On the Road to Emmaus » Theodicy (Evil and Suffering)

Confronting the Sin of Despair – Hope as a Theology of Resistance

Richard — Fri, 29 Jan 2010 04:09:12 +0000

It is not so much sin that plunges us into disaster, as rather despair (John Chrysostom)

Revelation 21:7-8 – “The one who conquers will have this heritage, and I will be his God and he will be my son. ⁸But as for the cowardly (timid, fearful), the faithless, the detestable, as for murderers, the sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their portion will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.”

“That which leads people to sin, seems not only to be a sin itself, but a source of sins. Now such is despair, for the Apostle says of certain men (Eph. 4:19): “Who, despairing, have given themselves up to lasciviousness, unto the working of all uncleanness and covetousness.” Therefore despair is not only a sin but also the origin of other sins.” Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica 2.20

The Lord is wanting to confront the sin of despair. This woeful resignation to the status quo, this reconciliation with the deplorable condition of the present world order, is like a cancer in individuals and communities. Despair (with its corresponding lack of vibrant hope) destroys the uplifting, forward-looking, revolutionary aspects of the Christian eschatology and replaces it with an insipid acceptance of what is. “Whatever shall be shall be” becomes the mantra of a hope-less Christianity. We guard our hearts from the pain of disappointment and disillusionment by burying our hopes under the spiritual guise of “contentment” or the philosophical guise of “realism.”

In such despair, especially when theologically or spiritually justified, we testify to a God who is not powerful, not loving, not faithful and not near. He is powerless in the face of the overwhelming forces of the present world. He does not care enough about humanity to create and lead us into a reality different than the present world of suffering. He is not faithful to come through to all the dramatic and seemingly “unrealistic” promises given in the Scripture. He is not near –he is so far off and disconnected to even consider the plight of fallen humanity.

In the name of “realism” we join with Camus in his goal of “thinking clearly and hoping no more.” To think clearly, to adequately assess our situation is to not hope for very much, to expect very little, to reconcile ourselves with the way all currently exists – to rescind to a “utopia of the status quo.” We then develop theological reasons as to why every bad event occurs. We do this in order to guard ourselves from the terrifying realization of the person we perceive God to be, or what kind of person to which the unfolding of history testifies. If there is not some “higher divine reason” for all the bane and blight of my life, and indeed the universal suffering around the world which at times becomes sickeningly grotesque and wicked, then there is no other conclusion to come to than that God is some combination of weak, cold, unfaithful and distant.

Such an admission would be so painful to the core of our being that we would rather live in the depression of theological despair. Everything is thus thought to be the way it was meant to be. Every act of evil, every event of suffering is thought as God giving to us as a wonderful and precious gift. In doing so, we move the conflict and tension from between our witness to the Kingdom and the contradictory present existing reality and make it into a conflict within God – God has two “wills” – he says he is the source of a good and perfect gifts, but then seems to be the source of all evil as well.

When we reconcile ourselves with the way things are, when we passively comply to a “utopia of the status quo,” nothing is required of us. We are never called up into anything great and grand, nothing other that which is and that which we already are. We never feel the need to embrace a valiance that shapes our present world by the power of the Gospel and the life of the Spirit.

We give up and give in. We surrender to the powers that be. In doing so we give credence and even allegiance to the powers of this age. We live safe lives, marked by mediocrity, complacency and dull indifference. With resignation we accept what is, while the Spirit is calling us up into something greater.

While “hoping no more” may sound like “thinking clearly” to Camus, an atheistic existentialist, for a Christian such borders on insanity if we take the testimony of Scripture to be serious. We do not need to give theological justification, and thereby give a state of permanence to the “sufferings of the present age.” We should not ask, in all things, “why did this happen?” Rather, we can answer the question Scripture does: “what will happen?” We then proclaim the Christian hope over and against the darkness of the present.

“Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is true worship. ²Do not conform to the pattern of this world [age], but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.” Romans 12:1-2

Throughout Romans, Paul has been calling the people to understand the work of new covenant and New Creation that God is effecting in Jesus. He is the New Adam. He breaks our solidarity with the family of Adam and the reign of sin and death that it entails (Romans 5:14ff). We are members of family of the Messiah, who frees humans from the powers of this age (Romans 6) and will one day liberate the entire creation from the curse of the fall (Romans 8:19ff).

In this famous passage, Paul urges the people that the manner in which we serve God in the present time is by living in non-conformity with the present age. The common translation “do not be conformed to the ways of the world” means literally, “this age,” the present evil age of sin, suffering, sickness and death. The way to offer our lives to God in light of His mercy is not to accept all that is, but to live in resistance to it, to refuse to go along with the sin, death and suffering that so often prevails. This begins with our personal lives but immediately then moves outward as the remain thrust of Paul’s letter the Romans focuses on the implications of thus in how one lives in community.

Hope as Theology of Resistance

“The messianic hope can act in two opposite directions. It can draw the hearts of men and women away from the present into the future. Then it makes life in the present empty, and action in the present empty – and of course suffering over present oppression too. But it can also make the future of the messiah present, and fill that present with the consolation and happiness of the approaching God. In this case what the messianic idea enforces is the very opposite of ‘deferred life’. It is life in anticipation, in which everything must already be done and accomplished in a way that is final, because the kingdom of God in its messianic form is already ‘nigh’”[1]

The presence of the Messiah’s future also brings an awakened sense of the contradiction between that future and the brutal darkness of the present. Rather than minimize the tension, the brilliant colors of Messiah’s dawning reign bring the darkness of the present into sharper contrast. That evil which we had grown accustomed and indifferent to is now manifest as viciously unnatural and grotesque. After we encounter the resurrected Messiah, we cease seeing injustice as a social phenomenon, death as a phase of life and suffering as our inevitable lot. We see them as in opposition to God’s kingdom and as a betrayal of the Father’s name.[2]

Thus while in one sense, hope is a stabilizing force in our lives, empowering us through difficult circumstances, at the same time hope is a de-stabilizing force. Hope draws believers into the contradiction between the Kingdom of God and the anti-kingdom and issues forth from the deep heart as a protest against suffering, sin, injustice and death.

“If Paul calls death the ‘last enemy’ (1 Cor. 15:26), then the opposite is also true: that the risen Christ, and with him the resurrection hope, must be declared to be the enemy of death and of a world that puts up with death. Faith takes up this contradiction and thus becomes itself a contradiction to the world of death. That is why faith, wherever it develops into hope, causes not rest but unrest, not patience but impatience. It does not calm the unquiet heart, but is itself this unquiet heart in man. Those who hope in Christ can no longer put up with reality as it is, but begin to suffer under it, to contradict it. Peace with God means conflict with the world, for the goad of the promise future stabs inexorably into the flesh of every unfulfilled present.”[3]

To live in this contradiction by nature brings with it the experience of deep and profound pain, because we open ourselves to the concrete suffering and evil that pervades our age, the groan of creation and the tragedy of God in the midst of it.

This inexplicable mourning is not despair. Despair leads to reconciliation with that which is opposed to God’s Reign, the anti-kingdom. The acknowledgment of pain maintains the presence of the contradiction. If all is as it is supposed to be, there is no pain. Hence the presence of pain indicates the presence of at least an incipient resistance against darkness. It is by hope that we remain unreconciled to the world and yet maintain an “unresolved openness to the world” “until the great day of the fulfillment of all the promises of God.”[4]

[1] Jurgen Moltmann, The Way of Jesus Christ, 26.

[2] Carlos Bravo, “Jesus of Nazareth, Christ the Liberator,” in Systematic Theology, ed. Jon Sobrino and Ignacio Ellacuria (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1996), 106.

[3] Jurgen Moltmann, Theology of Hope, 21.

[4] ibid, 22.

