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100 Sermon Illustrations on Theodicy

100 illustrations Page 2 of 2

Theodicy addresses the question of why a good and sovereign God permits evil and suffering, a central challenge in Christian preaching (Job 1-2). Illustrations often depict human struggles, unanswered questions, and the tension between faith and doubt, using images of calamity, personal loss, and the search for God's presence amid pain (Job 13:23-24). This theme invites reflection on God's justice, mercy, and the mystery of His purposes.

Where Is God In the Midst of Tragedies?

Hebrews 13:8

In the midst of tragedies, every promise of God is still true. Tragedy does not remove God or change God. He remains (Hebrews 13:8). When God says, “I will never leave you nor forsake you,” (Deuteronomy 31:6; Hebrews 13:5), He means this and He never changes. Such promises of God are for such times as tragedy.

Some feel that if God is really a God of Love, He would not permit any tragedies. Not so! Sin causes tragedy. Sin is real and brings death (Romans 6:23). In the midst of all sin does to disrupt and destroy life as God intended, He has provided a way for dealing with sin and its consequences. His own presence through the death, resurrection and ascension of His Son has provided totally. His Grace is sufficient, always (2 Corinthians 12:9).

The Apostle Paul, out of the depth of His life experiences, could boldly proclaim: “[W]here sin abounded, grace abounded much more” (Romans 5:20b). Paul also knew the incredible effect of sin on all creation, so that through nature death and destruction could prevail: “[F]or we know that the whole creation groans and labors with birth pangs together until now” (Romans 8:22). We are experiencing the awesome reality of this all over the world in our day.

To leave the reality of sin, and its effects, out of our reasoning in the midst of tragedies would be foolish. It also would distort the Truth of God, creating confusion and unnecessary pain and suffering. God remains prefect love in the midst of tragedy, and His presence can and will transform everything –- if we let Him.

As a pastor, I’ve seen God’s presence and truths set people free and transform entire situations. We have been experiencing many tragedies in recent months. We need to choose to believe God and let Him affect us –- in His perfect love! We must not let the world bring their claims against God, or put us into their mold of thinking about God in the midst of tragedies. We are not intimidated by the world’s lack of knowledge about God. We have been given the Truth by God, in His Word, and we must share His Truth with our world boldly and confidently.

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Dark Night of The Soul: The Church's Available Resources

Job 1:9

I'm a product of the very best in evangelicalism: converted thirty-two years ago after hearing the Gospel and then taught by great evangelical theologians. I know the strength of evangelicalism in bringing people to an intimate relationship with Jesus -- something often missing in more liturgical traditions.

But what do we do when God seems distant? What happens in the dark night of the soul?

Well, as many of you have, I found out this year. Soon after finishing my book THE GOOD LIFE, my son Wendell was diagnosed with bone cancer. The operation to remove the tumor took ten hours -- the longest day of my life. Wendell survived, but he's still on chemo.

I had barely caught my breath when my precious daughter Emily was diagnosed with melanoma. I was soon back in the hospital, again praying fervently. Two of my three kids with cancer: Where was my good life?

Awake at night, I asked God why He was allowing this. Alone, shaken, fearful, I longed for the closeness I had experienced even in the darkest days of prison.

An answer came in September. I stood alone on the deck of a friend's home in North Carolina, looking over the spectacular Smokey Mountains rising out of the mist. And I was moved, as I so often am, by the glory of God's creation. It's impossible not to know God as Creator, I realized, for there is no other rational explanation for reality. God cannot not be.

It struck me that I need not make sense of the agonies I was given to bear, or hear a clear answer. God is not the creature of my emotions or senses. God is God, the One who created me and in whose care lies my children's destinies and my own. I could cling only to the certainty that He is and He has spoken.

I'm not sure the evangelical world prepares us for dark nights like this; I suspect many of us experience them, but are afraid to admit them because people would think we are not spiritually strong enough. At such times, however, we can turn for strength to a rich spiritual tradition probably unfamiliar to most of us -- writings by the saints who endured agonies both physical and spiritual in the centuries past.

St. John of the Cross, a sixteenth-century Spanish monk, is one. He was persecuted and thrown into prison, and wrote the classic book THE DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL. He wrote, “O you souls who wish to go on with so much safety and consolation, if you knew how pleasing to God is suffering, and how much it helps in acquiring other good things, you would never seek consolation in anything; but you would rather look upon it as a great happiness to bear the Cross of the Lord.”

His point is that faith becomes strongest when we are without consolation and walk into the darkness with complete abandon.

Faith is not really faith, is it, if we always hear the still voice of God cheering us on? The gift of faith is most real when we trust even when every outward reality tells us there is no reason to do so.

In times of trouble, evangelicals need more than the cheerful tunes and easy answers. And we can find it by digging deeply into the Church's treasures to find the reality of what it is like to worship God -- not because of our circumstances, but in spite of them.

This year, I've realized that God is not just the friend who takes my hand -- which He does so often -- but the great, majestic Creator who reigns forever.

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Copyright (c) 2005 Prison Fellowship Ministries. Reprinted with permission. "BreakPoint with Chuck Colson" is a radio ministry of Prison Fellowship Ministries.

A Scandal To the Spirit of the Faithful

Job 1

One question has plagued Christians [indeed, all believers] for centuries -- how can God be a just God when the wicked are allowed to prosper? Psalm 37 -- along with Psalms 49, 73, and the book of Job -- addresses this question and is often labeled a “theodicy,” which literally means “justice of God.”

Addressed to believers who are troubled by the successes of those who do not follow the ways of the Lord, Psalm 37 speaks to people who are in the throes of a crisis of faith. It’s important to note that the people whom the believers reviled here were not wicked because they were wealthy -- they were wealthy because they were wicked (vv. 14, 32). And this is, as one commentator put it, “a scandal to the spirit of the faithful.” The psalmist offered no excuses based on psychology or sociology for the reality of the situation. Instead, he gave a reminder of who God is and what He does: God loves justice (v. 28). God laughs at the wicked (v. 13, cf. 2:4). The “consolation” for believers is in the fact that their lives are founded upon Him and that He is the foundation of the universe.

from Today In The Word via Kerux Sermon and Illustration Database

Tsunami and the Gospel

Job 13:3

Natural disasters always provoke questions of God's goodness in the face of excruciating tragedy. It has always been so and disasters will always continue. It has not been given to Christians to dispel the mystery of evil. The cynic in us is tempted to resolve the issue by removing God from all consideration and doing what Job refused to do: curse (consign to oblivion) his own hope. Yet this choice saves no one from the terrible waves of water and leaves us with no hope or meaning beyond the devastation.”

“Jesus does not attempt to explain why the tower of Siloam (Lkuke 13) fell on those 18 people but he carefully and adamantly denies that it was because they were worse sinners than others in Jerusalem. He acknowledges therefore, that there is innocent suffering but he goes on to say what seems at first unpastoral “...but unless you repent you shall likewise perish.”

“Is He saying to us, as we watch scenes of such sudden and unimaginable suffering and death, that unless we repent we shall likewise perish? It is difficult to make sense of the text short of saying “yes” to this question. The key to the sustaining hope in these conditions is Thomas Cranmer's wisdom about repentance, what he called 'renewing the power to love'.”

“Leaving God in the arena of such disasters with Jesus' admonition to repent does not resolve the mystery of evil but clearly it does not identify God with tsunamis as in the current pantheism and panentheism. Instead, it affirms a personal love above, beyond and amidst any disaster as we repent, “renewing the power to love.”

On a very practical level this means that each disaster is an opportunity to admit, as Jesus exhorts, that we have not loved as God would have us love and in turning to help the bereaved and stricken in His name we are given a power to love that we did not have before.

In this hope we can pray that the overwhelming, world-wide, international and interfaith response of help will lead to a love and peace among all peoples what was not possible before the disaster. God is present in and beyond tsunamis in our response of help by renewing the power to love

George Steiner once spoke about grace in disaster in regard to Beethoven's Ninth Symphony which was produced when the composer was deaf. Steiner observed that “it was an awesome encounter between God and one of the god-like of his creatures” and that to have heard such music out of deafness “is to have wrestled with the angel.”

Each tragedy is a chance for us “to wrestle with the angel.”

________

The Rt. Rev. Dr. C. FitzSimons Allison is the former Bishop of South Carolina. He is the author of several books including The Cruelty of Heresy, An affirmation of Christian Orthodoxy.

from Virtueonline@episcopalian.org · Rt. Rev. Dr. C. FitzSimons Allison via Kerux Sermon and Illustration Database tragedy

Pain and Purpose

2 Corinthians 4:17

Imagine walking into a room to find an infant wailing as if her life depended on it. An adult, piercing the infant’s skin with a sharp object, is causing the distress. Any compassionate person would attempt to intervene and rescue the child, wouldn’t he? But let’s add a few more details into this scenario. What if the woman wounding the infant is a doctor and her instrument is a syringe? What if she tells you that this child must be immunized, or later she could contract a serious illness?

Sometimes something that seems terribly cruel or senseless has a good purpose. That purpose is not always as readily apparent as in this scenario. Although someone familiar with preventative medicine may see the purpose in causing pain to a helpless child, the child itself cannot understand why she is in pain.

There are times in life when we are like this infant. We cannot imagine why God -- the one who is supposed to love us -- doesn’t step in and stop our pain. Assurances from others that God knows best are about as useless as a mother’s soothing assurances, drowned out by the infant’s cries. “If you love me, why don’t you take away this pain?” ask the child’s cries.

Philosophers and theologians have wrestled for ages with the questions that arise from pain and suffering. It is tempting to think that if we had more knowledge, we could resolve the Problem of Pain. If we only knew WHY God allows what seems to be senseless suffering to exist, it would cease to trouble us. But even if the doctor explained the biology of vaccinations to the infant, her mind could never understand it; neither can we, with our finite minds, grasp the divine purposes of God, even if He were to draw back the curtain of his will.

Yet there is reason to hope. As a child grows, he learns to trust his parents long before he learns how inoculations work. A shot might hurt a six year old boy just as much as it hurt his infant sister, but he clenches his teeth in determination to be a big boy. Although he may fear the pain, he doesn’t fear that his mother has turned on him by allowing this doctor to hurt him. Why? He has come to trust her. She has told him that this shot will hurt, but it is for his good.

If your “why” questions seem to fall on deaf ears, try asking some “who” questions. Who is God? What do you know about his character? Do you know Him? Are you willing to trust Him in your pain until He reveals his purpose?

This is the kind of trust that Jesus demonstrated for us in the Garden of Gethsemane. He prayed to his Father, “Let this cup pass from me, yet not my will but yours be done.”

We are assured in God’s word that “this slight momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison” (2 Corinthians 4:17). This is not something that we can prove to ourselves. We are given the choice to trust God. Suffering is inevitable. If we choose to trust God in our pain, we have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

________

Copyright © 2006 Ravi Zacharias International Ministries (RZIM). Reprinted with permission. "A Slice of Infinity" is a radio ministry of Ravi Zacharias International Ministries.

The Question of Evil: God's Answer

Skeptics often toss the problem of evil at Christians as if it were a ticking time bomb. “If there is a God, and He is all-good, all-knowing, and all-powerful, then why is there evil in the world?” It often seems as if we have got five minutes to dismantle the problem to their satisfaction, or we have exploded any chances of continuing a spiritual conversation.

But a new book, EVIL AND THE JUSTICE OF GOD by author and theologian N. T. Wright, turns the age-old question of evil on its head. Wright suggests that perhaps more important than asking, “Why evil?” is asking, “What is God doing about it?”

According to Wright, “the entire canon [of Scripture] ... tells a story which, from a bewildering variety of angles, is all about what ... the Creator God ... is doing about evil.” From forbidden fruit to flood, we watch evil enter the world and spread like a wild vine to cover it. God deals categorically with evil in the flood, but also mercifully spares Noah’s imperfect family to start again. Almost before the rainbow recedes from the sky, evil raises its ugly head in Noah’s own family. It continues to spiral out of control until the Tower of Babel, where God again deals with the problem by confusing our languages.

In Abraham, God again chooses one imperfect family to be a part of the solution to the problem of evil. It doesn’t take long, however, to see that the solution is again part of the problem. The same pattern occurs with David and his lineage.

How will God solve the conundrum? How will He deal with the problem of evil? He will send Jesus Christ, a fully human, fully divine answer. As Wright says, at the cross God draws “evil to a point in order to deal with it there.” Justice is satisfied. But mercy, through forgiveness, is also extended. From there, God calls a new-born people to be a part of the ongoing solution.

Though we still struggle with sin, we are called to be God’s agents of restoration until Christ’s final return, when evil will be dealt with once and for all.

The question of evil then becomes, not a philosophical one, but a practical one. As Gary Haugen of the International Justice Mission has said, “Over time I have come to see questions of suffering in the world not so much as questions of God’s character, but as questions about the obedience and faith of God’s people.” God’s people must herald God’s solution: Jesus Christ, who forgives our evil and makes righteous living and justice possible.

Organizations like Haugen’s International Justice Mission are answering the problem of evil by freeing women held as sex slaves. Prison Fellowship volunteers are answering it by going into prisons and bringing the light and hope of God’s forgiveness.

I could list countless other examples, but here’s the point. The next time someone poses the problem of evil to you, tell them, while you may not be able to answer the why, you do know what God has done and is doing about evil. And He has called us to join Him in His work.

________

Copyright (c) 2007 Prison Fellowship Ministries. Reprinted with permission. "BreakPoint with Chuck Colson" is a radio ministry of Prison Fellowship Ministries.

from BreakPoint Commentary · Mark Earley via Kerux Sermon and Illustration Database theodicyabraham

Living In Enemy Territory

Job 4:8

It has happened once again. Evil has surfaced unmistakably in a form everyone can see. [A lone gunman, deranged, murdered 32 people at Virginia Tech University.] The world will struggle with this for days to come, asking, “Why would a good and loving God allow such evil to happen?” Meanwhile the parents and friends will weep, struggling with their own questions drawn from a darkened, bottomless well of unspeakable pain and disorientation.

For believers it is a harsh reminder that the world we live in is at war. Evil is not simply an idea or an act. Evil is fueled by an individual consciousness nearly as old as creation itself. The early Christians never asked, “Why did God allow....?” They knew better.

The world we see is profoundly affected by a world we cannot see. Consider such Scripture passages as:

“And you were dead in your trespasses and sins, in which you

formerly walked according to the course of this world, according

to the prince of the power of the air, of the spirit that is now

working in the sons of disobedience” (Ephesians 2:1-2).

“Put on the full armor of God, so that you will be able to stand

firm against the schemes of the devil. For our struggle is not

against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the

powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the

spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places” (Ephesians

6:11-12).

“For we wanted to come to you -- I, Paul, more than once -- and

yet Satan hindered us” (1 Thessalonians 2:18).

“Submit therefore to God. Resist the devil and he will flee from

you” (James 4:7).

“Be of sober spirit, be on the alert. Your adversary, the devil,

prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour” (1

Peter 5:8).

We tend to see everything bad that happens in terms of something God allows or disallows. Yet, we also fiercely (and correctly) hold on to the idea of personal choice. We choose -- which makes us responsible for our actions. We can be influenced by evil, but we are ultimately responsible for the evil we choose to do.

Angels make choices too, just like us. Millennia ago, the Bible explains that some of God’s creatures rebelled. The angels sinned. Man sinned. The world as God intended devolved into moral and spiritual chaos.

Jesus came to rescue us from the enemies of our soul, both in this world and the world we cannot see.

It is true that God is sovereign. He is the Lord of Lords. He is the King. Jesus came announcing the Kingdom of God (Matthew 4:17). He taught us to pray that God’s Kingdom would break through into this world, demonstrating that He is the King (Luke 11:2). He “bound the strong man” and demonstrated God’s reign by restoring creation and creatures to a condition reflective of God’s rule (Matthew 12:28-30), then expects you and me to “gather with Him” -- doing the same kind of ministry today.

Jesus calls the devil the “ruler of this world” (John 12:31, 14:30, 16:11). The devil tempts Jesus by offering Him the very kingdoms under his control in exchange for worship (Luke 4:5-7): If the devil does not control the kingdoms of the world, how could Jesus be tempted? He was tempted only if it was a legitimate offer by the ruler of this world.

Jesus calls Satan a liar and a murderer (John 8:44), who steals truth from the hearts of people who do not know God (Matthew 13:19), keeping them blind to the reality of a living God (2 Corinthians 4:4). He animates evil in the world, influencing and empowering those who do not know God to reject God and do everything that is offensive to God (1 John 5:19).

In the face of clear, biblical teaching, the church too often slumbers on, fumbling around trying to answers questions about “why did God allow this to happen?” rather than running to the secret place, combating the mortal enemy of the souls of mankind. We are called to do battle.

When we are responsive to Jesus and doing life under His directional control, Jesus said the gates of hell would not be able to withstand the forward movement of the church (Matthew 16:18). Far from being on the defensive, the church Jesus builds goes on the offense against an unseen army of evil at work in this world.

C. S. Lewis writes in “Mere Christianity:”

“One of the things that surprised me when I first read the New

Testament seriously was that it talked so much about a Dark Power

in the universe -- a mighty evil spirit who was held to be the

Power behind death and disease, and sin. The difference is that

Christianity thinks this Dark Power was created by God, and was

good when he was created, and went wrong. Christianity agrees

with Dualism that this universe is at war. But it does not think

this is a war between independent powers. It thinks it is a

civil war, a rebellion, and that we are living in a part of the

universe occupied by the rebel. Enemy-occupied territory -- that

is what this world is.”

Do you realize where you are living today? The horrific acts of violence at Virginia Tech are a reminder that there is no place where you and I can sit down, relax and forget about the imminent threat of evil. You and I are doing life in the middle of a battlefield that is raging all around us every day -- right now.

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Don Pucik is associate executive director of the Arkansas Baptist State Convention.

A Chaplain Who Hated God

Job 30:11

Army Chaplain Roger Benimoff, a Southern Baptist, has had two tours in Iraq. He has counseled stressed-out soldiers, provided death rituals for planes full of coffins, and struggled with his personal faith.

In many ways his faith mirrors that of his troops. Battle can strengthen or strain one’s faith. Benimoff felt that he had tremendous opportunities to reach out to troops, indeed he had a captive audience, but the constant stress and spiritual tensions of war began to wear down his relationship with God.

Benimoff’s journal has a final entry on January 22, 2007. The last lines read:

“I do not want anything to do with God. I am sick of religion.

It is a crutch for the weak. . . . We make God into what we need

for the moment. I hate God. I hate all those who try to explain

God when they really don’t know.”

By late March he was recovering his faith but the pain had not subsided. “The symptoms are still there; this past year has been the most challenging of my life,” he says. “But I have a new relationship with God. I tend to be much more blunt with him.”

As he counsels wounded soldiers in Walter Reed Hospital, he shares a verse that best describes where he is today with his faith, Psalm 40:1-2. “I waited patiently for the LORD; he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.”

Benimoff now says: “God gave me room to cry out as I flashed back to traumatic events and the soldiers my unit lost in those two deployments. He allowed me to slowly move through the mud and the mire.” Now Benimoff is trying to look forward as much as back. He thinks of the soldiers whose lives were lost, but also of those who survived. He hopes that the verse of Psalm 40 – I waited patiently for the LORD – which is so meaningful for him, might help to lift the spirits of other soldiers who fall into the same slimy pit.

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A Letter to the Editor in the following Newsweek makes this insightful comment:

"While one can only sympathize deeply with chaplains like Roger Benimoff for the horrors they have endured, it’s puzzling that it comes as an unwelcome surprise to any adult that terrible things happen to people no worse than themselves and their loved ones all the time. Hasn’t that always been obvious? Genocide is committed, little children die of starvation, people are tortured and maimed, and killed in wars. None of this is new nor have these things happened only to bad people. Why then should those who have had no trouble maintaining their faith question it only when they see such things happen close to them? Did they suppose that all those other suffering people weren’t deserving enough or praying hard enough or not praying in the correct religion? Did they believe in a God who would allow such things to happen to millions but never to them because they had chosen the right spiritual formula? If that’s the sort of nonsense they are losing faith in, it’s hard to see that as a bad thing."

Felice Sage

Littleton, Colorado

Faith Under Fire: Where Is God In Wartime?

Deuteronomy 31:6

Where is God amidst the horrors of war? How do soldiers keep their faith in God’s goodness amidst the suffering and slaughter of battle?

American soldiers and sailors, airmen and Marines have asked questions like these ever since the War for Independence. The questions occupy their thoughts and find their way from faraway battlefields into letters to loved ones.

