Q&R: Why does God let it keep going? Brad Jersak

First, your framing of the question is so authentic, well-stated, and painful to reflect on.  And the thought of how we “sit with Jesus” and “sit for Jesus” and maybe even “sit as Jesus” takes us to the heart of the matter. And after all that, there’s still the question because the affliction persists.

 

Suffering, as a general term, is normal for people in the real world and part of our growth, how we learn to overcome and to find meaning. But when suffering becomes brutal, Simone Weil described that as ‘affliction,’ where any rationalization will call evil good and good (God) evil.  And in our world, affliction happens. It is the ugly shadow side of natural law (required for human life) and human freedom (required for love). I would say that most afflictions result from the misuse of our freedom. Not just suffering or affliction but evil.

 

Why does God let affliction keep going? If it is a shadow side of natural law and human freedom, we might propose what ‘stopping it’ would look like. Particularly if “stopping it” must happen within the confines of love rather than magic or force (both of which violate love).

 

So what is God to do? Suspend nature and violate freedom? No. That would be the end of life and love.

What then? Is God powerless in the face of affliction? Yes and no. Powerless to act other than love, but also, God is all-powerful love.

And what does that look like? To be just, God must restore all things, redeem all people, and make all things new.

How? It looks like entering the human condition in person, co-suffering it with us, and welcoming us to partner with him as healers. Love heals… or when the inevitable shadow comes, even death, yes, he’s with us and in us even there… then resurrection

 

The above proposal doesn’t solve the problem, but it does gesture to God’s response, looking like the crucified One who bears our afflictions (not just his). There, at the Cross, we bring our afflictions and are in the fellowship of sharing his suffering, perhaps experiencing his life.  As a rationalization, this doesn’t work. But as an experience of communion with a living Presence, strangely, I see some comfort.

 

The problem is that affliction is relentless, blinding, pervasive, and resists any reasonable response. It arrests me. So I wait. And the only waiting that has brought me real reprieve is waiting at the foot of the Cross in the mystery of how divine goodness, human affliction, and my life are united in the crucified God.

 

It’s just that words don’t get us there, but I can hear your question as what it is: authentic lament.

 

Here’s a strange thing about lament: when I read the Book of Lamentations, I hear the people crying out in their affliction. But I also notice that their cry is not really a question, even if they ask, “Why?” This may be the only sustained scripture where God’s people aren’t saying, “We need you to answer, God,” but rather, “This time, God, you’ll sit, and you’ll listen. Your promises in our pain are just platitudes. It’s our turn to talk.” 

 

Bold. Now here’s the crazy thing. Out of their lament, NOT God’s response (there isn’t really one), counter-intuitively, their catharsis leads to their stunning conclusion:

 

 

They didn’t get there by God’s clever explanations, deferred promises, or even by alleviating their affliction. It seems they experienced something in the context of their authentic lament that led them to confess the impossible.

And perhaps the takeaway is NOT to quote this verse until we feel better but rather to grieve in God’s presence (anywhere else we get stuck) until the grief produces that verse in us as a fundamental conviction.

In my darkest place, it involved even simpler language: “How can I trust you? I can’t trust you!” until, without any positive change in my circumstances (indeed, it got worse), when everything seemed bulldozed to bedrock, one day, I just knew, “God is good.” And that became my bottom. Sometimes, from that space, I get glimpses of joy, but can never say to you, “And so should you.” 

 

All that to say, your questions are welcome in heaven, and they are welcome here. Keep asking them!