A Biblical Concept of God Gives Rise to Lament Not Apathy

Richard — Mon, 25 Jan 2010 21:57:44 +0000

In the atmosphere of contemporary Western Christianity, when someone voices a lament with the intensity frequently found in the Psalms, it is not uncommon for them to be looked at aghast or derided for their deficient faith and concept of God, which has produced such a so-called absence of trust. “If you really knew who God was,” they might say (or one might tell themselves), “you wouldn’t feel this way.” Yet when we look to the Psalms themselves, it is indeed the biblical and thoroughly Hebrew concept of God which provides fertile ground for the most poignant and unsettling of complaints. That our concept of God results in a lament-less spirituality, while the Hebrew faith invariably gives rise to lament, should indict us of our own deficient concept of God.

Allow me to illustrate.

Verses 1-13 of Psalm 10 voices a gut-wrenching cry to God, including the charges that

God is standing far off (v. 1)
He is hiding (v. 1)
He is not lifting a finger to help us (v. 12)
He is forgetting the afflicted (v. 12)

These near blasphemous claims, to a Western Christian, would obviously arise from a lack of understanding concerning God’s sovereignty (he is in total control), omnipresence (he can’t technically be “far off”), and omniscience (he can’t forget). Yet, these complaints do arise from a concept of God, albeit, a somewhat different one. Verses 14-18 give the justification, the rationale so-to-speak, for verses 1-13.

He sees, specifically trouble and grief (v. 14) – a corollary would be that he identifies such as trouble and grief, not as a “blessing in disguise”
The purpose of his “seeing” is not an abstract omniscience, but “so that you might take it into your hands” – i.e., act on behalf of the afflicted
He is the helper of orphans – he helps the helpless (v. 14)
He is King (v. 16)
He he hears the desires of the afflicted (v. 17)
God hears in order “to vindicate the orphan and the oppressed” – he is a God of justice who vindicates the downtrodden (v. 18)

Interestingly, the notion that “God is King” (v. 16), which is essentially what the concept of “sovereignty” means (i.e., God is the “sovereign,” the king), does not produce an apathetic acquiescence to divine pre-determination as it so frequently does in Western Christianity. Rather, it undergirds a cry for God to change what he is doing–don’t sit there continuing to do nothing – get up, lift your hand to help us! The Western deterministic concept of God (God determines how every event unfolds) leads us not to lament in the face of suffering, but to “trust” God in all things, that is, accept everything that happens, good or bad, as a blessing from God. After all, since he is all-knowing, he knows better than our limited understanding. Yet the Hebrew concept of sovereignty (God is King), or divine omniscience (he sees and hears all things), does not produce an acceptance of everything that happens (including evil), but rather, a resistance of all we know to contradict God’s revealed nature. God is the helper of orphans, therefore I cannot reconcile myself with any event, circumstance or person that promotes evil, hatred and violence towards people God loves. While faith can stabilize us in perseverance towards God’s yet unfinished future, true biblical faith refuses to ignore the open wound of humanity in the name of any theological construct, but rather suffers under it. In anticipation of God’s faithfulness to his Word and revealed character, faith and hope rejects any conciliation with a world marred by sin and death. In such we lament – with a cry both loud and strong, bearing an inexplicable mourning as we await, with all the saints and the entire creation, the future of God’s faithfulness.

While the Psalms abound with such examples, one further illustration could be taken from Psalm 74. Here the lament includes:

God has rejected us (v. 1)
His anger smokes against us (v. 1)
God has not remembered us (v. 2)
Our land has become a perpetual ruin (v. 3)
Our adversaries have roared in our midst (v. 4)
God is holding back his hand (v. 11)
God is keeping his hand in his bosom (v. 12)

In verses 12-17, the mood seems to completely change, recounting the history of God’s mighty acts:

God is King (i.e., “sovereign”) (v. 12)
He works salvation and deliverance for his people (v. 12)
He divided the Red Sea to save his people (v. 13)
He destroyed the enemies of his people (v. 14)
He is the mighty creator (vv. 16-17)