Journalist Andrew Carroll has collected many of these letters in a book entitled GRACE UNDER FIRE: LETTERS OF FAITH IN TIMES OF WAR. Among them is a note from Private Walter Bromwich, who questioned God’s role in the slaughter of World War I.

“How can there be fairness in one man being maimed for life, suffering agonies, and another killed instantaneously, while I get out of it safe?” Bromwich asked his pastor back in Pennsylvania. “What I would like to believe,” Bromwich wrote, “is that God is in this war, not as a spectator, but backing up everything that is good in us. I don’t know whether God goes forth with armies, but I do know that He is in lots of our men or they would not do what they do.”

Other soldiers worried about their public witness more than their personal safety. In 1943, Private First Class William Kiessel, who was about to take part in the invasion into France, wrote to friends that he did not want prayer for his safety, because “safety isn’t the ultimate goal. True exemplary conduct is.” And he added, “What is important is that whatever does happen to me I will do absolutely nothing that will shame my character or my God.”

Where is God in the midst of war? Lieutenant Colonel Scott Barnes, a doctor who treated hundreds of wounded patients in Iraq, offered an answer to that question in an email home to family and friends.

“Some of my colleagues have wondered out loud,” he wrote, “how there can be a God with all of this suffering. I just remind them that He might just be right in some of our hands and working right beside us.

“Where is God? He is in the O.R. guiding the hands of the surgeons, He is in the will of the sergeants helping organize a blood drive as only they can, He is in the hearts of the soldiers who immediately rolled up their sleeves to give what they had to save a dying brother whom they don’t even know” — or even a captured enemy.

Letters like these renewed Carroll’s own faith in God. “They showed me that even in the bleakest of circumstances, with God’s help, we can overcome all adversity,” Carroll writes. “Through Him, we can endure any hardship. Because of Him, we are never alone.”

Where is Christ during the horrors of war today? He’s on the Cross.

On this day, Memorial Day, I want to send a personal message to our servicemen around the world: We at home are deeply grateful to you and we are proud of your service to our nation and our God as you defend the innocent. And I encourage you to remember the words found in Deuteronomy: “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified ... for the Lord your God goes with you, he will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Deuteronomy 31:6)

________

Copyright (c) 2007 Prison Fellowship Ministries. Reprinted with permission. "BreakPoint with Chuck Colson" is a radio ministry of Prison Fellowship Ministries.

from BreakPoint Commentary · Charles Colson via Kerux Sermon and Illustration Database sufferingtheodicy

The Inescapable Way of Death: On A Day Yet To Be

1 Peter 3:18

The death rate on planet earth is still one hundred percent. This is a sobering thought. It is the way the world runs. All things wear down. From the moment we are born, we step closer and closer to the grave. It feels unnatural but it is inescapable.

The most prevailing argument against Christianity is the problem of evil. Many atheists, from the ancient Epicurus to the modern Michael Tooley, evoke this argument to show that even if God did exist, He would not be worthy of worship. The argument says that for God to be worthy of our life devotion, He would need to be powerful enough and loving enough to prevent evil from happening. But since evil does happen, then God must not possess these qualities. Therefore, He is not worthy of our worship.

A major part of this argument has been put to rest by what is called the “free will defense.” This argument says that evil can coexist in a universe with God if there are other free creatures in that universe who could commit evil. Since there are free creatures who can commit evil, then it is not illogical to say God can exist and is still worthy of worship. Those creatures that are capable of committing such atrocities are angels gone bad — which we call demons — and humans gone bad — which includes all of us.

Oftentimes, protests are made that the real tragedies are early deaths or painful deaths. We may protest that it is unfair of God to allow an 18-year-old to die in an auto accident, or that young parents lose their eight-year-old daughter to bone cancer (as happened in my wife's family). But let us suppose God did not allow those kinds of deaths to take place. How much do we require from God as proof that He is good? Shall we require that He must prevent all deaths under the age of 20? But why 20? Why not 50? Why not 80? Why not 437? Or shall we not make an age requirement, but rather restrict certain diseases? Which ones? All of them? And shall He also restrict when people can leave their homes to avoid dangerous traffic accidents? Shall He also restrict the laws of nature so that knives always turn to butter whenever they are used for weapons, or whenever a person could be hurt at all? With the nature of the fallen world and fallen race, God would practically have to rearrange every known physical law of nature. How far must God go to be justified in the minds of men? All of these questions should also indicate something further. What needs the deeper scrutiny, our perspectives, or God's purposes?

Let me suggest that all life is sacred and the loss of even one is significant. Let me also suggest that pain is never pleasant but is part of the ingredients of a decaying life. It is not God's responsibility to stop all pain, suffering, and even death. He never promised that He would stop pain. Rather, He promised something better. Instead of manipulating nature for some smaller ends, He conquered our foe with a cross.

My wife, Jonalyn, says that when Christ suffered on the cross, he dignified all of our suffering. When Christ died, he dignified our deaths too. Not because he takes away our suffering, but because he joins us in it. Paul says that we get to share in the fellowship of his suffering (Phil 3:10). Peter says that Christ suffered for sins that He might bring us to God (1 Peter 3:18).

You see, death is not really a stumbling block in the grand scheme of things. It is a consequence of being a rebellious race. Through Adam, it affected not just our souls but our bodies. The consequence of death is like the consequence of burning your finger on a flame. You learn quickly how painful is the incident, but you must also be patient for the healing.

For those who trust in the cure for the human race, trusting Jesus Christ to heal us of our infirmity, death is a pivotal part of the healing process. Death allows us to die so that we may then rise. Death is a severe mercy to bring us into a quality of life that is everlasting.

The famed pastor Joseph Bayly, reflecting on his own ailing child in the hospital as he was wired with tubes and masks, offers us this biblical hope:

If You should take him home

to Your home

help me then remember

how Your Son suffered

and You stood by

watching

agonizing watching

waiting

to bring all suffering to an end

forever

on a day

yet to be.

________

Copyright © 2005 Ravi Zacharias International Ministries (RZIM). Reprinted with permission. "A Slice of Infinity" is a radio ministry of Ravi Zacharias International Ministries.

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[Original illustration at this number was a duplicate of HolwickID #24062]

God On Trial: He Suffers With Us

PBS stations ran a deeply sobering film in 2008 that is a must-see for people of faith. Called GOD ON TRIAL, the film tells the story of a group of Jewish inmates at Auschwitz who don’t understand why God seems indifferent to their suffering. (Because of profanity, disturbing images, and other elements, the film is not suitable for children.)

The film begins on the “day of selection,” on which some of the prisoners are chosen for extermination to make room for more prisoners. As the chosen ones await their fate, though some of the prisoners insist that God is still with them and that “suffering is a part of God’s plan,” many others feel abandoned and bitter. A young man named Moche complains, “[God] should be here, not us.... We should put [Him] on trial; then maybe He’ll hear us.”

So the prisoners decide to bring a charge of “breach of contract” against God for breaking His covenant with the Jewish people. What follows is a compelling exploration of suffering, sin, and faith.

An older man named Kuhn insists, “This is a test of our faith.... The point is to keep faith.” He even suggests that the Jews have broken the covenant themselves by forgetting their Scriptures and disobeying God’s law. But as Kuhn’s son Mordechai points out, the new prisoners who have just arrived are devout followers of the Torah, and yet they’re being punished along with the Jews who have lapsed from their faith.

The arguments go on and on, covering such subjects as what crime they might have committed, whether the punishment is proportionate, why their torturers thrive if God is just, and whether there might be some possible redemption or purification that will come from their suffering — the kind of questions that people of faith have always wrestled with. They even face the possibility that God has withdrawn His favor from them and made a new covenant with the Nazis.

The arguments are hard to hear and the film is very hard to watch. Not because we haven’t heard arguments against God before — many of us have been hearing them and debating them for years — but because we hear them in a situation like this, among men who have so much at stake. As one character remarks, appeals to reason mean little in a world that seems to be run by madness.

But this makes it all the more meaningful when, even though they cannot understand God, they realize how desperately they need Him. One young father who had his three little boys taken from him surprisingly speaks in favor of God: “I know He is here, even though I don’t understand Him.... Maybe God is suffering with us.” Even when they feel furthest from Him, God is embodied in the sacrificial love of some of the prisoners.

I don’t want to give away too much here, but I recommend that you watch the film if it airs on your local PBS station, or pick up a copy of the DVD, which will be released in January. Consider watching it with your church group or a close circle of friends. Don’t be afraid to wrestle with the emotionally painful and intellectually challenging questions about God and suffering — and how it could be, possibly, that God suffers with us.

________

Copyright (c) 2008 Prison Fellowship Ministries. Reprinted with permission. "BreakPoint with Chuck Colson" is a radio ministry of Prison Fellowship Ministries.

from BreakPoint Commentary · Charles Colson via Kerux Sermon and Illustration Database why

God Diagnosed With Bipolar Disorder

Job 5:7

[The Onion is a satirical online publication, so the following article is tongue-in-cheek. But many seem to agree with this assessment of God's character. (Holwick)]

In a diagnosis that helps explain the confusing and contradictory aspects of the cosmos that have baffled philosophers, theologians, and other students of the human condition for millennia, God, creator of the universe and longtime deity to billions of followers, was found Monday to suffer from bipolar disorder.

Rev. Dr. J. Henry Jurgens, a practicing psychiatrist and doctor of divinity at Yale University Divinity School, announced the historic diagnosis at a press conference.

“I always knew there had to be some explanation,” Jurgens said. “And, after several years of patient research and long sessions with God Almighty through the intercessionary medium of prayer, I was able to pinpoint the specific nature of His problem.”

Bipolar, or manic-depressive, disorder is a condition that afflicts millions. Characterized by cycles of elation followed by bouts of profound depression and despair, the disorder can wreak havoc on both the sufferer and his or her loved ones, particularly if it goes undetected and untreated for an extended period. Though the condition is estimated to affect, in one form or another, 5 percent of the world’s population, Monday marks the first time it has been diagnosed in a major deity.

Evidence of God’s manic-depression can be found throughout the Universe, from the white-hot explosiveness of quasars to the cold, lifeless vacuum of space. However, theologians note, humanity’s exposure to God’s affliction comes primarily through His confusing propensity to alternately reward and punish His creations with little rhyme or reason.

“Last week, I lost my dear husband Walter to the flood,” said housewife and devout churchgoer Elaine Froman of Davenport, Iowa. “I asked myself, ‘Why? Why would God do something like this, especially when He had just helped Walter overcome a long battle with colon cancer, and we were so happy that we finally had a chance to start our lives anew?’”

New York attorney Ruth Kanner also gained firsthand knowledge of God’s wild mood swings.

“Last Saturday, on a gorgeous spring afternoon, I was jogging in Central Park with my daughter. We were marveling at the beauty and majesty of nature, and I remember thinking what a wonderful world we live in. Then, out of nowhere, I heard the gunfire,” said Kanner, speaking from her hospital bed at Columbia Presbyterian Medical Center. “All they took was a measly $17, and for that, the doctors say my daughter will never walk again. If only Our Holy Father didn’t have those mental problems, my precious Katie might not be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life.”

Jurgens stressed that God’s earthly subjects need to understand that, because of His bipolar condition, He is not in control of His actions and does not realize how they affect others.

“What He needs from us is understanding and patience,” Jurgens said. “To paraphrase the words of the Lord God Himself, ‘Humans, forgive Him, for He knows not what He does.’”

While such drugs as Paxil, Prozac, and Zoloft have proven effective in the treatment of bipolar disorder among humans, there is no modern earthly medicine that can be prescribed for a deity as vast and complex as God. Jurgens is in the process of forming a support group, “Living With A Bipolar Creator-Deity,” for all of humanity to “get together and discuss their feelings about living in a universe run by an Omnipresent Loved One not fully in control of his emotions.”

Jurgens said he believes God’s essential condition is seasonal, as evidenced by the bursts of energy and elation associated with springtime and summer, followed by the decay and bleak despair of fall and winter. Sometimes, however, the condition cycles even faster.

“The average person with bipolar disorder may go through as many as 10 or 12 cycles of mania and subsequent depression in a lifetime. In severe cases, a sufferer may experience four or more per year, which is known as ‘rapid cycling,’” Jurgens said. “We believe God suffers from the even rarer ‘ultra-rapid cycling,’ which would account for the many documented cases in which He alternates between benevolence and rage toward humanity within a matter of seconds. For example, last week, He brought desperately needed, life-giving rain to southern Mali while simultaneously leveling Turkey with a devastating earthquake.”

Further evidence of God’s manic-depression can be found in the Bible, in which the erotomania of the Song of Songs sharply contrasts with the sadness and existential despair of the Book of Ecclesiastes. The Book of Job, Jurgens noted, marks the best example of His condition. The book begins with the bleak lamentations of Job and ends with a full-blown manic episode by God, complete with such classic bipolar symptoms as the illusion of omnipotence and delusions of grandeur.

“One of the major ‘heresies’ of Christian history is the Gnostic belief that the Creator, or ‘demiurge,’ of this troubled world is a blind, idiot god who is insane,” Jurgens said. “This idea surfaces in many religious traditions around the globe. As it turns out, they were only half-right: God has His problems like anyone else, but He is essentially trying His best. He just has a condition that makes His emotions fly out of control at times.”

“So it’s up to us to make the best of God’s emotional problems,” Jurgens continued. “Thus, mankind is born to trouble, as surely as sparks fly upward.”

The Problem of Pain: the Intolerable Compliment

Job 1

Why would a good God allow pain and suffering? It’s the age-old question. When we’re experiencing pain ourselves, or watching someone we love experience pain, no answer seems adequate, and our faith faces its severest test.

That’s why it was a daring and risky project for C. S. Lewis to write the book THE PROBLEM OF PAIN.

As Lewis himself said, he was trying to tackle the intellectual side of the problem because he felt himself unequipped to tackle the emotional side. Lewis says in his preface, “For the far higher task of teaching fortitude and patience I was never fool enough to suppose myself qualified, nor have I anything to offer my readers except my conviction that when pain is to be borne, a little courage helps more than much knowledge, a little human sympathy more than much courage, and the least tincture of the love of God more than all.” Beautifully said.

As usual, Lewis uses his characteristic blend of “logic and imagination” to tackle these tough questions. He explains that God takes the universe He created so seriously that He has to allow it to operate according to the rules He set up. Similarly, He has so much respect for our free will that He allows us to use it even when the consequences will be harmful.

As Lewis puts it: “It is no more possible for God than for the weakest of His creatures to carry out both of two mutually exclusive alternatives.... Not even omnipotence could create a society of free souls without at the same time creating a relatively independent and inexorable nature.” He also says that if God corrected every abuse of free will at every moment, “freedom of the will would be void.”

But there’s more to it than that. There are times when God permits pain to enter our lives, not just as a consequence of evil actions, but because He can see the big picture, and He knows that in the long run these painful experiences will help us. With our limited perspective, this is so often hard for us to grasp. But God is so much wiser than we are that we cannot always understand His idea of goodness; it is not opposed to ours, but greater than ours. I have found this to be the case.

We often think that goodness simply equals happiness. Lewis writes, “We want in fact not so much a Father in heaven as a grandfather in heaven: a senile benevolence who as they say liked to see young people enjoying themselves and whose plan for the universe was simply that it might be truly said at the end of each day, ‘A good time was had by all.’”

But God wants something more for us, Lewis says: “We are a divine work of art ... something with which He will not be satisfied until it has a certain character.” God has paid us “the intolerable compliment”: He takes us and our moral development seriously and is working to make us holy.

One day, Lewis reminds us, THE PROBLEM OF PAIN will be solved. Evil will be destroyed and we will be perfected. Until that day we can find help and reassurance in a book that, as Ken Boa has said, “has helped thousands, millions perhaps, reach greater understanding and courage in the face of life’s pain.”

________

Copyright (c) 2009 Prison Fellowship Ministries. Reprinted with permission. "BreakPoint with Chuck Colson" is a radio ministry of Prison Fellowship Ministries.

from BreakPoint Commentary · Charles Colson via Kerux Sermon and Illustration Database sufferingtheodicy

The Problem of Evil -- For Atheists

Job 13:3

In his book “The Cross of Christ,” John Stott said that the “the fact of suffering undoubtedly constitutes the single greatest challenge to the Christian faith.”

The ages-old problem of evil is the apparent conflict or contradiction between the existence of evil and suffering and the existence of an all-powerful, all-knowing and ever-present God who is also perfectly good.

As the problem goes such a God would stop evil and suffering, if He existed. Another form of the problem of evil focuses on the amount of evil, suggesting that while God may have good reason for some evil, surely the amount of evil we experience makes it unlikely that the God of Scripture exists.

Why is this argument such a challenge to the Christian faith? For many people, the argument is not about logical inconsistencies, probability or deductive logic. Rather, the problem of evil is about a sick child, an experience of abuse, personal exposure to horrific and traumatic evil or perhaps the hurtful actions of Christian leaders.

The problem of evil often boils down to our inability to reconcile our belief in a good and loving God with our experience of sin, suffering and evil.

There are smart people who have offered lengthy defenses of God against the problem of evil. Such a defense is called a theodicy, and you can check out the free will defense by C.S. Lewis or Alvin Plantinga or Gordon Clark’s view of sovereign decree.

On a practical level, ministers can answer this question by turning the question back on the person who is raising the objection.

As Christians, we need to give an account of why evil exists. The good news is that the problem itself is understandable because we know who God is, we know what evil is and we know why it is a problem. An atheist, however, in raising the problem of evil must answer: If there is no God, why is evil, evil?

As Christians, we believe that evil is that which fails to reflect the beauty, goodness or will of God. As Augustine said, evil is “deprived of good”.(1)

When an atheist points to the evil in the world as proof that God doesn’t exist, he faces much bigger problems: If not for God, what constitutes evil?

A person who rejects God still lives in a world with suffering and evil, yet cannot explain why suffering and evil are bad. A person who rejects God lives in a world with suffering and evil, yet without any hope of future redemption and salvation, without any future reward for the righteous, punishment for the wicked and vindication for the abused.

Psalm 14:1 says, “The fool says in his heart, ‘There’s no God.’” One aspect of the foolishness of unbelief is that, apart from God, the evils of suffering, abuse, persecution and injustice fail to be evil.

If not for God, evil ceases to be evil. If not for a perfectly just Creator revealed in Christ, the very idea of injustice becomes meaningless. If there is no God and no Imago Dei, then moral outrage is reduced to collective emotionalism, social posturing or political maneuvering.

The problem of evil makes us realize just how much we need God.

________

(1) Augustine, Confessions, VII: [XII] 18.

________

Adam Groza is a vice president and associate professor of philosophy of religion at Gateway Seminary of the Southern Baptist Convention.

I Was Filming A Dangerous Action Scene When I Gave My Life To Christ

John 3:3

How a film and television stuntman met the Lord in the air.

________

Some people complain that their jobs are boring and mundane. That was never a problem for me [Robert Wilton]. Beginning in my 20s, I worked for decades as a film and television stuntman, facing injury and even death for a living. On the set, I rubbed elbows with celebrities and movie stars — and sometimes made more money in one day than previous jobs had paid in a month. I was living my dream.

My philosophy in those early years was to go as hard as I could, as fast as I could, for as long as I could. Outwardly, I maintained a façade of indestructibility, suppressing any fears or anxieties with various forms of distraction and self-indulgence.

At age 26, however, I received a gut punch when my 32-year-old brother suddenly collapsed dead from a heart attack after Thanksgiving dinner. For the most part, I successfully buried my pain by working and playing even harder. But in rare moments of quiet, usually after a considerable intake of alcohol, I would ponder the senselessness of his death. I also recalled a 10-year-old nephew who had perished years before from a deadly reaction to a children’s aspirin tablet.

When I was around my nephew’s age, belief in God had come easily. A neighbor had introduced me to Jesus, and I had attended church camp for a couple summers, absorbing the message that nothing bad will happen to you when you believe in him. Sometimes, in my search for answers, I would try to summon up that believing little boy, but he was nothing but a distant memory. At least, until I heard the name of Jesus in the last place I would have expected.

The Stone in My Shoe

It happened after moving across the country for film work. One day, I overheard someone talking about God with one of the stunt guys. To my utter surprise, it was none other than the movie stunt coordinator himself. Eavesdropping on that conversation conjured up some old memories and questions. Did I still believe in God, or had I outgrown the childishness of Sunday school stories?

