very tempting. The twentieth century witnessed two world wars, the Holocaust, and the dropping of two atomic bombs with the development of much more terrible ones we’re now so afraid may be used at any time. Ours is the age of Auschwitz and Hiroshima. There have been recent genocides in the Soviet Union, China, and Rwanda, devastating famines in Africa, the killing fields of Cambodia, the emergence of the AIDS pandemic, and the ethnic cleansing of Kosovo. That’s just a partial list.
And the twenty-first century hasn’t started any better. There already have been 9/11 in the United States, unspeakable horrors in Syria, thousands dying in the attempt to cross the Mediterranean to reach Europe, cancer and divorce becoming so common, and on and on. Will my grandchildren have to endure a nuclear winter? The blockbuster movies are full of the most shocking images of what might soon be. Jesus said we always would have suffering in this world (John 16:33). We sure do!
My friend Phil Meadows addressed the Wesleyan Theological Society in 2017 from his vantage point of today’s British Isles—although the trend is the same across Europe and in the United States. Governments, he said, are trying to stop “radicalization” that leads to violence. While understandable, and likely those nervous governments are aiming mostly at Muslims, it’s a new challenge to be a serious Christian in a post-Christendom society. It threatens anyone who believes that obedience belongs to the kingdom of God before the “rule of law” in any modern country. Protesting this secularizing and nation-protecting trend that could soon target Christians in England, Meadows reported that the Archbishop of Canterbury announced that he was a religious “extremist”!
Being persecuted for holding the “dangerous” position that the state is not ultimate is an old problem. Meadows noted that Methodism in eighteenth-century England was little understood and easily suspected of being unpatriotic. He insisted that authentic discipleship will give “continual offence” that leads to persecution. Even so, the true follower of Jesus must “pursue a life of radical discipleship in a world of unbelief.”2 Might your church be the next target of government? If you will recall, that’s basically why Jesus was murdered!
Injustice at the hands of powerful non-church leaders is an evil that often haunts the faithful. Why doesn’t God stop it? Why did God cause or at least allow his own Son to die? If God really is almighty, how can suffering persist and God be good? It’s a question so basic that it can’t be avoided, and there’s no quick and easy answer. Don’t look for a simplistic one in these pages. That’s my first confession, my limited ability to solve a subject of such massive dimensions with some superior reasoning that only I have. Even so, I can’t ignore it, nor can you, and there’s much to be gained from addressing this hard subject aggressively—although not arrogantly.
The chapters of this book will follow what Paul pictures in 2 Corinthians 12 as the usual path taken by the Christian sufferer—from “maybe God can’t even be” to “God is always with us, even in our pain.” Getting from the beginning to the end of this precarious path can be—will be—a jagged journey. The Bible is full of testimonies and helpful trail-markers, to be sure, and I will point them out in chapter two. I also will identify biblical signposts, mixed messages, and at least a few sure truth anchors.
Since our world and our personal lives are full of tragic happenings, we long for any help we can find and trust. But we must be careful not to make the bottom line the first Bible verse we come to. There are many of them and they don’t all seem to point in the same direction. I’ll do my best to be a dependable guide.
Grabbing at Answers
Here’s another confession. I confess some bewilderment at all the questions, as do most people who are suffering. Why is this world so full of pain? Why do Christians fall ill? We are betrayed. We go broke. A child goes astray. We’re told by a doctor that the tests show that we’re dying. Another war breaks out and demands our young as grist for its relentless mill. Maybe in your case the pain is something smaller, private, trivial, but still truly annoying. A little book of devotions for high school students is titled If God Loves Me, Why Can’t I Get My Locker Open? Events may seem small and even amusing to others, but faith can be pulled apart by them.
Is God really with us? Why don’t things go more smoothly? Does our faith get buried with our bones? Does God even exist? Is new life really waiting around the corner, or am I just kidding myself? It’s easy to be quite unsure when we’re hurting, frustrated, lost. And that’s much of the time for many who find themselves grabbing for answers.
How does hurting relate to being holy? Are there real answers to the pressing questions raised by suffering? Shouldn’t believing put some wall of protection around us? Does suffering defy apparent reason if God supposedly is good and all-powerful? Is our faith being mocked just when we need it most? Isn’t God’s reputation suffering when those dedicated to the divine are bleeding, grieving, persecuted, and dying despite their faith?
We believe sincerely and hurt anyway. Why? Does the persecution of God’s saints cancel the high claims of God’s dearest children? Does pain prove that God either is not or cannot? On the other hand, can pain bring new possibilities? Does true faith in Jesus bring with it the ability to use suffering for good? Can we flourish despite suffering? Is there any end to these questions?
Wisdom is found in these words, although it’s hardly welcome: “The Son of God suffered unto the death, not that men might not suffer, but that their sufferings might be like His.”3 While this is right according to orthodox Christianity, being right doesn’t settle everything. I want my faith to shield me from suffering and not lead me into it like it did Christ.
Can it really be that God suffers and gives us the “privilege” of joining in the divine misery? We hope not. Who wants to suffer unto death and do it voluntarily? Can we worship a God who also is caught in suffering? Doesn’t God’s “sovereignty” trump the possibility of divine suffering? These are hard questions that haunt our fragile faith. Looking the other way and believing blindly surely isn’t the answer. Hard questions are there and must be faced.
Does God suffer, even to the point of death? How can God suffer, even die, and still be God? If God has done whatever is necessary to address the problem of our suffering, why must we still suffer, and how can we feel privileged to do so? Is God’s healing arm too short to reach us? If we believers are now called to endure pain like Jesus, what’s the nature and purpose of his suffering that we must share? If we can’t avoid it, can we bear it?
The questions fly at us, and sometimes bits of answers also sail by and are grabbed quickly or they’re gone. For instance, this flew by me once. William Faulkner was asked how he went about writing a book. His answer: “It’s like building a chicken coop in a high wind. You grab any board or shingle flying by or loose on the ground and nail it down fast.” That’s exactly how I’ve had to do things over the years. I’ve written books while busy about other responsibilities, grabbing quiet minutes and nailing down thoughts that were flying by me.
And that’s how it worked with this book on suffering. There was a word someone spoke, a line I happened to read, and a momentary inspiration surely from God. I grabbed, then nailed it down, and finally polished and published. I heartily subscribe to this wisdom of Eugene Peterson: “Time, but not just time in general, abstracted to a geometric grid on a calendar or numbers on a clock face, but what the Greeks named kairos, pregnancy time, being present to the Presence. I never know what is coming next; ‘Watch therefore’.”4
Of all subjects, suffering demands being very present to the Presence, kneeling before the throne of God. If the sufferer will just “watch therefore,” sometimes it just happens. God is there. An insight sustains. Strength comes. Despite everything, life wins!
What Do I Know?
I have yet another confession. I haven’t learned all there is to know about suffering with and for Jesus. Yes, I’ve had cancer and lost a wife to cancer. Yes, I’ve had all of the childhood diseases and the usual complaints of growing older. I once was told that I was on the hit list of a foreign despot in Africa because of a Christian ministry