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In all their afflictions he was afflicted, and the angel of the Lord carried them.
(Is. 63:9).
I’ve spent two posts tip-toeing up to and around this question of what is real and how we can tend to escape into fantasy rather than live in reality – the reality of who we are, what we have done, what has been done to us; about how we have lived our lives, how we perceive and relate to God, what we expect and want and believe about life (and about ourselves and others and God) … All points along the way up reality mountain.
We engage in a titanic battle – at least it seems so in our own little world – to make sense of all these existential elements, sometimes with reference to God, too often with him in mind as a background actor in our personal dramas. Best Supporting Role, maybe, but supporting nonetheless.
And although we are generally our own worst enemies in the reality wars, there is plenty of help from an array of other adversaries. The four (I’ve added one) that I identify as particularly pernicious are: suffering, competition and comparison, certain species of lies about God, and “unanswered” prayer. If we can grasp how these operate in our lives, and then see our way past and beyond them, we will find ourselves eating, drinking, and reveling in reality – in a world that is less visible, but more tangible than anything that we touch with our mortal senses.
Today we will confront suffering. Is there any other aspect of human experience that throws more wrenches into our understanding of the universe as it is and as God intended it? Even more than the false dichotomy between scientific discovery and belief in a sovereign Deity, suffering is the Big Kahuna of Reasons Why I/We Don’t Believe in God. Or at least (for Christians) why I don’t completely believe – as in trust – him.
Complaints about suffering and God start at that 30,000 foot level: If God is all-good, why do his creatures suffer? If he is all-powerful, why does he not prevent suffering? Without tackling the full enormity of the question, I will make two points in answer: First, humans ask as those who otherwise want a limited amount (perhaps even nothing) of God’s intervention in their lives – only that he would make the pain go away.
Second (and following closely on the first), what we ultimately mean is why do I suffer, and why doesn’t God make MY suffering cease? It’s not that we don’t care about others, it’s just that – well, nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen.
To make matters worse, Christians (and many other religious persons) face different variants of the “why? dilemma, all of which threaten to pry our minds loose from God’s perspective on reality. Two common and contradictory ideas that plague us, are: All I deserve is suffering. Or, I should be immune from suffering.
The first of these ideas has more than an iota of truth to it, which makes it all the more virulent. After all, the real question about suffering is not why does it exist, but why, given our wickedness, does a just God allow us to live. But he, in his goodness, does. So the attack comes at us from the other direction. Knowing ourselves to be sinners, we fall into the trap of superstitious guilt. Blessings are too good to be true. The Big Hammer must be poised over our heads, with God just waiting to lower the boom. When all is well, we look over our shoulders and tiptoe around the Lord’s promises so that we don’t do anything to make him angry. This is a kind of “Man Upstairs” theology that affects even many otherwise sane believers.
The second fantasy notion – that we should be exempt from suffering – is rampant in many parts of the church. This is a false faith that takes a few verses from Scripture and makes a blessing-idol of them. God the Sugar Plum Fairy theology puts tremendous pressure on people who just don’t have it in them to succeed at life the way “faith” should produce. And so we have a kind of Christian darwinism – a survival of the faith-est (but no true faith).
These are depictions of God that are true fantasy, seeing and defining him through the lens of suffering. But what if we turn it around and consider the issue from his perspective. We would find, first, that we suffer as an inevitable result of human (including our) sin and rebellion. The Father’s purpose is not this incomplete, diminished experience of goodness, but a full expression of it.
The problem is that freedom from suffering never exists in a vacuum, but depends on an eternal relationship of faith, love, and obedience – in other words, worship – with the Source of everything that is right and true. Humans, however, have, from the beginning, chosen unbelief, indifference (or worse) and an independent path in rejection of God and his ways. We want to be planner, navigator, and mapmaker all at once, and bristle at the inevitable consequences of our defiance.
So suffering is as universal as sin. Of course, we can escape or mitigate some suffering. My friends who eschewed drugs in high school kept their memories (and reputations) intact. If we exercise and eat well, we will live somewhat healthier lives. If we drive carefully, we will be more likely to avoid accidents and infractions.
But much (most?) suffering is unavoidable or due to circumstances beyond our control. I asked my eye surgeon what I could have done to prevent a detached retina. His answer? Nada. I might be a super-cautious driver, but what about the drunk driving the wrong way on the freeway? Or those born into poverty or war or environments that are the consequence of complex social interactions? I am demonstrably the cause of some of my (and probably your) suffering, but the “Why?” of affliction doesn’t often reveal a simple thread leading to easy answers or solutions.