For one film gig up the coast, I caught a ride with the stunt coordinator — a man I dubbed “the Preachernator.” When conversation inevitably turned to religion, I told him I was doing fine without God, and I began regaling him with stories of my close calls and narrow escapes on set. There was the time, for instance, when I was tapped for a fire stunt at a monster-truck rally. The idea was to paint myself with a flammable substance, drop from the rafters, and land on the roof of a waiting car, whose driver would reach out the window, set me on fire, and peel out toward a wooden wall.

But nothing went according to design. First, my rope line snagged, and instead of rappelling down to the car, I had to cut the rope and plunge a long way onto its roof. Then the fire wouldn’t light, and after the fifth or sixth attempt, I gave up and signaled for the driver to floor it. When he stomped on his brakes, I went flying through a wooden wall, only not on fire as planned.

As I picked myself up to the cheers and groans of a confused audience, my heart leapt into my throat. I realized I had completely forgotten to apply the protective stunt gel to my head and face. Had I actually been set ablaze, I almost certainly would have sustained serious, possibly fatal, injuries.

The Preachernator listened to my story and said, “Sounds like God was still looking after you.” His words cracked my pride; I began to question whether skill and occasional luck were really responsible for keeping me alive. Could God have been looking out for me, even when I was so far astray?

We had more conversations over the following year, and he would ask what was holding me back from committing to Jesus. I told him I didn’t want to be a hypocrite. I knew I couldn’t go from being a perfect sinner one day to a perfect Christian the next, so why even try? “Who’s perfect?” he said, laughing. “The Holy Spirit changes you over a lifetime, not right away.”

I remained hesitant. But the Preachernator’s words were like a small stone lodged in my shoe — a persistent irritant to my comfortable but godless lifestyle. As time went on, I found myself thinking about God on a daily basis. Is he real? Could he really love me again after I had turned my back on him?

Everything came to a head one dark and rainy night. I had been hired to jump off a 50- or 60-foot-high catwalk, grab a large dangling chain with one hand and slide down the chain to the cement floor below while firing a pistol with the other. This was dangerous enough before factoring in my hatred of heights. Fear began to overwhelm me, and I couldn’t shake the thought of possible catastrophe. I wondered if the moment to give my life to Jesus had finally arrived.

As I took a brief walk off the set, an internal debate raged within. One side of me said, “You’re only doing this because you might die, you hypocrite! Do it after you finish the stunt.” But another side said, “No, the whole point in giving my life to Jesus is in case I die. It’s smarter to do it right now.” So that’s what I did.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but there was no immediate change — no obvious physical, emotional, or spiritual sensation. Had God heard me? In any event, I didn’t dare tell a soul, just in case what I thought had happened hadn’t really happened.

The following weeks confirmed two things: God had indeed heard my prayer, and the stone was gone from my shoe. Before long, I worked up the confidence to evangelize my fellow crew members. And there were sudden changes in my behavior, too. Among the first things I noticed was that my go-to indulgences no longer held any appeal, and the dirty humor I once relished no longer struck me as funny. Meanwhile, my habit of cursing like a drunken sailor had vanished. After smashing my knee into a steel bolt at work, I started to swear and then stopped myself mid-expletive, surprising everyone within earshot.

I couldn’t explain these changes; neither could anyone else. Some accused me of pretending to be righteous, but deep down I knew the Holy Spirit was at work. The Preachernator was right.

The Gift of Struggle

God granted me dramatic change in some areas, but in others he gave the gift of struggle. In fact, I have experienced some of the greatest grief life has to offer.

Once, during some downtime on the set, a crew member asked me why his friend’s child had died. Where was God in this tragedy? I tried explaining God’s heart to him. The crew member said that much of what I shared made sense, at least compared to other religious people who trafficked in platitudes about God working in mysterious ways. But he also wondered whether my faith would survive the death of one of my own children. So did I.

I think of this conversation from time to time, because the question has been answered. I have lost children since that day. I watched my wife’s heart crumble as she rocked our 19-day-old son while he died in her arms. Three years later, my wife watched me cradle our newborn daughter as she met the same fate.

God never promises us a life without pain and suffering. However, he more than sustains us through challenges. From the tremendous joy of a beautiful, 20-year-old daughter to the depths of deep sorrow, my life attests to the truth that absolutely nothing can separate me from God’s love (Rom. 8:39).

________

Robert Wilton currently works as a photojournalist in Vancouver, British Columbia.

When the Wicked Prosper

Psalms 73

She was weeping over the phone. Grief, anger and frustration were pouring out of her as she told me her latest news.

Her husband of over 30 years had left her for another woman. At one time he had been a deacon in their church, a respected spiritual leader. He had been a stellar dad, good friend of many and successful businessman with a good name. But his spiritual interests had evaporated over the past several years and his heart had grown cold. The divorce was acrimonious and drawn out, and she was beyond weary and devastated by it all.

But that wasn’t the cause of her current anguish. She had just heard that he had already married the other woman, been promoted in his job, was traveling on exotic trips and had even returned to church.

She was struggling with the age-old question: If he was so wrong to leave her, then why was his life going so well? She, on the other hand, was left to deal with brokenhearted children, financial stresses and the humiliation of it all. Where was God in all this? Why was his life going so well while hers was in such disarray?

As I listened, I was reminded of Psalm 73. Asaph, the author, asked the very same questions my friend was asking. She was, and is, living in Psalm 73. Look at the pattern:

In the first two verses, Asaph affirms his faith in God’s goodness but then confesses that his faith is faltering. He is troubled because he sees the wicked (unbelievers or unrepentant) living in ease, wealth and leisure. He can’t reconcile what he sees with what is taught in the Law -- the promises of blessings to the obedient and judgment on the disobedient.

Asaph then details his complaints (verses 4–12): He is envious of their “prosperity” (“shalom” in the Hebrew); they are healthy, problem-free, boastful of their possessions, thoroughly corrupt and have no mercy on the poor. And Asaph isn’t the only one troubled by all of this. God’s people are confused also, asking if He even notices what is happening in their world (verses 10–11.)

He takes his frustration a step further by asking: What good has it done him to keep an obedient heart? All he has is trouble and pain. If that’s not bad enough, he feels constrained to keep these observations to himself because he has influence with God’s people as a leader. By verse 16, he is ready to throw in the towel and be done with it all.

But the psalm abruptly pivots in verse 17, with a drastic change of focus. Asaph found himself in God’s “sanctuary,” which most likely was the Temple, the dwelling place of God’s glory. Temple worship consisted of reading the Law, singing, worship and prayer. What happened to him there? His heart was softened. His attention was drawn away from the wicked to the glory and majesty of God. His focus changed from “them” to himself and God. He was no longer contrasting the wicked with the good, but looking at God alone.

We can almost hear Asaph saying, “What was I thinking?” He confessed his bitterness, his foolishness, and recounted the spiritual blessings that were his “glorious destiny.” Verse 28 sums up his new perspective: How good it is to be near God! (NLT). Note that the psalmist ends up in the same place he began -- affirming the goodness of God.

My friend, just like Asaph, has discovered the life-giving mindset of being in “the sanctuary” -- being still and entering into God’s presence. Once there, her thinking is transformed and her spirit is made strong, just as Asaph’s was.

Occasionally I get a text from her, saying she has been in “the sanctuary.” Living in the psalm has carried my friend through dark days and is a continual source of strength for her. Watching her and learning from her faith struggle has sharpened me -- and driven me to Psalms time and time again.

There are more people than we know in our churches who struggle with injustices, just as my friend has. While their issues may not be marriage-related, the principle is the same. Turning our eyes toward God and off of others brings us a fresh assurance of His presence and eternal graces toward those who trust Him and seek to live in His sanctuary.

Job As A Sacrifice of Suffering

Job 1

Many people associate self-denial (and suffering) with Catholicism. Pope John Paul II’s SALVICI DOLORES records all the benefits that suffering brings. In contrast, the appendix on theodicy lists all the arguments defending God from the crime of causing unjust suffering. Is suffering and denial a good thing or a bad thing? Was God doing Job a favor or an insult to afflict him so heavily? How can I even ask such an obvious question? In our modern Western culture we have perhaps lost any sense of the value of righteous suffering, a concept that was well understood by the ascetics and martyrs of past centuries. Perhaps it would be beneficial to examine this story from such a perspective.

THE TYPES OF SUFFERING

Since human suffering (not to mention animal suffering!) has often been equated with unmitigated evil, it would make the remainder of this chapter an oxymoron unless we can carefully distinguish between the two. Clearly evil is a moral judgment, for though we might call a murderer evil, it would not seem correct to call a man-eating tiger evil. In contrast, suffering, for the most part, is amoral, for we might again say that a long drought causes animals to suffer without saying that the drought is evil. Evil seems to require that a sentient being freely chose to cause suffering in some manner. We will come back to this choice, but for the moment, let us look objectively at types of suffering.

• PHYSICAL PAIN

Dr. Brandt, in his book with Phillip Yancey, WHERE IS GOD WHEN IT HURTS?, discusses his medical work at a leprosarium. Because of the social stigma associated with the disease of leprosy, which goes back at least as far as the Mosaic Law, lepers were often forced to live in a quarantined community, a leprosarium, despite the relative difficulty in actually contracting the sickness. Dr. Brandt discusses the nature of the disease and its consequences, a bacterial infection of the nerve endings that causes a cessation of feeling, particularly of pain. The disfigurement that is associated with leprosy is almost entirely a secondary result of lacking the sensation of pain. He tells the story of a rusted padlock that would not yield to his efforts to unlock it. A young patient ran over and said, “Here, Dr. Brandt, let me help you.” The fellow gave a quick turn of the key and the lock opened. The amazed Dr. Brandt seized the boy’s wrist and said “Let me look at your hand.” The lock had been so rusty that the key cut the boy’s fingers right down to the bone, to which he was completely oblivious. Pain, Dr. Brandt argues, is essential for living, it is a necessity for survival.

Pain, in and of itself, appears to be distinct from suffering, however it is often associated with suffering, and in fact is the most common explanation for suffering. Since we don’t want to say “suffering is essential for living”, we must somehow again distinguish between them. One might try to say that great pain, or chronic pain produces suffering, but it seems too easy to find counter-examples. My children, for example, are quite capable of turning a mosquito bite into impossible suffering, particularly when they should be asleep in bed. Thus it appears that suffering has to do more with the attitude taken toward pain than the pain itself. In his book, 1984, George Orwell presents a “hero” whose resolve collapses under torture, the torture being the fear of pain, rather than the pain itself. In contrast, one might distill from the stories of great heroes of the past the definition that true heroism is the ability to overcome fear in the face of pain. So we see that suffering is an added dimension to pain, it requires a certain type of emotional response, which, though triggered by pain, is independent of the amount or duration of the pain itself.

• EMOTIONAL DISTRESS

Even without physical pain it is easy to find examples of suffering, particularly in those, such as Job’s wife, who are forced to observe the pain of someone they love. In fact, as others have remarked, it is this group of sufferers who write most of the literature on “the problem of evil”, since those enduring the hardship of pain most often lack the energy or the drive to philosophize. It is really not even fair to label this “vicarious” suffering, because the observer experiences it so vividly himself. Into this group one could put all other forms of “painless” suffering: broken relationships, discrimination, rejection, betrayal etc. What they all have in common is an emotional viewpoint toward the circumstances that makes one a victim or object of suffering. Only when this viewpoint changes can the suffering be remedied. The most moving account of this process that I have encountered was C.S. Lewis’ pseudonymous book, A GRIEF OBSERVED, in which he describes the death of his wife. How one reaches this resolution is probably unique to each person, and forms the subject of a vast body of literature in the field of counselling. Nevertheless, it is probably true to say that when emotional distress is combined with physical pain it produces the most stubborn form of suffering known to modern psychology. Job fits in this category, and is therefore an archetype of the most pernicious type of human suffering.

• SPIRITUAL REBELLION

There are lengthy debates as to whether the Old Testament supports a two-part separation of man into Body-Soul, or whether a three-part separation is justified, Body-Soul-Spirit. Without intending to take sides in this debate, let me venture into neo-Platonic territory with St. Augustine and propose that evil has no objective reality, rather it is the absence of reality, in the same way that a shadow is the absence of light. We can define suffering in a similar way, so that emotional distress is not so much an objective condition as it is the absence of emotional well-being.

Physical pain is not so easily defined away. Physical pain, as a neurologist might say, is caused by the firing of certain pathways in the brain, generally stimulated by messages from the nerves. But since it is interpreted in the brain, a “short-circuit” in the brain is possible that produces pain without external stimulation, so that, for example, a man with an amputated leg might still feel pain in his now absent appendage. In such cases, electrical stimulation of the nerve endings of the stump or in the spinal cord can prevent the short-circuit from generating pain. In fact, meditation and biofeedback techniques have proven very effective in treating cases of “phantom” pain. So despite its very real existence on electro-encephalograms, one could still view physical pain as a disruption of the normal alpha-wave pattern of a healthy brain.

What have we gained from such neo-Platonic word play? The ability to define spiritual suffering, i.e., if physical pain is a disruption of a “normal mode” brain wave, and emotional distress is a disruption of “emotional well-being”, then spiritual suffering is a disruption of “normal mode spiritual well-being”. And what, pray tell, would that be? Well if Genesis 1 and Job 1 could be said to define the normal state of heaven and its footstool, Earth, then the Fall in Genesis and the Suffering of Job constitute an anomaly, a disruption in the Heavenly order. Such a lack of “rightness” in the spiritual realms constitutes “spiritual suffering”. Without impugning God, one might say that Satan’s presence in the court of heaven caused God spiritual suffering.

Now the origin of this spiritual suffering is beyond our understanding, consisting as it does, in the origin of Satan’s rebellion. That angelic rebellion spread to Man in the Fall, and from thence to Job, as described in Job 1. Job’s plight then takes on a third dimension, beyond the physical and emotional torment, to a realm of spiritual suffering in the heavenlies. The “why?” of Job’s pleas are thus far more than expressions of his agony in the particulars of his own situation, but the cry of all the innocents who have died at the hands of merciless men, “from Abel to Zechariah”. If we can say that the most stubborn form of human suffering lies at the interface between body and soul, we see that the most profound form of human suffering lies at the interface between soul-body and spirit, between heaven and earth. It is the resolution of this spiritual suffering that is, in some sense, THE important answer that the book of Job holds for those who ask the question.

THE CONSEQUENCES OF SUFFERING

It is, in general, a very dangerous thing to give reasons for suffering, which will be construed wrongly no matter how carefully put. But in practice, most of the supposed “causes” for human suffering are inferred from the actual consequences, so that many of the purported explanations become merely tautologies that make better expressions of faith than of logic. Attempting to avoid this trap, we focus instead on the consequences of suffering, not from a secret desire to defend suffering, but rather in the hope that one’s view of suffering will broaden and become enriched, permitting a shift in viewpoint from victim to participant, from sufferer to worshipper, from prophet to priest.

• DEPRESSION, DECAY, AND DEATH.

Suffering, whether emotional, physical or spiritual, is the shadow of negation, of emptiness, it is the onslaught of Hell. Its natural consequence is depression, decay, of erosion of all that is bright and good and joyful. Such natural responses easily become self-fulfilling, self-sustaining, so that the end result of suffering is naturally death. If there be anything good resulting from suffering, it must be exceptional, it must be unnatural. As Simone Weil, a mystic and sister of a more famous mathematician, put it, “The spiritual laws are as fixed and certain as the physical law of gravity. Only grace violates all laws.” If this chapter is to continue, then we must consider this most irrational of all results of suffering, the consequence of grace.

• THE FIREBREAK FOR EVIL.

There is a tendency today to despise the retributive justice system of our childhood innocence and claim that “an eye for an eye” is barbaric and uncivilized; that the only justification of a retribution is the prevention of further crimes, which is obviously ineffective. But what is overlooked in these debates about justice is the presence of evil, the existence of spiritual suffering. When a surgeon operates on a suspected cancerous tumor, he will often remove a great deal of “normal” tissue on the chance that the tumor has metastasized and spread invisibly into to the surrounding region. When a forest fire is spreading toward inhabited areas, firefighters may start secondary “controlled” fires to burn off the available fuel before the fierce heat of the uncontrolled wildfire approaches. In the same way, suffering can be a firebreak for evil.

Consider the detailed instructions given by Moses concerning the discovery of a dead body out in the fields (Deut 21). After ascertaining that no one will admit to the crime, extensive ceremonies are carried out involving the elders of the nearest village, blood sacrifices, and petitions that God will not hold this guilt against them. For, as Moses warns about the death of the innocent, “So you shall not pollute the land in which you are; for blood pollutes the land and no expiation can be made for the land for the blood that is shed on it, except by the blood of him who shed it.” (Num 35:33 NASB). A concrete, yet disturbing example of this principle is given in 2 Samuel 21, where the land of Israel is suffering a three-year drought. Probably children are dying, so King David beseeches God for an explanation for this suffering. He is told that his predecessor, Saul, broke a treaty with the Gibeonites and shed innocent blood. So David arrests seven surviving relatives of Saul who are handed over to the Gibeonites to be killed and so expiate the blood guilt. The principle is clear, suffering of the innocent may sometimes act as a firebreak against the spread of evil and even greater suffering.

• THE CAUSE FOR REPENTANCE.

Without a doubt suffering catches our attention and forces us to rethink our course of action, just as surely as a state trooper with his lights flashing causes us to check our speedometer. The book of Judges has example after example of God given suffering that caused the people of Israel to repent and return to Him. This is not to be confused with discipline. If my daughter wants to play with the pretty flame on the stove top, the pain of disobedience is not discipline, it is a wake-up call that something is seriously wrong. Suffering grabs our attention, it can be a call to repentance.

• THE CONSTRUCTION OF CHARACTER.

Suffering also forces us to change our decision process. When I caught my 3 year old jumping on the couch, in flagrant violation of house rules, I told her she was due for a spanking. She objected on the grounds that she had forgotten this particular house rule. In a moment of inspiration I replied that this was exactly why I was spanking, to help her remember. In the following years I have repeated this answer countless times as I get out the spanking spoon. “Do you know why I am spanking you?”, I ask. “To help us remember?” they reply. By use of corporeal punishment I am trying to change their behavior, to encourage self-controlled, disciplined actions, to get them to internalize their decision process so that when they get too big to spank, they will have formed the good habits that will last a lifetime. In short, suffering builds enduring character.

• THE REDEMPTION OF MEN.

There is a sense in which all of the above consequences of suffering are small redemptions: the uncle who died in France while opposing the Nazi war machine; the woman saved from suicide by a flat tire; the student who resisted peer pressure to begin a revival. Yet there is a more acute sense in which suffering is a purification, a sanctification, even a salvation for a stained soul. Having said that, I must be quick to clarify what I didn’t say. For we must be careful, when talking about any of these consequences, that we do not turn them inside out and say “we must suffer in order to have these good effects”. Flannery O’Connor in her book, WISE BLOOD, explores the consequences of searching for salvation in self-inflicted suffering. Somehow, just as it is impossible to tickle oneself, it is also impossible to benefit from self-imposed suffering. Nevertheless, suffering that is out of our control, suffering that only God can stop, can be suffering that saves our souls.

Continuing the analogy with cancer, a tumor that has metastasized sends virulent cells, nascent tumors throughout the body. These cells are indistinguishable from healthy cells in most respects so that the defenses of the body’s formidable immune system are rendered powerless. Yet these cells have become, well, evil; excreting enzymes that allow them to tunnel through capillary walls, they burrow into every organ of the body where they throw off every constraint, multiplying furiously while demanding new blood supplies and killing neighboring tissue. The medical establishment has very few remedies, their most effective being poison which attacks growing cells. Even then the cancerous tumors develop resistance to these chemicals, so that multitoxin cocktails have become the norm in chemotherapy. The dosage is found by trial and error, increasing the levels of poison until the entire body is on the verge of death: weak, nauseous, bald, and anemic. It is no wonder that my aunt chose rather to forego treatment than to have a cure worse than the disease. The hope this suffering holds is that the cancer will fare worse than the patient and the body will be cleansed. Suffering then can be salvation.

• THE PARTICIPATION WITH GOD.

As an Old Testament study, we are on hermeneutical thin ice if we argue that Job believed God could suffer, much less that our suffering made us any more like God. If anything, Job seemed to say quite the opposite, that a transcendent God could never understand our very human suffering, arising as it does from our powerlessness and finitude. Yet in another sense, Job did understand God’s suffering in a way that Elihu never could. Job knew that the death of the innocent and the fat of the wicked were abhorrent in God’s sight, that it caused God pain. The three friends said, “Impossible!”. Elihu said, “God doesn’t even notice.” Job said “Speak for yourself, my God cares.” Otherwise, why would Job have wasted his breath directing his speech toward God? Somehow Job knew God to be compassionate, and therefore a God who concerned himself with Job’s pain.