This kind of belief in God – a confession of God’s mighty deeds – the Hebrew concept of God – does not reduce the lament. It does not invalidate the previous expression of sorrow. Neither does it produce a response of apathy like “well now this is true, we have nothing to worry about” (and nothing to care about either). Rather, verses 18 and following of the Psalm go back into lament, pleading with God to act and not forget those who are oppressed as targets of violence. In all, this pattern we see in the Psalms should tweak the way we neatly package God in theological terms bearing the prefix “omni” or any other prefix for that matter. The God of the Bible is the God Who Acts, specifically on behalf of his people. He is the God of Justice. When these dear beliefs are contradicted, we do not sink into the swamp of apathetic malaise which we can call “trust” if we are so inclined. Rather, we allow a cry to well up from the depths – a shattering protest and earnest appeal, mourning the absence of this God of Justice. All is not well, all is not okay, and in such we feel, and feel deeply. This pain of godforsakenness is not a wonderful place to be. However, I would much rather be there, than in the catatonia of a faith that shuts its eyes to trouble and misery and closes its ears to the cries of the afflicted, rattling off some theological platitude in the stead of sorrow. For in the agonizing depths of godforsakenness, the crucified Jesus is always present – suffering with us – our friend and companion in grief.

Asking God the Right Question

Richard — Sun, 24 Jan 2010 02:17:50 +0000

Whenever there are times of great difficulty, pain or suffering, we naturally ask God questions. I once heard someone remark that in a certain instance people were “asking God the wrong questions.” The notion of asking God the “wrong question” struck me, so I made a quick breeze through the Psalms exploring what the God-inspired Scripture indicates are the “right questions” to ask God. The “right questions” might shock the refined sensibilities of affluent Western (i.e., quasi-gnostic, quasi-Victorian) spirituality. I’ve often heard that when going through a difficulty the right question to ask God is “what are you teaching me through this trial?” Strangely, I did not find that one in the Psalms. The Psalmists are rather uninhibited in their gritty and unvarnished processing of pain before God. Granted, these questions are not the entirety of this process. But they are where the process must start. Giving an answer is a meaningless abstraction apart from the concrete and often disconcerting question to which it corresponds. Comfort that denies the problem is merely delusion. The Psalmist does not simply “surrender to the sovereignty of God” or “discern what God is trying to teach.” The right question is the question that allows the full release of lamentation which is lodged in the soul whether it is expressed or not. Failure to express such reality only brings our relationship with God into the placid oblivion of unreality. The honesty modeled in the Psalms is the gateway into a deeper relationship with God and true Biblical spirituality.

My soul also is struck with terror, while you, O LORD—how long?

For in death there is no remembrance of you; in Sheol who can give you praise?

Why, O LORD, do you stand far off? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?

Why do the wicked renounce God, and say in their hearts, “You will not call us to account”?

How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?

“What profit is there in my death, if I go down to the Pit? Will the dust praise you? Will it tell of your faithfulness?

How long, O LORD, will you look on? Rescue me from their ravages, my life from the lions!

I say to God, my rock, “Why have you forgotten me? Why must I walk about mournfully because the enemy oppresses me?”

For you are the God in whom I take refuge; why have you cast me off? Why must I walk about mournfully because of the oppression of the enemy?

Have you not rejected us, O God?

O God, why do you cast us off forever? Why does your anger smoke against the sheep of your pasture?

How long, O God, is the foe to scoff? Is the enemy to revile your name forever?
Why do you hold back your hand; why do you keep your hand in your bosom?

“Will the Lord spurn forever, and never again be favorable?
Has his steadfast love ceased forever? Are his promises at an end for all time?
Has God forgotten to be gracious? Has he in anger shut up his compassion?” Selah

How long, O LORD? Will you be angry forever? Will your jealous wrath burn like fire?

Why should the nations say, “Where is their God?” Let the avenging of the outpoured blood of your servants be known among the nations before our eyes.

O LORD God of hosts, how long will you be angry with your people’s prayers?

Will you be angry with us forever? Will you prolong your anger to all generations?
Will you not revive us again, so that your people may rejoice in you?

Do you work wonders for the dead? Do the shades rise up to praise you? Selah
Is your steadfast love declared in the grave, or your faithfulness in Abaddon?
Are your wonders known in the darkness, or your saving help in the land of forgetfulness?