Which raises the second characteristic of suffering: It is unequally distributed in this life. Genetics, family and cultural situations, personal choices, and more all make for an extremely uneven landscape. But despite all the variation in human suffering, in the end it is inevitably and inexorably even-handed, when death takes the rich and powerful as well as the poor and destitute. By nature, we are all helpless in the face of our ultimate demise, and bring no claim – whether wealth, possessions, intellect, or strength – before the Judge. We bring only what the Father has fashioned in our lives by his own grace.
God, however, has more to say about suffering than any negative, nihilist, naturalist, or cynical perspective that the world advances. But to understand his truth requires revisiting a point I made earlier, a point that is deeply offensive to our pride, which is that we are “desperately wicked” (see Jer. 17:9). And that my evil is a contributing factor to all the pain and corruption that exists around me. And that I – the sinner- choose to inflict that suffering on others, however good I think I am or try to be.
If you and I will accept this revelation about ourselves, we can begin to have our eyes opened to the greater revelation about God’s view of suffering, which tells us three great things: First, suffering is temporary and relative. Paul says that these present trials – the huge ones as well as the tiny ones – are all ultimately inconsequential compared to “the weight of glory” that the Father has prepared for us.
Now, lest we fall prey to the “pie in the sky when you die” caricature, it is crucial to note that our encounter with that glory is a present reality, not just a forward-looking one. We have what the Scripture says is a “down payment” of life, power, and presence, all of which are ours today and fully ours in the Day to come.
Second, that suffering is amenable to grace and the promises of God. The transformation of our trials and frailties, of our incompleteness and frustration, and of our helplessness in the face of a world bent on self-destruction is a reality to which God’s people have always been able to testify. We have access to the daily consolation of the Spirit, of our brothers and sisters, of the presence of God-with-us, of the fruit of the discipline that we receive as his children. In my life, such encouragement has usually been greatest when suffering was deepest.
Which takes us to the third (and most remarkable) truth about suffering: that God himself has endured more of it than we ever will. In one of the most striking passages in the Bible, Isaiah says of the Lord that, “In all their (his people’s) affliction he was afflicted” (Is. 63:9). This is not just empathy, but identification in the strictest sense.
God’s enduring tribulation with and for us gives suffering a meaning that it could never otherwise have, a meaning that takes on the character of hope. That Jesus would share our temptations, our weakness, our struggle with faith, and our death; that he would take on the full weight of our sin; that he would bear the composite fury and hostility of human rebellion, all completely alter the character of suffering.
For his sons and daughters, what is real is that all goodness is from God – period. Conversely, all evil and suffering is from outside of and a distortion of his character (who he is) and his purposes (what he has done and promises)., What is real is that the Lord and his goodness are eternal. Whatever is good, having its source in the Lord, is ultimately real and will endure; whatever is evil is ultimately false and unreal, and will be destroyed (eternally).
Because we are sons and daughters through faith, we know that Romans 8:28 (he works all things for good) is not a superficial promise about a painless life, but a secure destiny that we began to taste and see from the moment we encounter the Father seeking us, finding us, and making us his beloved.
We don’t need to plunge ourselves into a fantasy world where we try desperately to make suffering go away; we can invite him to live with us, and we can be with him, through even the worst tribulation, until the day when he wipes every tear from our eye, and death is no more (Rev. 21:4). In all our afflictions …
Mike Gladieux
April 5, 2019 8:44 pmPaul, this is an important topic. I especially enjoyed your reference to Isaiah 63:9 and how you pointed out that He suffers with us when we suffer. This is true through and because off the cross of Jesus Christ. Here is part of a meditation on the judgment seat of Christ where His saints will receive their rewards for faithful service. It touches on this subject. Pardon me for the length of this excerpt, but I need to develop the ideas somewhat to make my point.
We know that as our Lord reviews our works for Him before His throne all of our unworthy works will be burnt up (1 Corinthians 3:10–15). Such works do not reflect the holiness and purity of His glorious nature and so cannot go into eternity. What will remain are those works that measure up to His perfect divine standards. Such works cannot really be our works only but rather are His work within us. I had a personal experience that hints at this holy truth. I worked for the University of Michigan in computers for over forty years. Near the end of that time the University decided to replace its “old” systems with newer technology. In that process I saw many years of my labors being summarily discarded. At that time many of my long-time coworkers expressed sad and nostalgic sentiments but the Lord spoke this to me: “While you were doing your job I was doing an eternal work in you, one that will NEVER become obsolete or be discarded. It is a foundation for a continuing work that will endure for all eternity.” As a result I felt none of the loss or sorrow that weighed upon many others. This was not my work He was referring to but His work in me, done by Him as I faithfully fulfilled my daily tasks.
