does. My hope is not the conclusion of a well-reasoned, solid inductive/deductive argument but is rather the desparate cry of the sufferer who trusts that the Creator has good intentions and purposes for his creation.

Lament is not exactly a theodicy, but it is my response to suffering. It contains my complaint that God is not doing more (Psalm 74:11), my questions about “how long?” (Psalm 13:1), my demand to have my “Why?” questions answered (Psalm 44:24), and my disillusionment with God’s handling of the world (Job 21, 23-24). It is what I feel; it is my only “rational” response to suffering.

I realize that I am a lowly creature whose limitations should relativize my protest (as when God came to Job).  But, as with Job and the Psalmists, I continue to lament–I continue because I have divine permission to do so! Of all “people,” I must be honest with God, right? I recognize that my feeble laments cannot grasp the transcendent glory of the one who created the world and I realize that were God to speak he would say to me something of what he said to Job.  But until he speaks….until he comforts…until he transforms the world, I will continue to speak, lament and protest.

But that response is itself insufficient.  I protest, but I must also act. 

As one who believes the story of Jesus, I trust that God intends to redeem, heal and renew his world. As a disciple of Jesus, I am committed to imitate his compassion for the hurting, participate in the healing, and sacrifice for redemption. I am, however, at this point an impatient disciple.

Does this mean that there are no comforting “words” for the sufferer?  No, I think the story itself is a comfort; we have a story to tell but we must tell it without rationalizing or minimizing creation’s pain. We have a story to tell about God, Israel and Jesus. God loves us despite the seeming evidence to the contrary. God listens to our protests despite our anger and disillusionment. God empathizes with our suffering through the incarnation despite our sense that no one has suffered like we have. God reigns over his world despite the seeming chaos. God will defeat suffering and renew his creation despite its current tragic reality. The story carries hope in its bosom and it is with hope that we grieve.

My love-hate relationship with God continues…I love (trust) him despite my unbelief.  God, I believe-I trust; help my unbelief–heal my doubts.  Give light to my eyes in the midst of the darkness.

May God have mercy.

30 Comments | Personal, Theology | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , | Permalink
Posted by John Mark Hicks

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