O LORD, why do you cast me off? Why do you hide your face from me?

How long, O LORD? Will you hide yourself forever? How long will your wrath burn like fire?

Lord, where is your steadfast love of old, which by your faithfulness you swore to David?

Have you not rejected us, O God?

My eyes fail with watching for your promise; I ask, “When will you comfort me?”

How long must your servant endure? When will you judge those who persecute me?

(Psalm 6:3, 5; 10:1, 13; 13:1; 22:1; 30:9; 35:17; 42:9; 43:2; 60:10; 74:1; 74:10, 11; 77:7-9; 79:5, 10; 80:4; 85:5-6; 88:10-12, 14; 89:46, 49; 108:11; 119:82, 84)

Being a Prophetic Voice in Times of Disaster

Richard — Thu, 21 Jan 2010 07:25:03 +0000

The most significant aspect of being a prophetic voice is deeply knowing and clearly articulating the heart of God.

From the time when a major natural disaster strikes, one can hold their breath until people have quickly announced that such a tragedy (which incidentally, happened in a place far, far away and did not remotely touch the speaker) was the direct judgement of God for this or that act of wickedness. This decree is usually accompanied by a montage of clippings from the Old Testament prophets, explaining how such is surely the case. However, it strikes me that there is a tremendous difference between repeating the words of the prophets and embodying the lifestyle and heart of the prophet, no less going on the journey with God of compassionate solidarity with the those who are now suffering. The former seems fairly easier and a trifle more convenient than the latter.

Consider this excerpt from Jeremiah, which is rarely used in such a prophetic montage:

My sorrow is beyond healing, my heart is faint within me! Behold, listen! The cry of the daughter of my people from a distant land: “Is the LORD not in Zion? Is her King not within her…Harvest is past, summer is ended, and we are not saved.”

For the brokenness of the daughter of my people I am broken; I mourn, dismay has taken hold of me.

Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician there? Why then has not the health of the daughter of my people been restored? Oh that my head were waters and my eyes a fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night for the slain of the daughter of my people! (Jeremiah 8:18-9:1)

Or this:

Let my eyes run down with tears night and day, and let them not cease, for the virgin daughter—my people—is struck down with a crushing blow, with a very grievous wound. If I go out into the field, look—those killed by the sword! And if I enter the city, look—those sick with famine! (Jeremiah 14:17-18)

Or this one from Lamentations:

For these things I weep; my eyes run down with water; because far from me is a comforter, one who restores my soul. My children are desolate because the enemy has prevailed. Zion stretches out her hands; There is no one to comfort her…” (Lam. 1:16)

Each of these passages deals with a situation in which the suffering is clearly caused by a judgement of the Lord and was directly related to the sin of the people. Yet consider how the prophet speaks – not as an outsider standing on moral high ground. Not as a detached arbiter of divine knowledge. Not as a coveted source of clarity. Rather, they speak primarily as those who mourn. They speak of “my people.” They cry out in bitterness of soul. They identify themselves as among those who suffer. The prophet only speaks in compassionate solidarity with the suffering. From a privileged vantage point the “wise men” claim to give counsel. They announce that all is in fact well. But Jeremiah rebukes them saying, “They have treated the wound of my people carelessly, saying, “Peace, peace,” when there is no peace. (Jer. 8:11)” Those who lounge in affluence and with dry eyes declare that a disaster is in fact a blessing (peace, peace – this is a good thing), have more in common with Jeremiah’s enemies than Jeremiah himself, even though they might quote his writings. They also have more in common with those asking Jesus to explain whose sin caused certain suffering (John 9), rather than Jesus himself, the ultimate prophet, who in response to suffering “bore our griefs and carried our sorrows,” making the ultimate act of sympathetic identification with us by enduring crucifixion and through his resurrection, opened the way for suffering to be overcome. It is much easier to sound like a prophet, then to have the quality of soul a prophet possesses, which feels deeply for the suffering and leads one to suffer alongside them.

