Here is the difficulty that I have with usual the usual arguments
that come up in (religious) people’s efforts to justify suffering in the world
in the light of a good God. They tend to act as if suffering were the
exception—a funny glitch in an otherwise calm and collected world—when it seems like
suffering is the rule (at least to me). I cannot treat the reality of suffering as an outlier in
the normal range of human experience. Yes, it is true that much suffering is
caused by human mistakes; yes, it is true that a great deal of pain is also
caused by natural and other events that God does not simply “cause.” But I believe in an
omnipotent, omniscient God. And while I understand the distinction between a God
who causes such things and one who simply allows them, that distinction is not
so very great in my personal experience and reasoning. My omniscient God could choose to alleviate that
suffering, and he does not. My God could
change the pattern of the seas and of depressed people’s brainwaves, but he
does not. Perhaps most significantly, my
God could have chosen to redeem the world through any means he wanted (he is
God!) and the way he chose was by
having his human son live 33 years on earth before suffering unimaginable
torments and being brutally executed before rising again. This was the way he
wanted things. That God—my God—may be a God I struggle to understand, but the
evidence suggests that suffering is mysteriously essential to his plan. Avoiding that fact is to miss something central to the structure of the
universe he created, and therefore prevents my understanding and knowing him better.
I don’t mean that God’s a glutton for punishment. He also
made a world that is undeniably, heart-breakingly beautiful and surprising, full
of deep pleasures and enduring attractions. I have a (scientist) friend who once
referred to the natural world as exhibiting signs of God’s extravagance. When I
consider the varieties of things and people in the world—the sheer number of
plants and animals (often of the same species!) it suggests to me that God
really is extravagant; he made a world full of dramatically different kinds of
things, because he likes it that way. Did we really need so many different colors and
sounds and tastes and sights in the world? So many powerfully beautiful places?
Apparently, he thought we did, anyway, just as he and we (somehow) also need
to suffer in order to rise again. This is the paradox that
God-made-man recalls me to. A paradox that I ignore at my own peril, and whose
truth is strangely, movingly, satisfying. Because suffering opens me to an
experience of love---both giving and receiving—that somehow, I cannot have
without it. The more I live, the more I begin (tentatively, in baby steps) to recognize the possibility of loving that way as something satisfying in itself.
As the character, “El Gallo” says in The Fantasticks (an off, off-Broadway musical I grew up with),
There is a curious
paradox that no one can explain. / Who understands the secrets of the reaping
of the grain? / Who understands why spring is born out of winter's laboring
pain? / Or why we all must die a bit before we grow again? / I do not know the
answer / I merely know it's true / I hurt them for that reason / And myself a
little bit, too.
I leave you with the
musical’s most beautiful song, “They Were You.” The lead couple sing it to each other at the conclusion, but it's more. Like the incarnation, it's much more than a metaphor could ever, ever be.