Many years ago I spent a summer internship in Haiti, in the impoverished, voodoo infested highlands near the capital of Port-au-Prince. One’s first impressions of a person or a place are usually the most profound, and I had an impression of deep beauty and deep pain. The very trees that lined the road flamed with red blossoms, six-foot hedges of poinsettia bloomed all year round. Yet the deforested valleys were scarred with white, where tropical storms had created such runoff that the undercut limestone walls were crumbling into the valley floor, making these streams into rubble strewn wastelands as alien as the cratered moon. The slash-and-burn agriculture had created bedrock deserts out of lush rain-forest. Among the mobs of children were those with mottled red hair, characteristic of protein starvation, due not so much to want, as to neglect. The pain of a culture cobbled together out of a thousand African tribes under the slash of the slavemaster’s whip, finding in fear a religion that unified their many tongues. I stood one night, under a tropical moon so bright that I could tell red from blue, mourning the death of my host’s son, hearing the voodoo drums in the valley, feeling the pain of existence, crying out to God like a woman in labor, wordless tears washing my face -- “God, don’t you know?” And though I never heard an answer, my pain was lessened, not because the world had become any better, but because God had heard, because my pain was shared. So it was with Job, when God appeared and he finally knew that God had heard his voice. Suffering, spiritual suffering, is solidarity with God.

THE BENEFITS OF SUFFERING

I have listed above some of the consequences of suffering, but have not yet applied them to the characters of this story. In one sense I really can’t apply it, because I would be putting words into their mouth. Imagine, for a moment, that you have a teary-eyed 3 year old who has just burned her fingers on the stove. After giving her a cup of ice water to hold her fingers in, you begin to tell her the benefits of her suffering. Chances are that she will respond poorly, not believing that you are truly sympathetic. In the same way, I can identify potential benefits, but whether the sufferer actually benefits remains a highly subjective response. Suffering, the same identical suffering, can either bless or destroy depending on the participant’s response.

• TO THE THREE

It may seem strange to say that Job’s suffering benefited these men. They were such bitter enemies of Job’s religion, so intent on tearing down his defenses, so desirous of extracting a false confession, how can we say that his suffering was in any way beneficial to them? As Job tells them himself, “You see something dreadful, and you are afraid”. But it is exactly in showing them their fear, their duplicity, their disloyalty that Job’s suffering provided them a warning, a call to repentance. When Job, at God’s instruction, prayed for his friends, we can see that perhaps this suffering even provided for their salvation. Certainly someone wrote down the story of Job or at least composed and recited it. Surely that someone was present throughout the debates recorded in the book. Could it be that this book is testimony to the transforming power of Job’s suffering in the lives of his friends?

• TO JOB

I am not the first to find some benefit for Job, nor will I be the last to be blasted for trying. Surely the restoration of Job’s fortunes and the birth of 10 more children -- even if they were the most beautiful daughters in the land -- surely these blessings were not the result of Job’s suffering. Indeed, he might have been even wealthier if he had had the capital to invest. Nor would one expect debilitating disease to make one more virile than before. No, it appears that these blessings were not a result of but in spite of his suffering. If one is to find a silver lining in Job’s trials, then it must lie somewhere between his final complaint and his restoration, somewhere between chapters 31 and 42. I cannot find much encouragement in Elihu’s speech, nor even in God’s. So I am astonished by Job’s reticence to speak in chapter 40.

However chapter 42 perhaps holds an answer that shows Job has finally obtained what he sought. If there is one thing this suffering has done, it has brought Job closer to God. Job answers God’s question “who is this that obscures my counsel without knowledge?” by replying that he has said things he didn’t understand because they were too wonderful for him. Now this is quite different from his previous complaint. God’s ways had been just as obscure to him then as well, but then they had been dark, heavy, and oppressive; now they are full of wonder. How did this transformation take place? Job’s next phrase indicates that God had asked this very question. “It happened,” Job replied, “when instead of just hearing you, or hearing about you, I saw you. That’s when my whole outlook changed.” Job’s suffering has not only brought him solidarity with God, it brought him into God’s very presence.

• TO GOD

If I was skating on thin ice before, now I am surely over my head! How can suffering benefit God? If God is transcendent, dwelling in unsearchable light in whom there is no shadow due to changing, who am I to claim that suffering can modify His already perfect condition? Let me tiptoe lightly around these lethal theological landmines, and say that we are talking not of God’s essence, which is transcendent, but of His interaction with Man, of His communication with Man, which is His concrete revelation. For whatever reason, God has chosen to interact in a causal way when He speaks to us. The court of heaven in Job 1 has convened to hear Satan’s accusations. These accusations and God’s response would not make a lot of sense if the order were inverted or scrambled. Therefore God takes the limitations of human existence into account when He deals with us. Suffering cannot benefit God’s essence, but it will impact on His revelation. Is that impact beneficial?

Let us go back to the “firebreak for evil” section, and ask, “Why does blood guilt pollute the land?” If we believed that God is totally free to enact any legislation He wants governing the spiritual realm, why does His law say that the innocent must suffer to stop another creature’s evil? I can not answer that, other than to say that God’s being is primary, and therefore God’s interaction with Man, His revelation, is limited by His essence. Thus the Bible says, “God cannot lie.” Somehow this question of suffering is tied into God’s essence and where that leads I cannot follow. Recognizing our inability to ask the limitless “Why?”, we nonetheless can still learn something about suffering and God from examining His revelation to us.

In our Augustinian section we argued for the existence of spiritual suffering, of disorder in the heavenly realm. In the section on pain we pointed out that suffering can be a firebreak for evil. Arguing from analogy, what is it that can stop the creeping spiritual darkness, the spreading negation of evil? Is it not a lamp or a light? Well if suffering is a firebreak for evil, could it not also be a spiritual light as well? Slow down, didn’t I just say that suffering is negation of all that is good, how then can it be something good in itself? This is the mystery of grace; that God can make something good out of suffering. But then is it correct to define suffering neo-Platonically as an absence of good? No, it is not entirely correct, and we must look to see what is the nature of this thing that God can use for both good and evil.

The Knowledge of Good and Evil was the title of a famous tree. Like that tree, created by God and declared “good”, suffering can be used for infinite gain or infinite loss. Suffering is the currency of heaven, redeeming sinners (Isaiah 53) and damning them (Isaiah 51). Suffering has been part of the human condition since the Garden, where God planted the tree of pain. And since the Fall, suffering has been the only way back into the Garden, where Adam once conversed with God. The story of Job is an inside-out Garden, a story of a man forced to eat of the tree and gaining knowledge “too wonderful for me” that led him back into God’s presence. The story of Job is a reversal of the Fall, a story in which God beats Satan at his own game. It becomes the archetypal story of victory over suffering and the defeat of death.

Job As Existentialist

Job 1

A story that I heard second-hand from a meeting of phenomenologists has two philosophers driving together to a conference. They must have rented a car at the airport, because the passenger is reading the informational material stuffed in the glove compartment.

“Hey,” he says, “Do you know that there’s a fine for burnt out lights in this state?”

“No,” replies the driver, “I didn’t, and I didn’t check them either. I’d better pull over and make sure they’re in good shape. Why don’t you go around the car and check the bulbs?”

“Okay” says the passenger, as he opens his door and walks around to the front of the vehicle.

“I’m checking the turn signals,” shouts the driver, “are they working?”

“Yes!”, came the reply. “Wait, No! Yes! No! Yes!...”

Like those philosophers, the truth we extract from Job depends crucially on our expectations of truth. This chapter is designed to disappoint everyone’s expectations. Those of you who thought I was going to follow in the footsteps of great theologians and philosophers of the past, the “ground of being” and all that will be disappointed as will those who find in Job an irrational God who steps outside all of our understanding. For it seems to me absurdly futile to construct rational arguments proving the essential irrationality of the Universe. Yet both intensely conservative and thoroughly intellectual people have done just that, arguing that the message of Job is intentionally illogical and irrational. What could have enticed them into such dire straits? Who incited them to abandon, even scuttle, the ship of reason in such perilous waters? Finding the answer to these questions reveals more about the captain and his choice of the Charybdis of despair than about the Scylla of suffering. For the writer of Job, by putting truisms in the mouths of the enemy, and enigmas in the mouth of God, cleverly forces the reader to make choices about what constitutes truth. Thus this chapter will not be about Job so much as it is about modern man and his encounter with Truth.

KIRKEGAARD, CHAMBERS AND BARTH

What do Soren Kirkegaard, Oswald Chambers and Karl Barth all have in common? Besides all being Europeans born in the 19th century, they were all deeply religious men who found a refuge for faith in divine irrationality. In each case, they were responding to sacrilegious men who used the cover of rational argument to draw the Church into heretical behavior. This did not, of course, prevent their philosophy from being used by the same sacrilegious spirit as a weapon against the Church. For the Truth cannot be protected by defenses of Men, he can only be encountered by the sincere of every age. Inasmuch as rational argument or irrational faith clears a path through the choking weeds of this world’s irreverent philosophy and leads us to Truth, so it becomes our true journey of faith.

In response to the creeping eighteenth century rationalism and its trivialization of the Church, Kirkegaard saw true faith opposed to reason. He saw in Abraham the anguish of belief, as God demanded from him his sole heir and son, Isaac, where the only deliverance from this anguish became Abraham’s blind faith in a loving God. Kirkegaard generalized that anguish to all of life, and by that step made blind faith essential to all of life. It was a bold step, but a desperate one, which now repeated countless times, has left atheistic rationalists in firm control of reason, and cast the Church adrift on the stormy seas of irrational faith. Soren would have approved.

Likewise Karl Barth was appalled by the blatant appropriation of the Church’s sacred symbols by the Prussian army, the wholesale theft of holy scriptures. When the very belt buckles of the army had imprinted on them “Gott mit uns”, God with us, it suggested that the generals had made God their mascot, their lucky talisman against the enemy. In contrast, Barth argued that God is beyond our beckoning, beyond our understanding, and it is therefore absurd to imagine we know on whose side God stands. In a similar way, this was the answer of the American doughboys who responded to the German banner by raising a hand painted sign from their side of the barbed wire, “We got mittens too.” Karl only said it more elegantly.

Oswald Chambers was a relatively young man when he died in 1917, leaving only a few of his works. His semi-mystical MY UTMOST FOR HIS HIGHEST has become a best-selling devotional book in some circles, rivalling the more famous THE IMITATION OF CHRIST. In addition, his wife collected his daily sermons on the book of Job, made at the YMCA Hut Zeitoun Camp in 1916. In this short book, BAFFLED TO FIGHT BETTER, Chambers addresses the question of why England should be suffering through the first world war. Some godly people had inferred that God must be very angry at England and must be disciplining its people. Chambers’ answer, strangely enough, echoes Kirkegaard and presages Barth, when he denies any causal relationship and says that God has “no reason” we can understand, just as God gave “no reason” for afflicting Job. I focus on this book for two reasons: first, Chambers has an impeccable reputation with conservatives unlike the other two men; and second, Chambers addressed an entire study to the book of Job. If we understand Chambers, then, I believe, we will understand much of the modern response.

• THE WAR

It is impossible to understand the attraction of existentialism without understanding the milieu in which it developed. The nineteenth century growth of scientific rationalism and the Hegelian triumph of the spirit had spread the message of the imminent arrival of the millennium, a 1000 year period of unparalleled peace and prosperity that immediately preceded the return of Christ. To put it in perspective, the amount of world trade and the growth in the gross world product of the 1890’s had produced an excess of disposable income and prosperity that was not seen again until the latter half of the 1980’s. This rosy view of civilization was destroyed by two bloody, senseless, exhausting, and destructive world wars. The aftermath left more than nations in ruins, it destroyed the philosophy and moral fiber of three generations, it produced despair. Thoreau had written 50 years earlier that “most men lead lives of quiet desperation”. That desperation had visibly changed, so that in the first half of the 20th century one could say “most men lead lives of deepening despair”. It was to that subvocal cry that Chambers directed his study of Job, and it is the test of his answer that we ask “does his solution bring hope?”

• THE NEGATION

As with many other studies of Job, Chambers begins by negating other interpretations. Chambers begins with a provocative sentence, “It is in such a book as Job that many suffering souls will find consolation and sustaining, and this because no attempt is made to explain the WHY of suffering...” In the second paragraph he denies that Job was perfected by suffering because he was blameless to begin with. In the third paragraph he argues that the only explanation for Job’s suffering lies in the heavenly court, not in Job’s earthly behavior. In the following paragraphs he argues that Satan cannot be blamed for instigating or causing Job’s pain, leaving God alone, as chief of the heavenly court, responsible for Job’s pain. A little later Chambers argues that a changing “dispensation” cannot account for Job’s suffering either. He makes the point more than once that there is no rational explanation for Job’s suffering based on past experience or expected outcome. Job’s trial was in essence, tragic.

Already at the end of the first chapter, Chambers is developing the theme of tragedy. He argues that Job’s faith had been built on circumstance, on cause and effect. “Then came calamity after calamity, everything Job believed about God was contradicted, and his creed went to the winds.” The explanation for Chambers’ interpretation can be seen in his application of this calamity to the present. “Today there is in our midst a crop of juvenile skeptics, men who up to the time of the war had had no tension in their lives, and as soon as turmoil embroiled them they flung over their faith and became cheap and easy skeptics. The man who knows that there are problems and difficulties in life is not so easily moved.... Many a man through this war has lost his form of belief in God and imagines that he has thereby lost God, whereas he is in the throes of a conflict which ought to give birth to a realization of God more fundamental than any statement of belief.” Chambers apparently sees in tragedy the only way to divorce one’s faith from a rational empirical belief, a step which requires complete tragedy. “One such thing the war has done is to knock on the head all such shallow optimism as telling people to ‘look on the bright side of things’ or that ‘every cloud has a silver lining.’ There are some clouds that are black all through!”

• THE DESPAIR

Chambers does not leave us in any doubt as to the outcome of tragedy. “Facing facts as they are produces despair, not frenzy, but real downright despair, and God never blames a man for despair. The man who thinks must be pessimistic; thinking can never produce optimism....The basis of things is not reasonable, but wild and tragic, and to face things as they are brings a man to the ordeal of despair.”

I quote these sentences from Chambers because otherwise you might think I was quoting Kirkegaard or Sartre. I find the amazing similarity of their thought can only be explained, not by their common faith, but by their common background. We who live at the end of the 20th century know the result of choosing Charybdis, but we must appreciate the many lethal heads of Scylla before we condemn such a choice.

Chambers develops the theme of despair to argue that it is not temporary, but permanent. “The sense of the irreparable is one of the greatest agonies in human life....There are things in life which are irreparable; there is no road back to yesterday. Job’s sense of the irreparable brought him face to face with the thing God was face to face with, and when a man gets there he begins to see the meaning of the redemption. The basis of things is not rational, common sense tells him it is not; the basis of things is tragic, and the Bible reveals that the only way out is through redemption.”

• THE IRRATIONAL

In this last quote we see Chambers developing the theme of the permanent character of despair and its intimate connection with logic, with rational reason, with empirical belief. In contrast, Chambers holds up the irrational redemption of God. “Reason is our guide among the facts of life, but it does not give us the explanation of them. Sin, suffering, and the book of God all bring a person to the realization that there is something wrong at the basis of life, and it cannot be put right by his reason. Our Lord always dealt with the ‘basement’ of life, that is, with the real problem; if we only deal with the ‘upper story’ we do not realize the need of the redemption; but once we are hit on the elemental line, as this war has hit people, everything becomes different. There are many men today who for the first time in their lives find themselves in the midst of the elemental with no civilized protection, and they go through appalling agony. This war has put an end to a great deal of belief in our beliefs....A man up against things as they are feels that he has lost God, while in reality he has come face to face with Him....There are many things in life that look like irresponsible blunders, but the Bible reveals that God has borne the responsibility for these things.... God accepts vicariously the responsibility for dealing with sin, and on the basis of the redemption men find their personal way out and an explanation.”

• THE EXPLANATION

Here, on page 28 of a 142-page book, Chambers presents his thesis. God’s irrational redemption that only allows a personal interpretation. No one else can interpret it for you, no one else can explain it for you, but when you take the mighty leap of faith, without reason, without experience as a guide, only then is an explanation found. The remainder of the book becomes merely an elaboration on these themes. Let me skip to the end of the book, in Chambers’ explication of Job 42 where he summarizes the answer:

Everything a man takes to be the key to a problem is apt to turn

out another lock....Everything that man attempts as a

simplification of life, other than a personal relationship to

God, turns out to be a lock, and we should be alert to recognize

when a thing turns from a key to a lock. The creed Job held,

which pretended to be a key to the character of God, turned out

to be a lock, and Job is realizing that the only key to life is

not a statement of faith in God, nor an intellectual conception

of God, but a personal relationship to Him. God Himself is the

key to the riddle of the universe, and the basis of things is to

be found only in Him. If a man leaves out God and takes any

scientific explanation as the key, he succeeds only in finding

another lock....

We sometimes wrongly illustrate faith in God by the faith of a

businessman in a check. Faith commercially is based on

calculation, but religious faith cannot be illustrated by the

kind of faith we exhibit in life. Faith in God is a terrific

venture in the dark; I have to believe that God is good in spite

of all that contradicts it in my experience....

There is a great difference between Christian experience and

Christian faith. The danger of experience is that our faith is

made to rest in it, instead of seeing that our experience is

simply a doorway to God Himself. The reason many of us refuse to

think and discover the basis of true religion is because

evangelical Christianity has been stated in such a flimsy way.

We get at Truth through life and personality, not by logic or

scientific statements.... Intellect asks, ‘What is truth?’ as

if truth were something that could be stated in words. ‘I am the

Truth’, said Jesus. The only way we get at Truth is by life and

personality. When a man is up against things it is no use for

him to try and work it out logically, but let him obey, and

instantly he will see his way through. Truth is moral, not

intellectual. We perceive Truth by doing the right thing, not by

thinking it out....we shall find that the Truth is not in a creed

or a logical statement, but in Life and Personality. This is

what Job is realizing.

A POSTSCRIPT

What was it about the two world wars that produced such deep despair? Why is it that this despair was not found in America, though she had fought in both wars? What is so European about Existentialism? As I puzzled over this, I thought, perhaps because the world wars were not fought on American soil. But then, 50 years previously the United States had fought the bloodiest war in history on its own soil, the American Civil War. Yet this war had not produced profound despair. What could be different about these wars? Surely it was not the weapons of mass destruction. The machine gun was first deployed in the Civil war, as was the introduction of trench warfare. Nor was it the immediacy of tragedy; one of every four men in the South died during this war. The duration of the wars were all about the same as well. Something else must be different.

Then it occurred to me, the Civil War was a war about ideas. Separatism versus Federalism, Slavery versus Industry, the Knight versus the Guild. All the players in this conflict knew to a greater or lesser extant that this was a war of ideas. Lincoln agonized over the responsibilities he faced in waging war on his brothers, his Gettysburg address is a clear statement of his recognition of this battleground of ideals, the experiment that was the United States. The Abolitionists interpreted the war as apocalyptic judgment on the sin of slavery; the famous battle hymn of the republic began “Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord, He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored, He has loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword...” And because this war was viewed as a holy war, it had a simple interpretation. It caused suffering, vast suffering, but it was suffering for a reason.

But there were no such easy explanations for the two world wars. Rationalism was rampant in both camps, and rationalism seemed incapable of stopping the conflict, worse, it justified the conflict. Christianity had become a trapping of state, and was voiceless and powerless to stem the tide of war. Greed, power, pride, and fortune, these were the instigators of the war, but hardly worth dying for. The wars of Europe were wars of men against themselves, they were self-inflicted, holocausts of hubris. The reaction of Chambers then, is the correct response, for it recognizes the deep emptiness, the dark pit into which Western Europe had stumbled. It is in such a bear trap of despair that a man might cut off his leg to save his soul. We can empathize with Chambers, but we have lost the lesson if we emulate him.

A SUMMARY

I hesitate to summarize such a complex thinker and proponent of the faith as Oswald Chambers, yet a few points might be made without doing him great injustice. He has indeed adopted much of the terminology and arguments of the Existentialists, yet at the same time he gives a curious twist to the ending of his book. He argues for the irrationality of Truth, yet simultaneously for the application and morality of Truth. Other philosophers pick up on the theme of truth equated to moral action, but few have found the answer to universal suffering in a personal Truth. Though not emphasized by Chambers, this personalization of Truth appears to me to be the crux of the argument, for it is the hope he advances against despair. Therefore I frame my questions in the light of this Truth.