To help discern one’s readiness to be a prophetic voice in times of disaster, I’ve come up with a check list:

If your first thought when a disaster strikes, is a one sentence explanation that allows your life to largely remain undisrupted, you are probably not a prophetic voice.
If your first thought when a disaster strikes, is to figure out what horrible sin the area affected was committing, you are probably not a prophetic voice.
If your first thought when a disaster strikes is anything other than broken-hearted compassion, you are probably not a prophetic voice.
If you have not even skipped one meal between the time of the disaster and your pronouncement, you are probably not a prophetic voice.
If you are emotionally unaffected by the suffering of people whom God loves, you are probably not a prophetic voice and are likely in a seriously sinful state of hardness of heart.
If you find yourself talking about “them,” you are probably not a prophetic voice.
If you think it is good that “they” finally learned about the “futility of man,” you are probably not a prophetic voice.
If your prayers do not sound like the book of Lamentations, you a probably not a prophetic voice.
If your eyes are dry and heart unmoved, yet you can manage to have enough “insight” and moral high ground to size up the situation, your soul is in grave danger.
If you have no input or role to actually help the people in the disaster make sense of the situation, yet you feel compelled to neatly explain the situation in trite one-liners, not only are you certainly not a prophetic voice, but you need to take serious stock of your motives.

The question is, why would someone who has no voice or opportunity to help the actual people in crisis make sense of their situation, feel compelled to conceptually solve the problem? The answer cannot be altruistic concern, because by nature of their location and reach, their explanation cannot be of help to them. They are not a prophetic voice in the situation merely in light of their geographic proximity or lack thereof. So why do people feel so great an urge to explain such occurrences? Who does such an answer help? The only solution I can discern is this impulse comes from one’s own unsettled heart and the desire to assuage it. These answers serve to help ourselves. We all have “small-scale” issues of pain and suffering – a failed relationship, a moral deficiency, financial uncertainty, an abusive past, insecurities, fears, disappointments and regrets. The pain we experience from these are often strong enough to drive us to utter despair. Christians will frequently use trite explanations to eliminate this emotional upheaval – God caused this trial to teach me a lesson, or to test my faith, God is setting me up for an even greater blessing down the road, God is letting me go through this so I can relate to others and reach out to them, God is preparing me for my calling, or the tribulation, etc. These easy explanations help turn a painful experience into one that is apparently not so painful. The once-thought tragedies are actually a blessing-in-disguise. Thus the “explanations” help us maintain an even-keel status quo of emotional stability. In essence they serve to anesthetize the pains of life so we can continue to give off the image that we mostly “have it together.”

But suddenly something extremely terrible happens. Intuitively we know that things are amiss. The impropriety of our rabid and de-humanizing anesthetizing is exposed and so rises the utter need – the compulsion – the addiction – to apply the same logic we used for ourselves on a massive scale. That is the only way we can continue to justify our state. This disaster is truly a blessing because now people will turn to God and be saved. This disaster is truly a blessing because the “pride of man” is being revealed. This disaster is truly a blessing because it is better to suffer now than in hell. But this explanation-addiction does not arise from a compassionate solidarity with those in suffering, such as characterized weeping Jeremiah or the crucified Jesus. Rather, it comes from the selfish desire to maintain a status-quo in which we narcissistically can continue in our mental and emotional sanity and perpetuate the delusional image of our non-savior-needing state. Jesus did not respond to suffering with cliches – he responded by suffering and dying for those in need. The apostle Paul tells us the Christian response to the groaning of the entire creation – the sufferings of the present time – is groanings that are inexpressible (Romans 8:26).

To me it seems likely the reason we so often respond to the sufferings of others with obtuse cliches, is because we respond to our own suffering with cliches. We cannot feel the compassion of God for the hurting, because the god we worship does not have compassionate solidarity with us. He despises and scorns us in our suffering, giving us explanations rather than friendship. How radically different is the true God revealed in the Bible. In all our afflictions, he is afflicted (Isa. 63:7). He truly is the one who weeps with those who weep. His compassions (literally in Hebrew the feelings a mother has for those in her womb) are over all that He has made. In the midst of a world marred by suffering and grief, where is God? In your deepest pain, loneliness and sorrow where is God? He is not far away, untouchable off in his heaven. No, he is among us, suffering with us. The presence of the Holy Spirit is himself an inexpressible groaning within us, suffering alongside us (Rom. 8:26), reminding us of how the crucified Lord drew near to our pain in the deepest way. We do not have a great high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weakness, but one who became like his brothers and sisters in every way. He knows us. He is with us. He has drawn near, in the depths of our darkest despair.