All people possess an inward desire that the work they do not flutter helplessly into an eternal bottomless void. We long for meaning, significance, and permanence in our lives and in the work to which we give ourselves. But for the works of this age to pass into His eternal plan they must partake of His eternal nature, and that means that they must be worked out in union with Him and that they must be inextricably interwoven with His working within us. (see Philippians 2:12–13) This is an awesome reality—the tender intimate nature of our relationship with Him as He works in and through the mundane fabric of our daily lives to produce His eternal glorious handiwork within us—something that will be imbedded within our human nature and that we will carry forward with us throughout eternity. In this way He grants to us a personal share in His divine nature, a measure of His divinity that is instilled into our very humanity, into our own unique personality. It makes us “partakers of the divine nature” (2 Peter 1:4). The judgment seat of Christ is the time when He will bring to completion this work that He has been doing with us and in us throughout our life.
When Jesus appeared the first time He performed a work that made it possible for those who trust in Him to enter into these eternal works (2 Timothy 1:9–10). Those who have trusted in Him while living on this earth became partakers in the eternally purposed works of God. Now at the judgment seat of Christ these works are being made manifest in us, to our glory and to His. Blessed be the name of Jesus!
This work was being done within us as we lived out our usual daily human lives on this earth. Now we see the meaning of any suffering that we once had to endure, the eternal result of daily faithfulness to small duties. We see the glory that He has worked within us during those times, for by His cross eternal glory was implanted within that suffering. We receive a share in His glory just as we were partakers in His suffering, partakers in the cross that He endured on our behalf. Because they are interwoven with the events of our lives and in some measure are commensurate with them, they are rightly spoken of as a reward that He grants to us at this time. This reward will be carried forward within our human nature as part of our identity for all eternity, our personal engrafting with the splendor of His divine nature.
The difficult things that He allows to happen to us in our lives are not unfair. He is utterly righteous and true in all of these things, making us more than conquerors in and through them (Romans 8:37). We are more than conquerors because we not only overcome the evil and distress of this life and of this dark age in which we now live, but through it we partake more deeply in His nature of self-sacrificing love and are prepared to share in the everlasting weight of glory beyond all comprehension that accompanies that nature. This truth will be revealed to us as we stand before His judgment seat.
Bumptiousblue
April 9, 2019 1:27 pmYour thoughts on suffering are (as usual!) perspicacious, insightful, funny, and rather thought-provoking. While our culture doesn’t like talking about suffering, this is a major issue when it comes to faith. I like the points you make about the fantasies we buy into or generate when it comes to suffering. One of the challenges I find in this area is that I haven’t really experienced much suffering and so the conversation on the topic quickly becomes shallow for me as I feel I have little contribute. And while I know that experience isn’t the only road to knowledge and understanding, somehow, in the area of suffering, it seems to me that experience is important. Do you have any reflections on the role of experience in dispelling this particular form of fantasy for the modern middle-class person who doesn’t encounter “true suffering” very often?
pjbeckman
April 9, 2019 3:10 pmNico,
An excellent question. I’m somewhat going after an answer in my next post, but you provide an opportunity to get a head start in anticipation.
I seem to recall that it was Alexandr Solzhenitsyn who pointed out that much of what we in the West suffer is the internal, psychological sort that other cultures and times didn’t have the luxury of experiencing in the same way. I used to think that this was a profound critique of the modern middle-class human, but now I’m not so sure. It is true that we tend to magnify certain hardships in a way that defines the category of “rich people’s problems.” And there are certain tendencies toward hyper-sensitivity, vanity, and aversion to pain that had my parents and those of their generation shaking their heads.
But even given all this inner frailty, it occurs to me that moderns do suffer, however my parents might have scoffed. And perhaps much of our suffering comes precisely because we are so much more protected from the physical terrors that plagued (literally) previous ages. For example, because we view relationships in a more pressured and emotional way, we often find that connections to people are more tenuous, more fraught with the dangers of vulnerability, more costly when they don’t work. The same with our participation in the modern economic order. Stability, purpose, and productivity are so depersonalized, so divorced from life in the Spirit or even in a supportive community. I think we could say the same for physical well-being, the experience of aging, and many other now internalized aspects of living with affliction. I think many of us labor under a reign of dashed expectations, promises, hopes – all of which presses us into the fantasy worlds where we can feel some semblance of control and validation, however false and illusory.
But what if you’re not that sensitive, or you’ve learned to suffer well and have taken up the grace of gratitude, or have a sanguine personality or a high pain threshold? What do you have to say in the conversations? You can’t make up stuff or exaggerate your experiences. And you probably aren’t supposed to go eat a pile of asbestos so that you’ll have some cancer to talk about. But maybe we can ask the Father to lead us into situations where we can be with the afflicted, acquainted with their grief, and equipped to comfort them. Perhaps even if we don’t suffer in ourselves, we can grow in compassion, in deeper humility and comprehension of love, in quietness of soul and in being bearers of grace.
After all, it’s not an even playing field, except when God-with-us reveals himself as God-in-us.