Was the disease of 18th century rationalism so deadly that it required such radical surgery? Is life truly tragic? Was the solution of “faith in a personal God” just another pit for a religion based on empirical experiences? Was the rational demand that we avoid all rationalizing an impossible task, like “not thinking of pink elephants”? Is it possible to separate the “rationalism” of man from the “rationalism” of God in the person of Truth? Why should it be necessary to make Reason and Life antagonists in the person of Truth? Do we have any justification in believing Job himself could find this hope that Chambers ends with? I raise these questions because I prefer not to examine Job in the same manner as Chambers. That study has already been done. Rather I would like to write the epilogue to Chambers, to take his Existentialism into a new Epistemology, to the knowledge of personal Truth.

ELIPHAZ, BILDAD, AND ZOPHAR

In the light of Existentialism, these 3 friends would be used as counter-examples, as men who held on to a indefensible belief in the rationality of God long after such belief was rendered incredible. In explaining this strange situation, many commentators present these men as priggish, stick-in-the-mud, reactionary demagogues who cannot conceive of a transcendent, supra-rational or, heaven forbid, irrational God. Chambers takes such a line, equating these men with dogmatic, judgmental Christians. A variant shows up in the Appendices, where Roger Eaton presents Bildad as a doddering, well-meaning old man with outdated advice. A strange hybrid appears in many “conservative” commentaries where the three are presented as essentially correct, but with serious attitude problems that hindered their message.

All of these analyses possess a common denominator, they do not merely attack or refute or defend the message of the three -- the necessity of a rational God -- but rather the attitude and presentation of the three. These abundant analyses are about more than the psychology of these men, though certainly psychology plays an important part, but they are about the interface between psychology and truth. This indicates that the writer of Job is successful at drawing the reader into the debate about what constitutes truth: words? actions? attitudes? a combination? If I will be allowed to call that epistemology, then the book of Job is about the certainty of knowledge, the quality of truth, the search for understanding: the epistemology of God.

THE ARGUMENT

Doing gross injustice to the debate recorded for us in Job 3-30, this is my brief summary of the argument. The friends argue that the laws of nature and heaven require that all evildoers be punished and all the righteous blessed. Why? Because God is running the universe and God, by definition, is just. Thus a just God implies a just creation, which in turn implies a just retribution for man’s actions. Job’s accuser’s invert the equation to say that the existence of good or evil in our life is directly traceable to God’s retribution. However this conclusion may be an error in logic.

Without getting too deeply into symbolic logic, we can demonstrate that one cannot easily invert the “implies” relationship between subject and predicate. Look at this syllogism:

(A) Rain implies that rainclouds are overhead.

(B) It is raining.

(C) Therefore, there are rainclouds overhead.

Now let us attempt to invert it by switching (B) and (C).

(A) Rain implies that rainclouds are overhead.

(B’) There are rainclouds overhead.

(C’) Therefore it is raining.

Clearly we have seen cloudy weather without rain, showing that an implication is too weak an argument to support inversion.

Thus Job’s friends are making a much stronger statement when they infer that Job must be guilty of great sin. They are saying that the linkage between Heaven and Earth is more than a chain, it must be as stiff as steel, that God’s justice is equivalent to perfect retribution. The connection must be bi-directional to be invertible. To appreciate the strength of this statement, let us invert the predicate and the subject: Man’s actions require that a just God respond appropriately.

THE DEFENSE

Now there are easily a dozen ways one can attack or defend this statement, each one leading to a different view of God. Many of these arguments are listed in the Theodicy appendix. Let me suggest a partial list of defenses that could be made.

1. Our knowledge of the laws of heaven is inductive (generalized from observations) and not deductive (a priori necessary). Therefore the “law of retribution” is an imperfect human generalization of God’s divine justice, which may not be infallibly construed by our finite understanding.

2. God’s interaction with humans, His revelation, is only limited by His essence (e.g., God cannot lie). But human behavior cannot limit God, for God is free to do whatever is not contrary to His essence. Thus God is never required to respond in a certain way, to perform a perfect retribution for human behavior.

3. God’s choices are inherently beyond our comprehension, for God is transcendent, Man finite. All so-called “laws of heaven” are accidental regularities interpreted by men as “laws”. God is in essence, irrational or supra-rational.

Note the progression in the above list concerning the link between Heaven and Earth. The first says something about man’s limitations in holding his end of the link. The second says something about the link itself, and the third completely abolishes any link whatsoever. Existentialism takes the third approach, performing radical surgery on man’s relationship to Truth. Calvinism and medieval nominalism both adopt the second approach. C.S. Lewis in THAT HIDEOUS STRENGTH and others including possibly Karl Barth argue for the first approach.

There are strengths and weaknesses for each position. Clearly the third position silences all rationalism but at the very real danger of cutting the Church adrift from the stays of the historical creeds and confessions. The second position saves God’s face, but at the risk of making it inscrutable or, even worse, hardened. The first may divert the frontal attack, but is vulnerable to a flanking motion of rationalism making additional claims on truth and justice. (See the Theodicy appendices.)

TRINITIES

Perhaps these arguments can be crystallized by analogy to the trinity of communication in which three steps are needed: intention, execution, and comprehension.

1. Intention: As I write this chapter, I have in my mind what it is I want to say. This has a real, though perhaps intangible existence.

2. Execution: I then attempt to write it on the page, editing and rewriting until it comes close to my ideal. The final product is the written word, with potentially eternal existence.

3. Comprehension: Finally you, the reader, with laudable perseverance, convert those words into ideas in your head as well, which have both an intangible and perishable existence.

Now let us apply these steps to the transfer of truth, to the understanding of heavenly laws, to the knowledge of God.

1. The first defense argues that man’s comprehension is limited.

2. The second defense argues that God’s execution is arbitrary.

3. The third defense argues that God’s intentions are irrational.

The chain of truth can be broken at any link to halt the heresies of deterministic rationalism. But can it be broken without setting the ship of reason adrift?

• JOB

Job’s defense against the attack of the three uses elements from the entire chain. He argues that God’s intentions are deliberately hidden, so that he is unable to understand God’s actions. Now Job is not saying that God is normally incomprehensible, rather the opposite, that this is unusual behavior for God. Second, Job argues that God is always free to do as He pleases, that the wicked do prosper and the righteous perish; one counter-example is enough to demolish the equivalence relation of the three friends. But note again that he does not think this is good or just behavior, it is incomprehensible, yet it is God. Third Job argues that Man cannot stand in God’s presence, that despite God’s apparently unfair actions, it is not possible for him or anyone else to present a case before God. This is not a problem with man’s intellect, but a problem with man’s spiritual condition. Thus without impugning God, Job argues that the chain of Truth connecting Heaven and Earth is seriously rusty and occasionally non-functional.

Is this Existentialism? Well, probably not. Job would say that normally God does behave rationally, otherwise his suffering would not be atypical. Job is not saying that God is always unreasonable, but rather that God has been much more approachable in the past. Nor does Job restrict God or condemn God for His actions, if only He would do it in person. Job is devastated by more than the calamities that have befallen him, he is devastated by God’s apparent absence. Carefully note the difference between this feeling of abandonment with Kirkegaard and Chambers’ sense of tragedy. For Kirkegaard, it was the non-believer who must make the leap in the dark to find the light of God’s presence. But for Job, it is the believer who finds, as C.S. Lewis writes in A GRIEF OBSERVED, not only does God not answer the door, but one hears the sound of the latch being locked and the bolts being thrown. Existentialism may arise from the despair of the skeptic but Job’s cry is the voice of the abandoned child.

• ELIHU

Elihu’s attack, coming as it does at the end of Job’s speech, has no countering argument. This has led some commentators to suggest that Elihu holds the answer to Job and the three. However, if we view Elihu with the above filter, we see that Job has already answered him.

Elihu abandons the doomed attempt of the three to prove equivalence between God’s justice and Man’s behavior. Instead, Elihu argues, we need only consider God’s activities and our response. Thus the connection between Heaven and Earth need only be uni-directional, the “implies” connection is sufficient for men to understand God’s demands. In contrast to Job, Elihu argues that God’s directives to men are clear and straightforward, that God’s actions are perfectly understandable, and His intention is plain: the creature must worship the Creator.

To Elihu, Job’s insistence on a personal touch is therefore ludicrous, why God would absolutely swallow him up. No, Elihu says, we should instead submit to God’s chastisement patiently and reverently. That’s the way the Universe is constructed, and the way it runs. Man is completely insignificant in the grand scheme of things, and any attempt by Job to hog the limelight puts far too much attention on this miserable creature. In fact, Job is in real danger of heresy by associating himself with man-centered pagans. Job’s sin, according to Elihu, is in not keeping that stiff upper lip and proper subservience to God. God is free to do what He wants, we are not. In essence, Elihu adopts the second position that God’s actions are arbitrary.

I said earlier that Job has answered Elihu, however, Job never condemned God, as Elihu seems to have heard, rather Job is stating the facts: God has abandoned him. Job says the chain of communication from Heaven to Earth has broken, Elihu refutes Job by telling him it never was a two-way street. If Elihu turns that broken chain and Job’s pain into a virtue, then he is not judging Job, but condemning himself.

GOD

God’s response, on the surface, appears absurd, lending support to those who say God is irrational. One almost gets the feeling that the plot has been developing for 37 chapters, building an air-tight case that God cannot refute, and the author in desperation resorts to a non-sequitor in place of a proper climax. Certainly these final chapters are a major disappointment for those of us who expected an answer to the deep philosophical paradoxes presented by the dialogue. But perhaps this disappointment was intentional, and by it we learn something that a purely philosophical reply would overlook. Let us begin then in the darkness of absurdity and grope towards the light, let us begin with what exists and search for the essence.

• THE GOD WHO IS THERE

The most significant event, independent of the content of these chapters, is simply that God appeared. If God had never come, Job would have died broken-hearted and despairing, a man without hope; even had his fortunes been restored, I doubt that he would have lived long enough to father ten more children. I am hypothesizing, of course, yet the importance of God’s presence to Job cannot be overplayed. This dialogue about epistemology could not be resolved without an appearance by God. Contrast this with the theodicies listed in the appendices, do any of them resolve the problem of evil by a mere appearance of the Almighty? Yet this was the main, if not the only thing Job needed. It is as if the stained glass in the cathedral or the icons in the shrine were a better answer to the problem of evil than St. Augustine’s logic. Why?

In the Garden, was it more important that God gave a reasonable command about the Tree, or that God commanded? When my son had a nightmare and woke up crying, was it more important that I proved the absence of monsters with a night light, or that I was present? For Job’s eloquent complaint, was it more important that God gave a comprehensive answer, or that God answered? Perhaps for pain, Sartre is right, existence does precede essence. In many of these most basic, and therefore childlike difficulties, it is not the intellect that must be satisfied, but the heart that must be comforted. God’s message, by frustrating the intellect, speaks to the heart of this abandoned child. God’s presence, in bypassing reason, goes beyond abstract knowability, it proves His Fatherhood and His huggability.

• THE GOD WHO SPEAKS

However God does more than make a stage appearance, He speaks. And His speech is comprehensible, it is second person singular, it is direct, it is personal. God establishes a two-way, person-to-person, trans-finite, static-free, auditory communication channel. Not only does His presence not “swallow up” Job as predicted by Elihu, but He uses neither dreams, nor circumstances, nor angels to speak with Job. Nor does He communicate with movies, with multimedia, with hyper-linked browsers, with sensory overload or underload, but with words. Just as Adam walked with Him in the Garden, so the Truth is transmitted in person using common speech with ordinary perception.

Why is this so significant? Because many people, including Eliphaz and Elihu, argue that God cannot communicate to us in ordinary ways; Job, on the other hand, expected it. Does this negate their arguments for an infinite God and finite human understanding with its categories and filters? Not really, what it is telling us is that there is nothing common about common speech. Just as we argued that God in His essence is outside spacetime, yet in His revelation to men is both temporal and causal, in exactly the same way His communication with men spans the gulf between Heaven and Earth, it is trans-finite.

Consider Job’s complaint. If no one heard it, its existence would be fleeting and ephemeral; sound waves leaving no imprint on earth or sky. But once his words were written down and “engraved on lead forever”, they would last untold generations. And once God had heard this complaint, those words would become eternal and unchangeable. What has happened? Something very human, something physiological, something created by lips and teeth and breath has become eternal. Yet imagine that Job spoke not Hebrew, but Minoan B, would one still say that his words were everlasting? No, but if through translation the meaning of the words survives, can we not say that both the word and its idea partake of the eternal?

God’s greatest gift to man was speech. Genesis records that God “breathed into his nostrils the breath of life”, the same breath used for speech. Man’s first act and first responsibility was to name the creatures, to speak, to create eternal ideas out of his fleeting perceptions. None of the other creatures speak, excepting angels and the serpent. If we view the serpent as a mouthpiece for Satan, then Man alone among mortals is the sole owner and caretaker of the gift of speech. Science tells us that not only are monkeys (and most other animals) physiologically not equipped for speech, but only humans have special portions of the brain “hard wired” for language. Rephrasing the comment made very early in this study, God’s divine gift to Aristotle was to equip and enable him to speak of Plato’s ideals. Appearing as it does, as the first thing Man does, “hard wired” into his flesh, essential to his psyche, can we separate this function, this essence from his existence? If it is then part of his existence, could it not be “the image of God”, the umbilical cord to Heaven? For this gift, the human-divine word, spans the darkness, the chaos that lies between the Heavens and the Earth.

• THE GOD WHO EXAMINES

We have said that speech was the umbilical cord, but speech alone is not enough, it is a necessary but not sufficient condition or otherwise rhetoric would still be taught in our institutions of higher learning. That is, I can lecture my students on Astronomy, but I have no clue of their comprehension until I examine them. Now some schools of thought hold that examinations are a waste of time, but nearly everyone would agree that there is some objective, testable criterion of comprehension, of conveyed truth. Examination presupposes that truth can be conveyed, that truth can be grasped, that there are objective criteria to evaluate this transfer. Thus when God examined Job (and also, I believe, the three friends), it was more than an appearance, more than a speech, it was an expectation that Man can know, can really comprehend the Truth.

But wait, you say, God is asking questions for which either there is no answer or the answer is “I don’t know”. What kind of teacher gives an examination where the entire class receives a score of 0? Well, one could imagine a number of scenarios. Perhaps the class had not taken the lessons seriously enough. Perhaps they had the mistaken impression that they knew the material, or perhaps they had a completely erroneous perception that needed correction. As we discussed in earlier chapters, an examination is a much more effective teaching strategy for certain types of problems, for just as self-discovery of the truth is more exciting than lectures, so also self-discovery of error is likely to be far more effective than a reprimand.

If we adopt this view that God’s impossible exam was a reprimand, what was the erroneous perception, or what was the overlooked truth He wanted us to learn? Looking through the questions posed by God, I detect the following types (not counting Hebrew parallels twice):

• 29.. QUESTIONS ABOUT MAN’S ABILITY (CAN YOU..., HAVE YOU...?).

• 11.. QUESTIONS ABOUT MAN’S KNOWLEGE (DO YOU KNOW...?).

• 6... QUESTIONS ABOUT GOD’S ABILITY/KNOWLEGE (WHO CAN...?)

• 4... MISCELLANEOUS QUESTIONS.

Clearly the first message God wants to convey is the inability of man to act like God. The second message is that man has limited knowledge. The third message is that God is neither limited in ability nor in knowledge. The remaining miscellaneous questions ask who it is that is challenging God, or is bringing a claim against Him.

Embedded in these categories, is a meta-question, a question about the categories themselves. In 38:36 God asks, “Who endowed the heart with wisdom or gave understanding to the mind?” The close proximity of this verse to the 11 examination questions concerning human knowledge must be intentional, it must be probing more than “what man knows” and asking “how can man know?”, it must be a question about epistemology. Simultaneously, coming as one of the 6 questions about God’s abilities, it expects the answer “God”. So this question appears to say that God has the power to overcome Man’s learning disabilities. This is key, because God is not saying that Man can never understand spiritual truths, but rather that Man depends upon God’s gift of understanding. Thus God not only expects Man to know the truth, but He grants the ability to do so.

SUMMARY

In conclusion we see that the three friends, in an attempt to explain Job’s suffering, are guilty of a sacrilegious rationalism that makes God a puppet to Man’s choices. In response to this deterministic rationalism, Job and Kirkegaard and many others have attacked the chain of truth that connects Heaven to Earth. Using the analogy of the trinity of communication, the knowledge of God can be broken at three points: intention, execution and comprehension. Although Job’s statements are not as radical as those who follow after him, nonetheless he finds the chain dysfunctional in his circumstances. God’s reply re-establishes every link of the chain, while simultaneously superceding the requirements.

• His presence proves more than His rational intent, it demonstrates His Fatherhood.

• His speech says more than His ability to communicate, it establishes the divine character of the human word.

• His probing questions examine more than finite human abilities, they establish the basis for all human knowledge.

These trinities we have discussed are neither a comprehensive list, since one could discover nearly an infinite number of them, nor an accidental similarity, the way two philosophers might have similar facial hair, rather they point to the very personal character of Truth, to the requirement of dialogue with the Truth. The Truth cannot be conveyed otherwise. Be it objective or subjective abstraction, an abstract concept of truth is immediately subjected to the rationalism of the three friends and the existentialist counter-reaction, it is as much a failure of comprehension as the man who watched the blinker bulbs. For only personal truth can rebuild the chain to answer the heart as well as the mind. And if the Truth is a person, we will only know the Truth when we are in relationship with him.

________

1. Oswald Chambers, MY UTMOST FOR HIS HIGHEST (Dodd, Mead and Company, Inc., New York., 1935)

2. Oswald Chambers, BAFFLED TO FIGHT BETTER (Discovery House Publishers, Box 3566 Grand Rapids MI 49501, 1931)

3. God Questions Man's Ability

Job 38:12,16,20,22,31,32,34,35,37,39.

Job 39:9,10,11,12,19,20,26,27.

Job 40:9,24. Job 41:1,2,3,4,5,6,7,13,14.

4. God Questions Man's Knowlege

Job 38:4,6,17,18,19,24,28,29,33. Job 39:1,2.

5. God States His Ability and Knowledge

Job 38:5,8,25,36,41. Job 39:5.

6. Miscellaneous Questions

Job 38:2. Job 40:2,8. Job 41:11.

________

Copyright © 1997 Rob Sheldon

The Danger of Asking God 'Why Me?'

Job 42

When I was diagnosed with cancer, the question “Why me?” was a natural one.

Later, when I survived but others with the same kind of cancer died, I also had to ask, “Why me?”

Suffering and death seem random, senseless.

The recent Aurora, Colorado, shootings — in which some people were spared and others lost — is the latest, vivid example of this, but there are plenty of others every day: from casualties in the Syria uprising to victims of accidents on American roads. Tsunamis, tornadoes, household accidents - the list is long.

As a minister, I’ve spent countless hours with suffering people crying: “Why did God let this happen?” In general I hear four answers to this question. Each is wrong, or at least inadequate.

The first answer is “I guess this proves there is no God.” The problem with this thinking is that the problem of senseless suffering does not go away if you abandon belief in God.

In his Letter from Birmingham Jail, the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. said that if there was no higher divine law, there would be no way to tell if any particular human law was unjust. Likewise, if there is no God, then why do we have a sense of outrage and horror when suffering and tragedy occur? The strong eat the weak, there is no meaning, so why not?

Friedrich Nietzsche exemplified that idea. When the atheist Nietzsche heard that a natural disaster had destroyed Java in 1883, he wrote a friend: “Two-hundred-thousand wiped out at a stroke — how magnificent!”

Because there is no God, Nietzsche said, all value judgments are arbitrary. All definitions of justice are just the results of your culture or temperament.

As different as they were, King and Nietzsche agreed on this point. If there is no God or higher divine law then violence is perfectly natural.

So abandoning belief in God doesn’t help with the problem of suffering at all.

The second response to suffering is: “While there is a God, he’s not completely in control of everything. He couldn’t stop this.”

But that kind of God doesn’t really fit our definition of “God.” So that thinking hardly helps us with reconciling God and suffering.

The third answer to the worst kind of suffering – seemingly senseless death – is: “God saves some people and lets others die because he favors and rewards good people.”

But the Bible forcefully rejects the idea that people who suffer more are worse people than those who are spared suffering.