The Scripture gives us clear precedent in the prophets for moments when an explanation for a crisis is given by direct revelation. The Scripture also tells us that before the coming of the Lord there will be untold upheaval like the world has never seen. However, this does not require us to give an explanation for all suffering out of a selfish desire to remain in denial about our own pain. Indeed, if we might even purpose at one time to give that explanation to a world in desperate need, our central concern in the present must be to become the kind of person God would want to give such a message, someone who enters into compassionate solidarity with the suffering, someone whose life has been conformed in passionate likeness to the crucified Lord.

As I have been thinking about this, I find myself remarkably convicted. I see my own dearth of compassion and my need to draw near to the crucified Lord and hear his heart – to know him in an ever deeper way. What capacity of soul drove the Lord of Heaven to endure such shame and ignominy, such rejection and abandonment, by the world he fashioned with love, by his people Israel, by his closest friends, and by His very own Father? What depth of compassion courses through his veins? What manner of self-giving consumes such a one that does not scorn the sufferings of my pathetic state and bows so low to be near me, to know me in my deepest pain? I find myself wanting to be a prophetic voice, yet reduced to silence as I sense the inexpressible groanings in solidarity with the travail of creation ever so subtly begin to emerge within my soul.

Holy God

Holy and Mighty

Holy Immortal One

Have mercy upon us.

A Thought on Suffering and Hebrews 12

Richard — Sat, 09 Feb 2008 12:18:27 +0000

Last night, I read an article in which the author asserted the notion that all suffering in the world has a divine purpose. This is not in the sense that God works good in all things (Rom. 8:28), but that God specifically plans and ordains all evil events as good, so far as to say that God is “behind Satan.” The Scripture used to validate this idea was Hebrews 12:7 (plus the surrounding verses): “You must endure [your trials] as [divine] discipline, God is treating you as sons.1 The first interesting thing I noticed, as William Lane’s exhaustive commentary on Hebrews brought out, is that the words “trials” and “divine” are not actually in the Greek text of the Bible, but are added into the translations to help make sense of the passage. This is neither here nor there.
The underlying assumption in the author’s article was that this verse speaks to all forms of evil and suffering in the world and that these sufferings are meant by God to correct, discipline and punish us towards greater sanctification. Does the passage however speak universally? The commentary I read on the passage seemed also to be unclear. At one point he says, “Adversity and hardships are to be understood as firm correction attesting God’s love for his child.”2 Does this however, mean that since suffering is correction it is always in response to sin, or that only Christians who are in sin are persecuted? Further on the same page, he says “In this context, ‘discipline’ signifies the suffering that may have to be endured because of fidelity to God.”3 So are these sufferings correction for sin or are they because of faithfulness? It seems in context, that this passage is specifically about people who are enduring persecution for their faithful witness to the Gospel. Their being persecuted and their enduring in it confirms their standing that they are true children of God. Let’s say for argument’s sake (although it is questionable whether even this can be legitimately drawn from the text) that God specifically and intentionally ordains persecution against Christians to train them in righteousness. We can chart out the reasoning of the article’s conclusion by making a diagram.4

Even if we are willing to grant the evidence as expressed (although that in itself is possibly an oversimplified understanding of Hebrews 12), it still stands that Hebrews 12 cannot maintain an argument for a universal explanation of evil. There is no warrant for universalizing the evidence in the Scripture passage to support the claim that all suffering and evil has a divine reason. There is no justification for making the logical leap in the chart above that is necessary to come to the above mentioned author’s conclusion.
Hebrews 12 may give a divine explanation for Christian persecution and the suffering that is entailed in living a life faithful to the gospel. It does not however, give a universal explanation for evil. It does not speak to a multitude of events. In effect, it leaves unanswered the very circumstances that this type of thought attempts to give divine reason to:

