By Jim Denison
“Jesus wept” (John 11:35).
Lester Denison died 30 years ago this month at the age of 55. The great tragedy of my life is that my father never met my sons. The night my father died, I stood in the back yard of our home and shook my fist at God. But he didn’t shake his fist at me.
Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, the self-proclaimed mastermind of the 9/11 terrorist attacks, will be tried in New York City — a decision that has sparked enormous controversy. America has been fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan longer than we fought in World War II. The threat of a nuclear-armed Iran hangs like a radioactive cloud over the Middle East. Unemployment has doubled over the last two years in the worst economy since the Great Depression.
My father was a Sunday school teacher before he enlisted in the Army at the outbreak of World War II. He was stationed on a Pacific island with 300 other men. Only 17 survived. After that, my dad never went to church again.
Where is God when life caves in?
Innocent suffering is the greatest challenge Christianity must face. If God is all-powerful, he could end all suffering. If he is all-loving, he would want to. But he doesn’t. Atheist Sam Harris is right: a suffering child anywhere in the universe calls into question the existence of God.
If I were elected Lord of the universe, my first act would be to eliminate all disease and disaster from the world. Why does God permit terrorists to fly planes into buildings? Why did he allow my father to die? Where has innocent suffering found you? Why does an all-loving, all-powerful God allow your pain?
A theodicy (from the Greek words for “God” and “justice”) is the word for a theological attempt to answer the question of why a just God allows evil and suffering. There are, generally speaking, four main approaches to theodicy:
The “free-will theodicy” is the most popular approach. Its logic is simple: God created us to worship him; worship requires freedom; when we misuse our freedom, the consequences are not God’s fault but ours. This approach explains why a drunk driver can crash his car — but it doesn’t explain why he can crash into yours. My father did nothing to deserve the heart disease that took his life.
The “soul-building theodicy” points to the spiritual growth that often results from suffering. C.H. Spurgeon said he “never grew half so much as upon a bed of pain.” Mother Teresa reminded us that “you never know Jesus is all you need until Jesus is all you have.” Our family has grown spiritually through my father’s death, but I’d return all I’ve learned to have him back.
The “future-hope theodicy” claims, with Paul, “Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known” (I Cor. 13:12). One day we’ll comprehend what we cannot understand now.
The “present-help theodicy” reminds us that God hurts as we hurt. He weeps beside Lazarus’ tomb and my father’s grave. He walks with us through the valley of the shadow of death (Psalm 23:4). We are in his hand (John 10:28); whatever hurts us must hurt him first.
These approaches help, but they don’t explain why my father died. They don’t justify 9/11 or the innocent suffering in your life. A few years ago, as I was wrestling with this issue, a fifth approach formed in my mind. Stated succinctly: The character of God requires him to redeem for greater good all he allows or causes.
God is “holy, holy, holy” (Is. 6:3; Rev. 4:8), perfect in every way. If he allows suffering that he does not redeem for a greater good, he has made a mistake. He cannot make mistakes. Therefore, he redeems all he allows or causes.
My Father is redeeming my father’s death for greater good. I may not understand such redemption on this side of heaven, but my finite and fallen mind does not limit his grace. I don’t need to understand how airplanes work to fly on one. I don’t need to understand how God’s redemption works to trust it.
God is redeeming every event of human history –including 9/11, and my father’s death, and your suffering. He proved it at Christmas. If Jesus would be born in a cave, he’ll be born again anywhere — even in your heart and mine. As one of the church’s earliest theologians put it, “He became one of us, that we might be one with him.”
Why is that fact good news for your soul today?