This was the self-righteous premise of Job’s friends in that great Old Testament book. They sat around Job, who was experiencing one sorrow after another, and said “The reason this is happening to you and not us is because we are living right and you are not.”

At the end of the book, God expresses his fury at Job’s “miserable comforters.” The world is too fallen and deeply broken to fall into neat patterns of good people having good lives and bad people having bad lives.

The fourth answer to suffering in the face of an all-powerful God is that God knows what he’s doing, so be quiet and trust him.

This is partly right, but inadequate. It is inadequate because it is cold and because the Bible gives us more with which to face the terrors of life.

God did not create a world with death and evil in it. It is the result of humankind turning away from him. We were put into this world to live wholly for him, and when instead we began to live for ourselves everything in our created reality began to fall apart, physically, socially and spiritually. Everything became subject to decay.

But God did not abandon us. Only Christianity of all the world’s major religions teaches that God came to Earth in Jesus Christ and became subject to suffering and death himself, dying on the cross to take the punishment our sins deserved, so that someday he can return to Earth to end all suffering without ending us.

Do you see what this means? We don’t know the reason God allows evil and suffering to continue, or why it is so random, but now at least we know what the reason isn’t, what it can’t be.

It can’t be that he doesn’t love us. It can’t be that he doesn’t care. He is so committed to our ultimate happiness that he was willing to plunge into the greatest depths of suffering himself.

Someone might say, “But that’s only half an answer to the question ‘Why?’” Yes, but it is the half that we need. If God actually explained all the reasons why he allows things to happen as they do, it would be too much for our finite brains.

What we truly need is what little children need. They can’t understand most of what their parents allow and disallow for them. They need to know their parents love them and can be trusted. We need to know the same thing about God.

________

Timothy Keller is senior pastor of Redeemer Presbyterian Church in New York.

Why Doesn't God Come Into the Darkness Today?

Luke 1:79

New Testament scholar Bart Ehrman writes:

When I was young I always found the Christmas Eve service to be the most meaningful worship experience of the year. The sacred hymns and carols, the prayers and praises, the solemn readings from Scripture, the silent reflections on this most powerful of nights, when the divine Christ came into the world as a human infant....

What moved me most, however, was the congregational prayer, which did not come from the Book of Common Prayer but was written for the occasion, spoken loudly and clearly by a layperson standing in the aisle, his voice filling the vast space of the cavernous church around us. “You came into the darkness and made a difference,” he said. “Come into the darkness again.” This was the refrain of the prayer, repeated several times, in a deep and sonorous voice. And it brought tears to my eyes as I sat with bowed head, listening and thinking. But these were not tears of joy. They were tears of frustration. If God had come into the darkness with the advent of the Christ child, bringing salvation to the world, why is the world in such a state? Why doesn’t he enter into the darkness again? Where is the presence of God in this world of pain and misery? Why is the darkness so overwhelming? ...

“You came into the darkness and you made a difference. Come into the darkness again.” Yes, I wanted to affirm this prayer, believe this prayer, commit myself to this prayer. But I couldn’t. The darkness is too deep, the suffering too intense, the divine absence too palpable. During the time that it took for this Christmas Eve service to conclude, more than 700 children in the world would have died of hunger; 250 others from drinking unsafe water; and nearly 300 other people from malaria. Not to mention the ones who had been raped, mutilated, tortured, dismembered, and murdered. ... And where is God?

________

Bart Ehrman, God’s Problem: How the Bible Fails to Answer Our Most Important Question — Why We Suffer.

from Book: God’s Problem: How the Bible Fails to Answer Our Most Important Question — Why We Suffer · Dr. Bart Ehrman via Kerux Sermon and Illustration Database darknesssuffering

Is God Guilty of Genocide?

1 Samuel 15:3

In 1 Samuel 15:3 God commands King Saul: “Now go and attack the Amalekites and completely destroy everything they have. Do not spare them. Kill men and women, children and infants, oxen and sheep, camels and donkeys.”

Bible stories like this are fodder for atheists like Richard Dawkins, who writes in “The God Delusion,” “The God of the Old Testament is arguably the most unpleasant character in all fiction: jealous and proud of it; a petty, unjust, unforgiving control-freak; a vindictive, bloodthirsty ethnic cleanser; a misogynistic, homophobic, racist, infanticidal, genocidal, filicidal, pestilential, megalomaniacal, sadomasochistic, capriciously malevolent bully.”

Though less strident than Dawkins, other cynics struggle to see God as loving and merciful in light of such Scriptures. So we must ask, “Is God a genocidal maniac?”

Hardly. God’s love and wrath are not mutually exclusive. Rather, they are complementary qualities of His divine nature and His plan to rescue humanity.

God orders the destruction of the Amalekites and certain other groups for two primary reasons: to punish their accumulated sins, and to prevent their wicked influence from spreading.

The measure of sin

Scripture indicates that people and groups have a limit to the sins they commit unrepentantly before the Lord brings judgment upon them. For example, in Matthew 23 Jesus tells Israel’s religious leaders they are filling up the measure of their fathers’ sins; 40 years later, the temple is destroyed, Jerusalem is sacked and the Jews are scattered.

The Apostle Paul has a similar message for his fellow countrymen who prevent Christians from spreading the Gospel to the Gentiles. “As a result, they are always completing the number of their sins, and wrath has overtaken them at last,” he writes in 1 Thessalonians 2:16.

In the Old Testament, God tells Abraham that his descendants will be exiled and abused for 400 years before God leads them into the Promised Land. The reason for the long delay is that the iniquity of the Amorites has not yet reached its full measure (Genesis 15:13-16). In other words, God plans to wait centuries while the Canaanite groups (including the Amalekites) slowly fill up their own cups of destruction. God never acts hastily or capriciously against them; His grace and mercy are longsuffering.

Walter Kaiser Jr. comments: “These nations are cut off to prevent the corruption of Israel and the rest of the world (Deuteronomy 20:16-18). When a nation starts burning children as a gift to the gods (Leviticus 18:21) and practices sodomy, bestiality and all sorts of loathsome vices (Leviticus 18:25, 27-80), the day of God’s grace and mercy has begun to run out.”

Unintended consequences

But why, specifically, the Amalekites? When the weary Israelites pass through the desert toward Canaan, the Amalekites pick off their weak, sickly and elderly and brutally murder them. Moses reminds the Hebrews, “Remember what the Amalekites did to you on the journey after you left Egypt. They met you along the way and attacked all your stragglers from behind when you were tired and weary. They did not fear God,” (Deuteronomy 25:17-18).

Saul disobeys God by sparing some of the Amalekites, as well as their choice animals. As a result, there are consequences. Some commentators believe that Haman, who in the Book of Esther seeks the extermination of the Jews throughout the Persian Empire, is an Amalekite.

Alright, but why punish “innocent” women and children? Individuals share in the life of their families and nations, participating in their rewards and punishments. But there is another consideration. If women and children bathed in idolatry and wickedness are spared, how long before a new generation of adults emerges like their pagan predecessors?

Finally, why kill the livestock? God does not want the Israelites to go to war in order to enrich themselves. Their solemn task is to carry out a death penalty, not to line their pockets.

It is God’s sovereign duty to determine when people or groups have filled up their “measure of sin.” When He decides that severe judgment must fall, we may rest assured that He is not forfeiting His grace and mercy; rather, the sinning party has rejected God and passed beyond the point of no return.

Is There Justice In the Book of Job?

Job 1:1

The Book of Job, in the Old Testament, opens with words both majestic and once-upon-a-time-ish: “There was a man in the land of Uz, whose name was Job; and that man was perfect and upright, and one that feared God, and eschewed evil.” Job has ten children, three thousand camels, seven thousand sheep, and many servants. He is the richest man in the East. He doesn’t take his good fortune for granted. Always, the Bible says, he gets up early and makes burnt offerings to God.

As the action begins, God is being visited by angels, together with Satan, who at this point in the Bible is not the agent of all evil but a sort of officer of God. (Some translations call him “the Accuser”; a note in the HarperCollins Study Bible says that he is something like a C.I.A. operative.) God boasts to Satan, Have you seen my servant Job, so pious, so devoted to me? Satan answers, Why shouldn’t he be devoted? You have given him everything he could ever want: “But put forth thine hand now, and touch all that he hath, and he will curse thee to thy face.” Well, God says, let’s see, and he gives Satan permission to ruin Job’s life.

This test is the subject of the Book of Job. Is there such a thing as disinterested faith? Will people go on believing in God if they are not rewarded — indeed, if they are unjustly punished? And why should they be faithful to a God who allows the wicked to triumph and the innocent to suffer? Mark Larrimore, the director of the religious-studies program at the New School, has published “The Book of Job: A Biography” (Princeton University Press), which is a “reception history,” chronicling the answers given to that riddle by commentators from the midrash — the rabbinical meditations that were first compiled in the third century — down to Elie Wiesel.

When God first unleashes Satan on Job, he tells him that he must not damage the man physically. So Satan just kills Job’s children, servants, and livestock. In response, Job tears his robe, shaves his head, falls to the ground — and worships God! “The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away,” he says. “Blessed be the name of the Lord.” Satan returns to God and complains that as long as Job remains physically unharmed the test isn’t valid: “But put forth thine hand now, and touch his bone and his flesh, and he will curse thee to thy face.” God gives Satan permission, and soon Job is covered with boils from head to toe. “My flesh is clothed with worms and clods of dust,” he says. “My skin is broken, and become loathsome.... My life is wind.” He sits down in a pile of ashes. His wife tells him to give up: “Curse God, and die.” But Job stands firm: “Shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not receive evil?”

Three of Job’s friends — Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar — come to visit him, and what they say is, basically, what Satan said. God and human beings give to each other as they receive. If Job is afflicted in this way, then he must have sinned. But I didn’t, Job says. Nor, he now realizes, does God administer that kind of justice. It doesn’t matter what you do. The world makes no moral sense.

Almost the entire middle section of the Book of Job is taken up with the debate over this riddle. Again and again, the friends tell Job that God must have had a reason for destroying his life, and Job says no. This could get boring, but for the fact that there is a tense internal drama. Everyone becomes increasingly passionate and bitter — above all, Job. “Miserable comforters are ye all,” he says to the three men. His language is now furious. “I am a brother to dragons,” he cries. Meanwhile, he sees the wicked prosper:

Their houses are safe from fear, neither is the rod of God upon them.

Their bull gendereth, and faileth not; their cow calveth, and casteth not her calf.

They send forth their little ones like a flock, and their children dance. [Job 21:9-11]

The “little ones” are especially painful to read about. Job’s children can’t dance; they’re dead. His feelings about his loss of status are also poignant. He had been proud of his wealth, proud of being able to feed others at his table and to help the needy. People respected him. Now “I called my servant, and he gave me no answer.... My breath is strange to my wife.” Still, Job will not curse God: “Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him.” [Job 13:15] Nevertheless — and this is crucial — ”I will maintain mine own ways before him.” That is the answer to Satan’s challenge. Job acknowledges God’s greatness, but he will not give up the idea that he has not sinned.

Now comes a striking event. God appears, in a whirlwind. Throughout the Old Testament, as Freud claimed, God takes the part of the angry father. Here he surpasses himself, by pointing out to the four men what he is and they are not: the creator of all things. “Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? ... When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?” He proudly inventories the wonders he fashioned. Most thrilling, perhaps, is his portrait of the warhorse:

Hast thou given the horse strength? hast thou clothed his neck with thunder?

Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshopper? the glory of his nostrils is terrible.

He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength: he goeth on to meet the armed men....

He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage: neither believeth he that it is the sound of the trumpet.

He saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha! and he smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains, and the shouting. [Job 39:19-25]

“Ha, ha!” That is the spirit of God’s answer to Job. I am power itself, he says. How dare you question me?

Job immediately apologizes for challenging his maker: “I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes.” Now God addresses the three friends, who told Job that God is just. He punishes them for presuming to say that they understand his ways. Then he turns to Job and tells him that he alone has spoken the truth — apparently, that God is not understandable. For this, God rewards him.

The story is bewildering, from beginning to end. How could God, being God, allow Satan to seduce him into destroying a good man? More important is the moral: that we have no right to question him for doing such things. (God, for all that he says from the whirlwind, never answers Job’s questions.) Furthermore, the Book of Job seems to claim that all wrongs can be righted by property. If everything was taken away from Job, the problem is settled by God’s giving it all back, mostly twofold — fourteen thousand sheep for his seven thousand, etc. As for the ten dead children, in this case Job gets only ten back, but the new daughters are more beautiful than any other women in the land.

For people who take the Bible seriously as an explanation of life and as a guide to right conduct, all this is mysterious. It is certainly not the first instance in which God inflicts appalling misery on his people. In Genesis, he killed everyone on Earth except those on Noah’s ark. But Job is highly individualized — a person like us. He is probably the character in the Old Testament we sympathize with most closely. (David is his only competition.) Therefore, his struggle to go on believing in God is something that theologians and moralists have had to think about. Their conclusions are the subject of Mark Larrimore’s book.

Discouragingly, it begins by listing all the things that we don’t know about Job. In our lifetime, Job has been regarded as a sort of Jewish saint, a symbol of suffering Jewry, but we don’t know whether he was Jewish. (No lineage is provided, and neither Job nor his friends have Jewish names.) Nor is there any certainty about whether the Book was written by Jews. We know nothing about the setting of the tale (where was Uz?), or about how it came to be written. Scholars think that it, or parts of it, was handed down over centuries as an oral tale, and finally recorded sometime after the seventh century B.C.

The text we have is clearly corrupt in many places. The central section — where Job speaks to his friends, and God speaks to them all — is in verse, and its language is impassioned: pleading, sweeping, vaulting. The outer sections are written in prose, and in a blunt, matter-of-fact manner. This stylistic contrast, together with the subject matter, underlies the main puzzle of the Book: the profound nature of Job’s complaint and of God’s answer versus the cynicism of the outer sections, where God bargains with Job’s life and then, at the end, pays him off. Many modern scholars believe that the outer sections may have been written independently of the central section — perhaps slapped on to make it a story, with a beginning and an ending. More daringly, some writers have suggested that God’s speeches are interpolations. God rarely makes such a grand appearance in the Old Testament. Why here, in his most dazzling entry, is he not given any sort of introduction? (All we get is “Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind.”) And why is this proud, thundering deity so different from the cold executive of the opening and closing sections? Also, his pronouncements from the whirlwind are often inconsistent with what he says elsewhere in the Bible. As Larrimore puts it, “The pious asseverations of Job’s friends, condemned by God, are the passages of the book that best square with other texts accepted as scriptural.”

That is by no means the end of the textual problems. Sometimes you can’t figure out what’s happening. Job will make a statement to his friends that doesn’t seem to be addressed to them. Passages have apparently been moved or omitted or inserted. Immediately before God’s arrival, we suddenly hear, at length, from a man named Elihu, who adds little to the discussion and is never mentioned again. But Job’s text was not questioned until the Renaissance, and the investigation didn’t really get going until the nineteenth century, at German universities. For many centuries before that, philosophers and theologians took the Book as canonical and analyzed it as such. Not surprisingly, their main question was the one debated by Job and his friends: Why does God allow evil in the world?

The first single commentator to whom Larrimore gives serious attention is Pope Gregory I, or Gregory the Great (540-604), who wrote a six-volume study of Job. His book, as Larrimore explains it, is our introduction to many centuries of allegorical interpretation of the Book of Job — indeed, of the entire Old Testament — as parallel to the New Testament; in particular, Job’s torment was thought to presage the sufferings of Jesus. Some modern readers find this sort of thinking far-fetched, but it certainly wasn’t confined to the Middle Ages, or to Roman Catholics. Luther’s Bible, one of the earlier vernacular testaments, had illustrations that combine, in the same frame, events in Job that occurred many verses apart. This was not to save money on woodcuts. It was an expression of the view of time that had been held for many centuries, by both Jewish and Christian commentators. To them, the Old Testament was divinely inspired, and, if it seemed to contain contradictions or errors, that was not its fault but ours. We needed to dig for deeper, subtler meaning.

According to Larrimore, this was also, essentially, the opinion of the great Jewish scholar Maimonides, in the twelfth century, and of the formidable St. Thomas Aquinas, in the thirteenth. Aquinas, emboldened by the dispute between Job and his friends, treated the Book as a quaestio, or debate, the primary mode of learning at the University of Paris, where he was a celebrated professor. (Job won the debate, of course.) As Larrimore points out, such a method has the problem of omitting the matter of the hero’s extreme suffering. Maimonides, in his “Guide for the Perplexed,” from 1190, is more modest and quizzical, but he, too, obedient to the tradition, says that we must yield to the text’s divine authority. In Job, he believes, we can understand God’s message only in glimpses. In 1536, John Calvin wrote his “Institutes of the Christian Religion,” with meditations on Job. Calvin’s view was the most radical, in terms of theodicy — that is, the attempt to reconcile the existence of evil with a benevolent and omnipotent God. Calvin said that God had a higher justice, veiled to human eyes. Other thinkers did not buy that. (After all, the Old Testament shows God issuing codes of justice for us — the Ten Commandments, for example.) The problem was stated most succinctly two centuries later, by David Hume: “Is he willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is impotent. Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent. Is he both able and willing? Whence then is evil?”

One logical answer is that there is no God. But before the eighteenth century, and during most of it, atheism was not an option, even for the most strong-minded. To choose between two positions, a person must have two to choose from. Before the Enlightenment, the vast majority of Europeans did not. Larrimore quotes the French historian Lucien Febvre, writing in the early twentieth century:

Today we make a choice to be Christian or not. There was no choice in the sixteenth century. One was a Christian in fact. One’s thoughts could wander far from Christ, but these were plays of fancy, without the living support of reality. One could not even abstain from observance. Whether one wanted to or not, whether one clearly understood or not, one found oneself immersed from birth in a bath of Christianity from which one did not emerge even at death.

What Febvre said of the sixteenth century was also true of the eighteenth century and most of the nineteenth. Bold minds might question God’s care of us, but few doubted his existence. Larrimore quotes a passage from Voltaire’s “Candide” (1759): “ ‘What difference does it make,’ said the dervish, ‘if there is good or evil? When His Highness sends a ship to Egypt, does he worry about whether or not the mice are comfortable on board?’” Voltaire said that Candide was “Job brought up to date.”

Many philosophers, probably without meaning to, inched their way toward the same position. Kant said that all we could do with doubts about God was admit them. For Kant, Larrimore writes, “the book of Job shows that the problem of evil must remain an open wound.” Larrimore thinks that’s still true: that the dispute between Job and his friends epitomizes modern thought. There are no answers, only riddles. In the face of that impasse, the discussion often shifts from content to style. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, a number of people who wrote on Job — the German theorist Johann Gottfried von Herder, the Anglican bishop Robert Lowth — stopped trying to figure out God’s plan, and instead focussed on his poetry, whose sublimity, they felt, was meaning enough. Indeed, the ambiguity boosted the sublimity. This position was undoubtedly reassuring, but the new aestheticism could also be seen as a failure of moral seriousness. Furthermore, it placed God at a very far remove from humankind. One of the reasons that Job complains so bitterly is that he thought that he and God had a relationship. Now it is sundered: “I cry unto thee and thou dost not hear me.” [Job 19:7]

His sense of abandonment is a great part of the poignance of the Book. But as the Enlightenment, whose efficient universe had little place for a punishing God, yielded to Romanticism, with its worship of passion, many thinkers had less need for a pleasant, companionable God. An excellent example is William Blake, who between 1805 and 1810 produced a series of twenty-one watercolor illustrations for the Book of Job. Blake did not need God to make sense. He wanted him to be a figure of pure energy, like the “Tyger, burning bright.” Nor did Blake mind conflicts. Larrimore quotes his “Marriage of Heaven and Hell”: “Without Contraries is no progression. Attraction and Repulsion, Reason and Energy, Love and Hate, are necessary to Human existence.”

Blake’s thunderbolt was bracing, but soon it, too, was not enough. In the twentieth century, the most pressing new influence on the interpretation of Job’s story was the Shoah, after which, Larrimore writes, Job “became Jewish.” The person most responsible for his conversion was Elie Wiesel, an Auschwitz survivor. Wiesel began lecturing about Job as early as 1946. He regards the Book as a great text, and a great torture. For many, Job epitomized the suffering of the Jews during the Second World War and also their perceived response to it, which, in the nineteen-sixties, Hannah Arendt described as going like lambs to the slaughter. As God played dice with his life, Job grieved and protested, but he didn’t take any action. This interpretation anguished Wiesel. An alter ego in one of his novels “never ceased resenting Job.” He says, “that biblical rebel should never have given in.” Eventually, Wiesel decided that Job hadn’t given in.