Natural disasters
Physical illness
Poverty
War
Human trafficking
Child slavery
The inability of millions around the world to access clean water
Domestic violence
When a two-month-old child contracts a painful, incurable bone cancer
The rape and dismemberment of a young girl
Accidents that cause the sudden death of a loved one

Hebrews 12 does not teach that all of these events have a divine reason and are ordained by God to teach the sufferers to grow in holiness. Instead we are still left wondering about why there is so much evil, so much pain. We are left without an ability to escape the gruesome realities of life to a heavenly bliss of “God’s perfect will.” We are left to grieve deeply over our own pain and the pain of others. In grieving deeply, we begin to shake off our apathy towards resisting evil and the denials of life. We get up and begin to unreservedly affirm what God has declared as good and boldly declare God’s hatred of all that is wrong. If this is where we find ourselves in response to suffering, we are in good company with the Psalmists of Israel, the apostolic company and the crucified Lord, who did not spend so much time explaining evil as they did mourning over it and resisting it.

———————————-
1 Translation from William Lane, Hebrews 9-13, Word Biblical Commentary (Dallas: Word, 1991), 397.
2 Ibid, 421.
3 Ibid.
4 Adapted from Stephen Toulmin, The Uses of Argument (Cambridge: University Press, 2003) and David Zarefsky, Argumentation (The Teaching Company, 2002).

Will You Forget Me Forever?

Richard — Wed, 28 Feb 2007 08:42:31 +0000

“How long, oh Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I take counsel in my soul and have sorrow in my heart all the day? How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?” Psalm 13:1-2

How did these verses get in the Bible? How are they inspired by the Holy Spirit? How were they part of Jewish liturgy and prayer? Why have the been incorporated as part of Christian worship for the entire history of the church? How are these words remotely Christian?

Interesting questions regarding an even more interesting set of verses. It is remarkable that these verses stand as they are in the Biblical text. They are not followed by a rebuke our a denunciation for a bad confession. They are not followed by a discourse on the omniscience of God to correct the obviously true fact that God cannot and does not forget us. Neither are they set forth as an example of someone wavering in faith as if they had a long way to grow in trusting God. Rather this text is in a collection of songs to be sung in the regular worship of the people of God. Possibly even more striking is that this text is not alone in the book of Psalms but is one among many like it with its climax possibly being Psalm 22:1, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning?” Rather than corrected with qualifications, these verses and the cries that they express in the heart of every human being are left to stand.

The Holy Spirit and the compilers of the canon deemed it fit that these words were important for the life of the people of God throughout the ages. However, at times we run across the attitude of “trust” and “faith” in God, in which one is confident that everything is turning out the way God wanted it and everything is working out the best possible way and thus we can be at peace. This faith seems to overshoot the faith of the Biblical witness itself and almost seems like “trusting God too much.” The Psalmist here and in other places apparently recognized that everything was not turning out the best possible way and in a sense perceived her god-forsaken status in the fallen world.

How can these prayers be ours as Christians who affirm the tender-hearted and tenaciously faithful love of the all-powerful God? Is there room for the recognition of our god-forsakenness without all the qualifiers immediately rushing in? How can we as believers in the promise of God express our pain and grief over the apparent non-fulfillment of the promise and the radical disconjunction between what we hope for and what we know should be? Every prayer we offer screams of this gut-wrenching, painful contradiction between what we believe God to be like and what we experience as reality in the world. Is the problem truly just in our perspective? If we understood from God’s perspective would that make all of our pain an unmixed blessing? Not many answers on this end, just a conviction that I want the real me – the perplexed, in pain, aware of my shortcomings me to know God and what He is like. I don’t want the “me” with no problems and everything is working out great to believe that God loves me and is faithful towards me. I want the isolated, god-forsaken, broken, longing-for-something-beyond me to glance outside my shell and somehow learn to trust and hope in a God who loves and delights in me.

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