‘Why does God allow suffering?’ is a common catch-cry in our society. Christians and non-Christians alike struggle with the concept of a God who either doesn’t seem to care about our pain, or who cares but appears powerless to intervene.
For a Christian who believes God is all-powerful as well as all-caring, it’s a conundrum. (That’s putting it mildly.) It can mess with your head and mess up your faith.
It’s a question I’ve asked many times, especially in the context of chronic illness. What kind of God would wish a lifelong illness on me filled with agony and no hope of healing? What kind of omnipotent being would watch me suffer under the seemingly omnipotent hand of lupus, as the void between us grows into an aching chasm? Is this the face of a loving God?
As much as I think of myself as a strong person, a flare can bowl me over anytime. That’s when I’m thrown back into spiritual agony. And that’s often when people reassure me that ‘God has a plan.’ Which is what every person enduring pain through gritted teeth wants to hear. Obviously.
Is this pain ‘the plan’?
Is there ‘a plan’ for this pain to ever stop?
Does ‘God’s plan’ involve telling me ‘the plan’?
I have stopped believing in the whole ‘It’s God’s plan’ thing. I don’t believe that suffering is inflicted by God. I don’t believe he plans our suffering as part of a masterful design for personal growth or some kind of sick, divine schadenfreude. Suffering just happens; it’s part of being human. I do believe, however, that God is ever present with us. He never stops caring. He cannot, and will not, abandon us.
I don’t believe God plans our suffering as part of a masterful design for personal growth, or some kind of sick, divine schadenfreude.
Here is the unsettling truth: this caring God is a God who allows pain. God cares deeply about our pain, but he may not stop it. If I get stuck on this thought, my spiritual life can come unglued. What I do at this point is turn my eyes upon Jesus. God allowed Jesus to experience pain too. Jesus asked for the ‘cup’ to be removed, but God allowed the crucifixion to carry on unimpeded. He watched his Son suffer and die.
I cannot imagine how that felt for God the Father. But I know the Son felt abandoned by God.
‘“My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?”’ – Jesus, Matthew 27:46 (MSG)
Jesus, in his full humanity, joined with our humanity through pain. Jesus, in his full divinity, is the God-with-us part. He understands the suffering that triggers feeling abandoned by God. He fully empathises with us, not as a bystander but as a full participant in our experience.
If I’m honest, there are times I feel abandoned by God—usually when pain is skyrocketing or lupus renders me disabled. That’s when I wonder if life is still worth living. That’s when I wonder about God’s care.
The heartfelt cry, ‘God, do you still care?’, reflects our innermost desire: we desperately want him to care. We want him to help us when we need it most. When I want a bit of pain relief, a bit of sleep, a bit of hope to break like light through the storm clouds, that’s when I want to know he is still there.
On that point, God has been singularly consistent. He has been there. He hasn’t always healed me or given answers, and at times he has allowed terrific pain, but he has stayed by my side like a bodyguard, a nurse, a confidante.
The God who allows pain is with me in the pain. It’s a startling paradox of his kingdom, a truth and mystery filled with tension. I will probably wrestle with this divine contradiction for the rest of my life. Thankfully, God is with me in tension, wrestling and mystery.
Perhaps a deep faith is one filled with wrestling. Join me, won’t you?
Have you ever wondered why God allows so much pain? Have you felt abandoned by God? What comforts you in that space of tension and wrestling? Share your story. Let’s have a countercultural conversation.