This, to my knowledge, is the beginning of the modern recasting of the Book of Job. Wiesel, in his “Messengers of God: Biblical Portraits and Legends” (1976), argues that, contrary to the usual reading, Job did not submit when God told him that he must. You can tell, Wiesel says, because, in the text that we have, he submitted so fast. He was just pretending. The true ending, Wiesel preferred to believe, was lost. More recently, he has changed his mind, and settled on the idea that Job merely chose silence, not submission. Job, he wrote, had “learned that he lived in a world that was cold and cynical — a world without true friends,” but one, nevertheless, in which “God seeks to join man in his solitude.”

Wiesel has had many heirs, speaking not necessarily for the Jews but for other suffering peoples. Postmodern critics, by favoring certain political positions and by welcoming self-contradictory, ambiguous texts, have abetted this trend, arguing that the insistence on Job’s submission is a vote for authoritarianism. This is something like the upheaval in New Testament studies after the discovery, in 1945, of the Nag Hammadi manuscripts, a collection of gospels from Christian communities which seem to have been judged too eccentric — or too doctrinally dangerous — to be included in the so-called canonical Gospels. With Job, the danger was that human beings could legitimately ask God why he ran the world the way he did.

But objections to Job’s capitulation came from many ideological quarters. The American rabbi Richard Rubenstein has said that we should think not just of Job, who was able to have his argument with God and be saved, but also of his barely mentioned children, slaughtered because of God’s bet with Satan. As Larrimore summarizes Rubenstein’s position, the death of Job’s children

should put us in mind of the frequency of divine infanticide in the Bible. The track record of the God of the Jews is, in fact, too awful to contemplate. Rubenstein imagines that a modern-day comforter might counsel Job to admit to guilt, even though he was innocent. Lie, or the truth will out, that God is a demon — if he exists at all.

Rubenstein was the chaplain for Jewish students at several leading colleges from the nineteen-fifties through the seventies. He no doubt had considerable influence.

Such teachings may not have been necessary. An honest modern study of Job should take into account the fact that, at least in the West, theodicy is not the issue that it once was. However much people may grieve over the undeserved suffering of others — not just Jews but Cambodians, Bosnians, Tutsis, Syrians — they are less inclined to ask God why he will allow this. Many of them don’t believe in God, or, if they do, they are less likely to regard him as a benevolent intercessor, enforcing justice in the world. They have seen too much evidence to the contrary.

Not all the objections issue from grief and anger. Another heir of Wiesel, or at least of the long-term quarrel over Job, is the translator Stephen Mitchell. In his popular rendering of the Book of Job, the hero, again, does not submit. Instead, he undergoes a “spiritual transformation”: “He has let go of everything and surrendered into the light.” Therefore, where the King James Version has Job, at the end, saying to God that he will “repent in dust and ashes” (other English-language translations have wording close to this), Mitchell’s hero — blissfully aware now that he is part of the infinite — says, “I will be quiet, comforted that I am dust.” Mitchell studied Zen Buddhism for many years and, with his wife, Byron Katie, has written books — ”Loving What Is” (2002), “A Thousand Names for Joy” (2007) — on how to relieve your suffering by challenging the thoughts that create it.

In all this, Larrimore maintains a supremely tolerant position. He approves of the wealth of “interpretative openings and opportunities.” Everything is O.K. with him, and he thinks that whatever disagreements there are may lead to community. (This is interesting, since an absolutely crucial aspect of Job’s trial is that he suffers alone.) Such a latitudinarian approach is perhaps appropriate to a reception study, telling who thought what, and who, after them, thought something else, but eventually it comes to seem anti-intellectual. At times, Larrimore sounds like a kindly Unitarian minister, or like Mister Rogers.

If, for many Westerners, the question of why God allows good people to be tortured is no longer a pressing issue, why is it that Job appears to be the most fascinating book of the Old Testament? I can’t think of a single character in the Bible, apart from Jesus or David, who is quoted more often than the dramatis personae of the Book of Job are.

This is without doubt due, in part, to the Book’s amorality. I believe that if you woke a lot of people in the middle of the night, and asked them why they cared about the Book of Job, they would name the most troubling, least sympathetic character in that document: God. He, not Job, is the star of the Book, and though he is not loving or fair, that seems to be part of the attraction. Once God appears and speaks, you are almost blown to the ground. “Hast thou an arm like God?” he demands. Then, in a rolling magnificat, he names the things that he has created: the earth, the sea, the night, the light, the constellations, the clouds, the winds, the dew, the rain, the snow, the hail, the frost, the thunder and lightning. He goes on to the animals: the goats, the asses, the hinds, the peacocks, the ostriches, the grasshoppers. In two celebrated passages, he describes with pride the monsters he created: Behemoth and Leviathan, Behemoth’s counterpart in the sea: “His breath kindleth coals, and a flame goeth out of his mouth.” God’s description of the warhorse is even more exalting, because this creature is unquestionably real, not fantastic. Likewise the eagle: “She dwelleth and abideth on the rock, upon the crag of the rock, and the strong place. From thence she seeketh the prey, and her eyes behold afar off.” She brings pieces of flesh back to her children. They feed on the blood.

God’s speech slaughters the moral, the what-should-be, nature of the rest of the Book of Job. It is the knife flash, the leap, the teeth. And despite, or because of, its remorselessness, it is electrifying. It is like an action movie, or a horror movie. Of course, Job is important in the story, but today he seems the pretext, the one who is like us, and makes the argument that we would make. As for God, he makes the argument that, at least as far as nature is concerned, is true.

Even Criswell Doubted

Job 19:6

W.A. Criswell, the long time pastor of Dallas’ First Baptist Church, was one of the greatest preachers of all time. Dr. Criswell will always be remembered as a great expositor of the Word. I heard him in person several times and used to listen to him on the radio every Sunday morning. He lived to be 92 and served that great church for 58 years, 48 of them as senior pastor. In 1994, Dr. Criswell gave his last interview to the Dallas Morning News. At one point the interviewer asks, “Do you have any doubts?”

Dr. Criswell replied, “Oh boy. Along this pilgrim way, sometimes I think I am an infidel.”

The interviewer asked, “How can that be?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, “I just have, sometimes, I have a hard time believing. I just do. The things that happen in life, the things that I see and the things that I watch. Ah, I just struggle with it. I struggle with evil in this world. Why doesn’t God do something? And I struggle with that. And I struggle with the presence of death. Just you and I talking here and we face that inevitable day. Oh, sometimes I struggle. I’ve just battled through those times.

“The reason is very obvious. One is that I have no place to go. If I turn aside I don’t have anything to turn to. It’s just ultimate despair. And second, I don’t care what, it is a blessing to love the Lord and trust in the Lord and even when we don’t understand, we believe that he’ll make it plain in the by and by. So we’ll just trust him for it.”

Dr. Criswell learned to trust the Lord even when he did not understand. He clung to a faith that said God would make it plain some day. So must we.

It's God They Ought To Crucify

Mark 15:15

This hymn “Friday Morning” by Sydney Carter is controversial. May it serve as a meditation on the extraordinary (dare I say divine?) irony of the crucifixion, so central to the Christian faith.

FRIDAY MORNING

It was on a Friday morning that they took me from the cell

and I saw they had a carpenter to crucify as well

You can blame it on to Pilate

You can blame it on the Jews

You can blame it on the Devil

But it’s God that I accuse

It’s God they ought to crucify instead of you and me

I said to the carpenter, a-hanging on the tree

You can blame it on to Adam

You can blame it on to Eve

You can blame it on the apple,

but that I can’t believe

It was God that made the Devil

And the woman and the man

And there wouldn’t be an apple

If it wasn’t in the plan

It’s God they ought to crucify instead of you and me

I said to the carpenter, a-hanging on the tree

Now Barabbas was a killer

And they let Barabbas go

But you are being crucified

For nothing that I know

And God is up in Heaven

and He doesn’t do a thing

With a million angels watching

and they never move a wing

It’s God they ought to crucify instead of you and me

I said to the carpenter, a-hanging on the tree

To hell with Jehovah

To the carpenter I said

I wish that a carpenter

had made the world instead

Goodbye and good luck to you

our ways they will divide

Remember me in heaven

The man you hung beside

It’s God they ought to crucify instead of you and me

I said to the carpenter, a-hanging on the tree

The problem of suffering and evil is perhaps the strongest objection to the existence of the Christian God, a God who is simultaneously proclaimed to all-powerful, all-knowing, and perfectly good. There is unjust suffering in the world. A good God would want to remedy the injustice. A wise God would know how to do it. An all-powerful God would be able to intervene however he wanted. So whence suffering? Whence evil? How did it ever arise, and why doesn’t God do anything about it?

About a year ago, we held a friendly debate within these ivy-covered walls of Harvard College on the problem of suffering and evil. Harvard College Faith and Action and the Harvard Community of Humanists, Atheists, and Agnostics represented opposite viewpoints on this most difficult of theological problems. Philosophical arguments were advanced and rebuttals ventured. But it seems to me that even the most philosophically rigorous response to the problem of suffering cannot help but feel hollow.

That is why I am sharing this hymn. Much like the Grand Inquisitor passage from The Brothers Karamazov, it is highly ambiguous as to whether or how this solves the problem. (I, for one, consider the Grand Inquisitor passage to be an extremely profound refutation of the problem of suffering; atheists who read it tend to think quite the opposite.) I don’t think this ambiguity is a bad thing. I think it is an honest means of communication, and entirely commensurate to the nature of the problem. Life is highly ambiguous. Our stories often have two sides. The story of the cross, as presented in the hymn “Friday Morning,” is such a story. Which prisoner do you think is the narrator in this song? How are we meant to understand his accusations? I wonder what Jesus would have said. I wonder if it might it have been, “Oh my son. If only you knew.”

Earthquakes -- What Good Are They?

Mark 13:8

The Lisbon earthquake of 1755 changed everything. In minutes, this thriving, affluent city was brought to its knees. Roughly 50,000 people died. The sky turned black. Fires raged. Then tidal waves washed over the port, drowning hundreds more.

Later, Voltaire wrote a poem challenging the prevailing view that this was a divine act of judgment. “Whilst you these facts replete with horror view, will you maintain death to their crimes was due?” he penned, adding, “Can you then impute a sinful deed, to babes who on their mother’s bosoms feed?”

Voltaire did not challenge the existence of God. He simply asked what kind of deity would create a world with such design flaws. It’s a question other thinkers of his day dared to ask as well -- a question taken up by today’s ardent atheists and carried to the extreme conclusion that God does not exist.

The earthquake and tsunami that devastated Southeast Asia in 2004 and similar disasters that struck Haiti in 2010 and Japan in 2011 are more recent examples of what may be described as natural evil. While many atheists concede that moral evil exists in the world, the idea of natural evil seems to prove either that God does not exist or, if He does, He is not a compassionate all-powerful God worthy of worship.

Not so fast.

Plate tectonics

It is only in the last century that modern science has discovered the cause of earthquakes: plate tectonics, or the movement of giant masses of rock beneath the surface of the earth and the ocean floor.

As these colossal plates move and bump into each other, they sometimes rupture the surface of the earth, causing earthquakes. When these collisions take place beneath the ocean floor, the result is seaquakes followed by tsunamis.

In their book “Rare Earth,” Peter Ward and Donald Brownlee observe that Earth “is still the only planet we know that has plate tectonics.” They further show that plate tectonics is a “central requirement for life on a planet.” It’s also largely responsible for differences in land elevation that separate the land from the seas.

But there’s more. Plate tectonics recirculates carbon dioxide into the atmosphere, and without carbon dioxide we would not have life.

Dinesh D’Souza writes in “What’s So Great About God?”: “The whole tectonic system serves as a kind of ‘planetary thermostat,’ helping to regulate the earth’s climate and preventing the onset of scorching or freezing temperatures that would make mammalian life, and possibly all life, impossible.”

Plate tectonics also aids the formation of minerals deep in the earth and their availability near the surface.

Finally, the tectonics system contributes to the earth’s magnetic field, without which earth’s inhabitants would be exposed to cosmic radiation.

So, in a sense, we owe our existence to plate tectonics and the earthquakes it produces. Of course, earthquakes often cause great destruction and claim the lives of many people. These are real tragedies that must not be minimized.

Creation’s labor pains

However, to make the leap from tragic consequences of natural disasters to accusations that God is aloof, petulant or non-existent fails on numerous counts. People die of heatstroke and skin cancer but that doesn’t make the sun -- or its Creator -- our enemy. Fires often devastate property and take innocent lives, but without fire many technological advances such as smelting, metals would not be possible.

In addition, floods and hurricanes cause tragic death and destruction, but these natural disasters would be impossible without water, without which no living creature could survive.

The point here for Christians is not to concede the atheist’s viewpoint, or to admit that God is fallible simply because natural disasters occur with great force and frequency.

It’s true that something is wrong with the created order -- and this has been the case ever since the man’s fall in the Garden of Eden. The apostle Paul writes that “the whole creation has been groaning together with labor pains until now” (Romans 8:22).

But it’s also assuring to know that God works through our unbalanced world -- and its tragic outbursts -- to protect and preserve life. He may choose to use nature as an instrument of judgment, as with the sons of Korah (Numbers 16:32). But mostly He works through the sinful and fallen world in which we live to keep it in check for our benefit.

________

Rob Phillips is director of communications for the Missouri Baptist Convention

The God Who Hears Our Laments

John 11:35

Pastoral theology is tested in a time of crisis. War, famine, natural disasters, and plagues are winds that sift chaff from wheat, or purifying fires revealing so much dross mixed with the precious gold of the gospel.

What do you do when you can’t meet? When you can’t take the Lord’s Supper together as a body? When you want to counsel the sick and the needy, but you’re unable to reach them? How should Christians respond? With repentance, fasting, and prayer? Jeremiads of judgment? Long-winded theodicies?

N.T. Wright has weighed in with a widely-shared bit of pastoral counsel over at TIME. Against rationalists who want either easy explanation for everything (it’s God’s judgment, it’s a trial, it’s for the greater good), and Romanticists looking for a “sigh of relief”, he wisely reminds us that the Christian Scriptures offer the tradition of lament. In lament, Christians follow the Psalmist in crying out to God, giving full vent to our frustration, horror, and pain. We bring before him our confusion, our loneliness, our misery, our sins and our accusations We grieve before God’s face.

Of course, that raises the ultimate question: who is God in the middle of all this? What kind of God are we lamenting to?

According to Wright, the mystery of the Biblical story is that he is one who, “also laments.”

God was grieved to his heart, Genesis declares, over the violent wickedness of his human creatures. He was devastated when his own bride, the people of Israel, turned away from him. And when God came back to his people in person — the story of Jesus is meaningless unless that’s what it’s about — he wept at the tomb of his friend. St. Paul speaks of the Holy Spirit “groaning” within us, as we ourselves groan within the pain of the whole creation. The ancient doctrine of the Trinity teaches us to recognize the One God in the tears of Jesus and the anguish of the Spirit.

And so, because God is a God who laments with us, we are invited to put down our easy explanations, lament, and embody the love of God.

Now, as with most of what Wright says, the issue comes not so much when we look at what he affirms, but what he seems to deny. Against the God who laments and cares, he poses the God of, “Some Christians” who “like to think of God as above all that, knowing everything, in charge of everything, calm and unaffected by the troubles in his world.”

Two problems emerge.

First, and largest, is that this seems to be a description of the Biblical God. According to the Psalmist, God is above all that — unlike fickle, finite, pagan gods who are just like us, he sits enthroned in the heavens and does what he wants (Ps. 22:3; 115:3). God sees all and knows all — even the mischief of evildoers (Ps. 10:13-14). God is immovable, a Rock, a fortress, a deliverer and high tower (Ps. 18:2). It is to God the Rock that David calls out in distress and commits his spirit into his hands (Ps. 31:2-5, 15). It is to God the Rock is the one to whom David cries “why have you forgotten me?” (Ps. 42:9). God the almighty, who rules the raging seas, calming them with a word (Ps. 89:8-9). God the everlasting, God the one who brings our days to an end by his anger (Ps. 90:7-8), is the one who can “satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love” (90:14). That is the God before whom Psalmists lament.

Second, that description fits the view of most Christians throughout church history. Reading those verses, they’ve affirmed God’s transcendence, his omniscience, his immutable sovereignty, and his impassibility. As the 39 Articles have it, he is “without body, parts, or passions; of infinite power, wisdom, and goodness,” since as “the Maker and Preserver of all things both visible and invisible” he is incapable of being overwhelmed or changed by them.

Furthermore, they affirmed all these things even while reading Biblical language about God repenting and lamenting. Knowing that immutability didn’t mean immobility and that a lack of passions did not mean a lack of concern, they saw these as expressions of God’s grace. As a humble and kind Lord, in order to convey his divine care, he takes up human language and conceptualities and accommodates himself to our capacity to understand even if they did not apply to him as proper expressions of his divine being.

Now, in the 20th Century it’s been common trade in something like this “classical” package for a more relational God, a fellow-sufferer who feels our pains by scrapping immutability, impassibility, and modifying our understanding of his sovereignty and wisdom. This is a special temptation for scholars with a bad case of biblical studies prejudice. This is bad, for many reasons.

Perhaps Wright isn’t trying to do something that drastic in a brief, TIME article even if it reads that way on the surface. Folks do get touchy with Wright, over-reacting and over-interpreting. What’s more, this could be an instance of his trademark “let me inadvertently caricature others while critiquing a caricature“ move.

All the same, in reviewing the Biblical material, we see the problem with Wright’s intended corrective is that he ends up neglecting to set all the language of God’s passion in their broader theological and Biblical context. And for that reason, we lack the proper context for lament.

In the Psalms, we can bring our laments before the Lord precisely because he is “above all that.” When a child runs hurting to Dad, yes, there is something comforting about sympathy, about Dad saying, “Yes, there, there, I know it hurts. I understand.” But ultimately, you run to Dad because he is not overwhelmed just like you. Because he is a shelter. Because he can hold you when you cry. Because he’s strong enough to absorb the shaking and trembling without trembling himself. Because he can do something about it. And if he doesn’t yet, he’s big enough that you can trust him because he’s wiser than you.

In other words, yes, God grieves human sin and then he sends a flood and a man with boat. God is dismayed at Israel’s infidelity and so he exiles them and brings them home. Jesus wept at the tomb of Lazarus and then he told him to get back up.

Indeed, that is the heart of the gospel — the God who cannot suffer and die in himself, the one who is high and exalted, humbles himself, becomes lowly, taking on human flesh so that he can suffer, die, and be raised again for our salvation. It is precisely because God is “above all that” in himself that he can enter in to do something about all that. It is only because God is blessed in himself — the sovereign fullness of life, peace, and joy — regardless of all the vicissitudes and pains of history, that he can communicate a blessedness that overcomes and restores that history.

It is not, then, God the grand co-commiserator who gives us the freedom to cry out, but God the Rock. This is the God we can trust with our pain, our confusion, and grief even when he gives no answers, precisely because he is big enough to be the only answer we need.

The Inescapable Way of Death: On A Day Yet To Be

1 Peter 3:18

The death rate on planet earth is still one hundred percent. This is a sobering thought. It is the way the world runs. All things wear down. From the moment we are born, we step closer and closer to the grave. It feels unnatural but it is inescapable.

The most prevailing argument against Christianity is the problem of evil. Many atheists, from the ancient Epicurus to the modern Michael Tooley, evoke this argument to show that even if God did exist, He would not be worthy of worship. The argument says that for God to be worthy of our life devotion, He would need to be powerful enough and loving enough to prevent evil from happening. But since evil does happen, then God must not possess these qualities. Therefore, He is not worthy of our worship.

A major part of this argument has been put to rest by what is called the “free will defense.” This argument says that evil can coexist in a universe with God if there are other free creatures in that universe who could commit evil. Since there are free creatures who can commit evil, then it is not illogical to say God can exist and is still worthy of worship. Those creatures that are capable of committing such atrocities are angels gone bad — which we call demons — and humans gone bad — which includes all of us.

Oftentimes, protests are made that the real tragedies are early deaths or painful deaths. We may protest that it is unfair of God to allow an 18-year-old to die in an auto accident, or that young parents lose their eight-year-old daughter to bone cancer (as happened in my wife's family). But let us suppose God did not allow those kinds of deaths to take place. How much do we require from God as proof that He is good? Shall we require that He must prevent all deaths under the age of 20? But why 20? Why not 50? Why not 80? Why not 437? Or shall we not make an age requirement, but rather restrict certain diseases? Which ones? All of them? And shall He also restrict when people can leave their homes to avoid dangerous traffic accidents? Shall He also restrict the laws of nature so that knives always turn to butter whenever they are used for weapons, or whenever a person could be hurt at all? With the nature of the fallen world and fallen race, God would practically have to rearrange every known physical law of nature. How far must God go to be justified in the minds of men? All of these questions should also indicate something further. What needs the deeper scrutiny, our perspectives, or God's purposes?

Let me suggest that all life is sacred and the loss of even one is significant. Let me also suggest that pain is never pleasant but is part of the ingredients of a decaying life. It is not God's responsibility to stop all pain, suffering, and even death. He never promised that He would stop pain. Rather, He promised something better. Instead of manipulating nature for some smaller ends, He conquered our foe with a cross.

My wife, Jonalyn, says that when Christ suffered on the cross, he dignified all of our suffering. When Christ died, he dignified our deaths too. Not because he takes away our suffering, but because he joins us in it. Paul says that we get to share in the fellowship of his suffering (Phil 3:10). Peter says that Christ suffered for sins that He might bring us to God (1 Peter 3:18).

You see, death is not really a stumbling block in the grand scheme of things. It is a consequence of being a rebellious race. Through Adam, it affected not just our souls but our bodies. The consequence of death is like the consequence of burning your finger on a flame. You learn quickly how painful is the incident, but you must also be patient for the healing.

For those who trust in the cure for the human race, trusting Jesus Christ to heal us of our infirmity, death is a pivotal part of the healing process. Death allows us to die so that we may then rise. Death is a severe mercy to bring us into a quality of life that is everlasting.

The famed pastor Joseph Bayly, reflecting on his own ailing child in the hospital as he was wired with tubes and masks, offers us this biblical hope:

If You should take him home

to Your home

help me then remember

how Your Son suffered

and You stood by

watching

agonizing watching

waiting

to bring all suffering to an end

forever

on a day

yet to be.

________

Copyright © 2005 Ravi Zacharias International Ministries (RZIM). Reprinted with permission. "A Slice of Infinity" is a radio ministry of Ravi Zacharias International Ministries.

*

[Original illustration at this number was a duplicate of HolwickID #24062]

I Was Filming A Dangerous Action Scene When I Gave My Life To Christ

John 3:3

How a film and television stuntman met the Lord in the air.

________

Some people complain that their jobs are boring and mundane. That was never a problem for me [Robert Wilton]. Beginning in my 20s, I worked for decades as a film and television stuntman, facing injury and even death for a living. On the set, I rubbed elbows with celebrities and movie stars — and sometimes made more money in one day than previous jobs had paid in a month. I was living my dream.

My philosophy in those early years was to go as hard as I could, as fast as I could, for as long as I could. Outwardly, I maintained a façade of indestructibility, suppressing any fears or anxieties with various forms of distraction and self-indulgence.

At age 26, however, I received a gut punch when my 32-year-old brother suddenly collapsed dead from a heart attack after Thanksgiving dinner. For the most part, I successfully buried my pain by working and playing even harder. But in rare moments of quiet, usually after a considerable intake of alcohol, I would ponder the senselessness of his death. I also recalled a 10-year-old nephew who had perished years before from a deadly reaction to a children’s aspirin tablet.

When I was around my nephew’s age, belief in God had come easily. A neighbor had introduced me to Jesus, and I had attended church camp for a couple summers, absorbing the message that nothing bad will happen to you when you believe in him. Sometimes, in my search for answers, I would try to summon up that believing little boy, but he was nothing but a distant memory. At least, until I heard the name of Jesus in the last place I would have expected.

The Stone in My Shoe

It happened after moving across the country for film work. One day, I overheard someone talking about God with one of the stunt guys. To my utter surprise, it was none other than the movie stunt coordinator himself. Eavesdropping on that conversation conjured up some old memories and questions. Did I still believe in God, or had I outgrown the childishness of Sunday school stories?

For one film gig up the coast, I caught a ride with the stunt coordinator — a man I dubbed “the Preachernator.” When conversation inevitably turned to religion, I told him I was doing fine without God, and I began regaling him with stories of my close calls and narrow escapes on set. There was the time, for instance, when I was tapped for a fire stunt at a monster-truck rally. The idea was to paint myself with a flammable substance, drop from the rafters, and land on the roof of a waiting car, whose driver would reach out the window, set me on fire, and peel out toward a wooden wall.

But nothing went according to design. First, my rope line snagged, and instead of rappelling down to the car, I had to cut the rope and plunge a long way onto its roof. Then the fire wouldn’t light, and after the fifth or sixth attempt, I gave up and signaled for the driver to floor it. When he stomped on his brakes, I went flying through a wooden wall, only not on fire as planned.

As I picked myself up to the cheers and groans of a confused audience, my heart leapt into my throat. I realized I had completely forgotten to apply the protective stunt gel to my head and face. Had I actually been set ablaze, I almost certainly would have sustained serious, possibly fatal, injuries.

The Preachernator listened to my story and said, “Sounds like God was still looking after you.” His words cracked my pride; I began to question whether skill and occasional luck were really responsible for keeping me alive. Could God have been looking out for me, even when I was so far astray?

We had more conversations over the following year, and he would ask what was holding me back from committing to Jesus. I told him I didn’t want to be a hypocrite. I knew I couldn’t go from being a perfect sinner one day to a perfect Christian the next, so why even try? “Who’s perfect?” he said, laughing. “The Holy Spirit changes you over a lifetime, not right away.”

I remained hesitant. But the Preachernator’s words were like a small stone lodged in my shoe — a persistent irritant to my comfortable but godless lifestyle. As time went on, I found myself thinking about God on a daily basis. Is he real? Could he really love me again after I had turned my back on him?

Everything came to a head one dark and rainy night. I had been hired to jump off a 50- or 60-foot-high catwalk, grab a large dangling chain with one hand and slide down the chain to the cement floor below while firing a pistol with the other. This was dangerous enough before factoring in my hatred of heights. Fear began to overwhelm me, and I couldn’t shake the thought of possible catastrophe. I wondered if the moment to give my life to Jesus had finally arrived.

As I took a brief walk off the set, an internal debate raged within. One side of me said, “You’re only doing this because you might die, you hypocrite! Do it after you finish the stunt.” But another side said, “No, the whole point in giving my life to Jesus is in case I die. It’s smarter to do it right now.” So that’s what I did.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but there was no immediate change — no obvious physical, emotional, or spiritual sensation. Had God heard me? In any event, I didn’t dare tell a soul, just in case what I thought had happened hadn’t really happened.

The following weeks confirmed two things: God had indeed heard my prayer, and the stone was gone from my shoe. Before long, I worked up the confidence to evangelize my fellow crew members. And there were sudden changes in my behavior, too. Among the first things I noticed was that my go-to indulgences no longer held any appeal, and the dirty humor I once relished no longer struck me as funny. Meanwhile, my habit of cursing like a drunken sailor had vanished. After smashing my knee into a steel bolt at work, I started to swear and then stopped myself mid-expletive, surprising everyone within earshot.

I couldn’t explain these changes; neither could anyone else. Some accused me of pretending to be righteous, but deep down I knew the Holy Spirit was at work. The Preachernator was right.

The Gift of Struggle

God granted me dramatic change in some areas, but in others he gave the gift of struggle. In fact, I have experienced some of the greatest grief life has to offer.

Once, during some downtime on the set, a crew member asked me why his friend’s child had died. Where was God in this tragedy? I tried explaining God’s heart to him. The crew member said that much of what I shared made sense, at least compared to other religious people who trafficked in platitudes about God working in mysterious ways. But he also wondered whether my faith would survive the death of one of my own children. So did I.

I think of this conversation from time to time, because the question has been answered. I have lost children since that day. I watched my wife’s heart crumble as she rocked our 19-day-old son while he died in her arms. Three years later, my wife watched me cradle our newborn daughter as she met the same fate.

God never promises us a life without pain and suffering. However, he more than sustains us through challenges. From the tremendous joy of a beautiful, 20-year-old daughter to the depths of deep sorrow, my life attests to the truth that absolutely nothing can separate me from God’s love (Rom. 8:39).

________

Robert Wilton currently works as a photojournalist in Vancouver, British Columbia.

I Was Filming A Dangerous Action Scene When I Gave My Life To Christ

John 3:3

How a film and television stuntman met the Lord in the air.

________

Some people complain that their jobs are boring and mundane. That was never a problem for me [Robert Wilton]. Beginning in my 20s, I worked for decades as a film and television stuntman, facing injury and even death for a living. On the set, I rubbed elbows with celebrities and movie stars — and sometimes made more money in one day than previous jobs had paid in a month. I was living my dream.

My philosophy in those early years was to go as hard as I could, as fast as I could, for as long as I could. Outwardly, I maintained a façade of indestructibility, suppressing any fears or anxieties with various forms of distraction and self-indulgence.

At age 26, however, I received a gut punch when my 32-year-old brother suddenly collapsed dead from a heart attack after Thanksgiving dinner. For the most part, I successfully buried my pain by working and playing even harder. But in rare moments of quiet, usually after a considerable intake of alcohol, I would ponder the senselessness of his death. I also recalled a 10-year-old nephew who had perished years before from a deadly reaction to a children’s aspirin tablet.

When I was around my nephew’s age, belief in God had come easily. A neighbor had introduced me to Jesus, and I had attended church camp for a couple summers, absorbing the message that nothing bad will happen to you when you believe in him. Sometimes, in my search for answers, I would try to summon up that believing little boy, but he was nothing but a distant memory. At least, until I heard the name of Jesus in the last place I would have expected.

The Stone in My Shoe

It happened after moving across the country for film work. One day, I overheard someone talking about God with one of the stunt guys. To my utter surprise, it was none other than the movie stunt coordinator himself. Eavesdropping on that conversation conjured up some old memories and questions. Did I still believe in God, or had I outgrown the childishness of Sunday school stories?

For one film gig up the coast, I caught a ride with the stunt coordinator — a man I dubbed “the Preachernator.” When conversation inevitably turned to religion, I told him I was doing fine without God, and I began regaling him with stories of my close calls and narrow escapes on set. There was the time, for instance, when I was tapped for a fire stunt at a monster-truck rally. The idea was to paint myself with a flammable substance, drop from the rafters, and land on the roof of a waiting car, whose driver would reach out the window, set me on fire, and peel out toward a wooden wall.

But nothing went according to design. First, my rope line snagged, and instead of rappelling down to the car, I had to cut the rope and plunge a long way onto its roof. Then the fire wouldn’t light, and after the fifth or sixth attempt, I gave up and signaled for the driver to floor it. When he stomped on his brakes, I went flying through a wooden wall, only not on fire as planned.

As I picked myself up to the cheers and groans of a confused audience, my heart leapt into my throat. I realized I had completely forgotten to apply the protective stunt gel to my head and face. Had I actually been set ablaze, I almost certainly would have sustained serious, possibly fatal, injuries.

The Preachernator listened to my story and said, “Sounds like God was still looking after you.” His words cracked my pride; I began to question whether skill and occasional luck were really responsible for keeping me alive. Could God have been looking out for me, even when I was so far astray?

We had more conversations over the following year, and he would ask what was holding me back from committing to Jesus. I told him I didn’t want to be a hypocrite. I knew I couldn’t go from being a perfect sinner one day to a perfect Christian the next, so why even try? “Who’s perfect?” he said, laughing. “The Holy Spirit changes you over a lifetime, not right away.”

I remained hesitant. But the Preachernator’s words were like a small stone lodged in my shoe — a persistent irritant to my comfortable but godless lifestyle. As time went on, I found myself thinking about God on a daily basis. Is he real? Could he really love me again after I had turned my back on him?

Everything came to a head one dark and rainy night. I had been hired to jump off a 50- or 60-foot-high catwalk, grab a large dangling chain with one hand and slide down the chain to the cement floor below while firing a pistol with the other. This was dangerous enough before factoring in my hatred of heights. Fear began to overwhelm me, and I couldn’t shake the thought of possible catastrophe. I wondered if the moment to give my life to Jesus had finally arrived.

As I took a brief walk off the set, an internal debate raged within. One side of me said, “You’re only doing this because you might die, you hypocrite! Do it after you finish the stunt.” But another side said, “No, the whole point in giving my life to Jesus is in case I die. It’s smarter to do it right now.” So that’s what I did.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but there was no immediate change — no obvious physical, emotional, or spiritual sensation. Had God heard me? In any event, I didn’t dare tell a soul, just in case what I thought had happened hadn’t really happened.

The following weeks confirmed two things: God had indeed heard my prayer, and the stone was gone from my shoe. Before long, I worked up the confidence to evangelize my fellow crew members. And there were sudden changes in my behavior, too. Among the first things I noticed was that my go-to indulgences no longer held any appeal, and the dirty humor I once relished no longer struck me as funny. Meanwhile, my habit of cursing like a drunken sailor had vanished. After smashing my knee into a steel bolt at work, I started to swear and then stopped myself mid-expletive, surprising everyone within earshot.

I couldn’t explain these changes; neither could anyone else. Some accused me of pretending to be righteous, but deep down I knew the Holy Spirit was at work. The Preachernator was right.

The Gift of Struggle

God granted me dramatic change in some areas, but in others he gave the gift of struggle. In fact, I have experienced some of the greatest grief life has to offer.

Once, during some downtime on the set, a crew member asked me why his friend’s child had died. Where was God in this tragedy? I tried explaining God’s heart to him. The crew member said that much of what I shared made sense, at least compared to other religious people who trafficked in platitudes about God working in mysterious ways. But he also wondered whether my faith would survive the death of one of my own children. So did I.

I think of this conversation from time to time, because the question has been answered. I have lost children since that day. I watched my wife’s heart crumble as she rocked our 19-day-old son while he died in her arms. Three years later, my wife watched me cradle our newborn daughter as she met the same fate.

God never promises us a life without pain and suffering. However, he more than sustains us through challenges. From the tremendous joy of a beautiful, 20-year-old daughter to the depths of deep sorrow, my life attests to the truth that absolutely nothing can separate me from God’s love (Rom. 8:39).

________

Robert Wilton currently works as a photojournalist in Vancouver, British Columbia.

Even Criswell Doubted

Job 19:6

W.A. Criswell, the long time pastor of Dallas’ First Baptist Church, was one of the greatest preachers of all time. Dr. Criswell will always be remembered as a great expositor of the Word. I heard him in person several times and used to listen to him on the radio every Sunday morning. He lived to be 92 and served that great church for 58 years, 48 of them as senior pastor. In 1994, Dr. Criswell gave his last interview to the Dallas Morning News. At one point the interviewer asks, “Do you have any doubts?”

Dr. Criswell replied, “Oh boy. Along this pilgrim way, sometimes I think I am an infidel.”

The interviewer asked, “How can that be?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, “I just have, sometimes, I have a hard time believing. I just do. The things that happen in life, the things that I see and the things that I watch. Ah, I just struggle with it. I struggle with evil in this world. Why doesn’t God do something? And I struggle with that. And I struggle with the presence of death. Just you and I talking here and we face that inevitable day. Oh, sometimes I struggle. I’ve just battled through those times.

“The reason is very obvious. One is that I have no place to go. If I turn aside I don’t have anything to turn to. It’s just ultimate despair. And second, I don’t care what, it is a blessing to love the Lord and trust in the Lord and even when we don’t understand, we believe that he’ll make it plain in the by and by. So we’ll just trust him for it.”

Dr. Criswell learned to trust the Lord even when he did not understand. He clung to a faith that said God would make it plain some day. So must we.

Job's Unsatisfactory Climax

Job 1

Job’s problem is not that of pain, nor even suffering in a wider sense, but the theological one, why God had not acted as all theory and his earlier experiences demanded he should. Being a child of his age, he had naturally built up his life on the theory that God’s justice implied the equation of goodness and prosperity.

Taken out of their context, the words of his friends and Elihu are more acceptable than many of the rasher utterances of Job. They are rejected by God, not because they are untrue, but because they are too narrow. The friends create their picture of God only by a careful selection of evidence. Job’s agony is caused by the breakdown of his theological world-picture.

This explains the apparently unsatisfactory climax in which God does not answer Job’s questions or charges, but though he proclaims the greatness of his all-might, not of his ethical rule, Job is satisfied. He realizes that his concept of God collapsed because it was too small; his problems evaporate when he realizes the greatness of God.

The book does not set out to answer the problem of suffering but to proclaim a God so great that no answer is needed, for it would transcend the finite mind if given; the same applies to the problems incidentally raised.

from The Illustrated Bible Dictionary (Tyndale Publishers) · Ellison via Kerux Sermon and Illustration Database sufferingtheodicy

Riddles of Pain

Job 13:4

Almost everyone asks "Why me?" when suffering strikes. The book of Job raises more questions about suffering than it answers. In Job 38 God avoids the question entirely. Fine-sounding theories about suffering by Job's friends are dismissed by God with a scowl. Job contains no compact theory of why good people suffer, but it does give some excellent insights.

1. God did not directly cause Job's problems.

2. Nowhere does the book of Job suggest that God lacks power or goodness.

3. Decisively refuted: that suffering always comes as a result of sin.

4. God did not condemn Job's doubt and despair, only his ignorance.

5. No one has all the facts about suffering.

6. God is never totally silent. (point made by Elihu)

7. Well-intentioned advice may sometimes do more harm than good.

8. God refocused the central issue from the CAUSE of Job's suffering to

his RESPONSE.

9. Suffering, in God's plan, can be redeemed, or used for a higher good.

Job, a suffering innocent, set a pattern of redemptive pain eventually fulfilled in Jesus Christ, who lived a perfect life but endured pain and death in order to win a great victory.

Thousands of years later, Job's questions have not gone away. God did not answer all Job's questions, but his very presence caused Job's doubts to melt away. Job learned that God cared about him, and that he rules the world. It was enough.

Also contains following articles:

CT, Jan 19, 1979, "A Classic Study of Pain" (review), p. 480.

CT, Mar 16, 1984, "Why Did God Let It Happen?" (article), p. 22.

Discipleship Journal, #32, 1986, "The Haunting Question" (article), p. 48.

Why Florida?

Job 38:24

Sermon on meaning of tragedies, like Hurricane Andrew.

WHY FLORIDA? Luke 13:1-5

============

I. The tragedy of Hurricane Andrew.

A. Southern Florida is devastated.

B. Why this area, and not New Jersey?

C. If God is good and all-powerful, why would he let it happen?

II. God and disasters.

A. God is the ruler of creation. Job 38:24-25

B. God can use disasters to punish for sin. Deut 28:58-61

C. Not all disasters are due to sin. Luke 13:1-5

D. More often, they are a side effect of living in a fallen world.

III. God and evil.

A. Our finite minds cannot fathom God's ultimate purposes.

B. NT teaches that God himself has suffered from evil, in Jesus.

IV. A greater calamity is coming.

A. Huge storms will precede Second Coming of Jesus.

B. Greatest tragedy is not being ready for Jesus.

from Condensed sermon outline (handout) by Rev. David Holwick · Serm92ze.pco via Kerux Sermon and Illustration Database theodicysuffering

Suffering Gives Us Perspective

Suffering makes us keep a proper perspective on ourselves. The British social commentator Malcolm Muggeridge wrote:

Suppose you eliminated suffering, what a dreadful place the world

would be. I would almost rather eliminate happiness. The world

would be the most ghastly place, because everything that corrects

the unspeakable little creature, man, to feel over-important and

over-pleased with himself would disappear. He's bad enough now,

but he would be absolutely intolerable if he never suffered.

from James: Faith That Works · R. Kent Hughes via Kerux Sermon and Illustration Database happinesstheodicy

When Life Isn't Fair

Where is God when evil seems to win?

On March 26, 1976, Vicky Olivas went for a job interview in a Los Angeles warehouse and was viciously attacked. She ended up shot in the neck, was paralyzed and will be in a wheelchair forever. The criminal, who had three prior convictions for attempted rape, was jailed only three years.

1. Injustice by design.

a. Life isn't fair.

2. God's perspective on it all.

a. God can use tragedy for his glory.

b. Pain forces us to focus on the now.

c. Justice is meant to be unbalanced on earth.

3. Looking at life from the end.

4. All is just in the end.

Asking Why

Philip Yancey (Christian writer) received a letter from "Meg"--wife of a preacher; 2 children--both with cystic fibrosis. She had to pound on chests daily so they could breathe. Spent weeks in hospitals, coughing all day/night. Joey died at 12; Peggy at 23 .....

Meg described the death of Peggy and how much the nurses loved her and would have given one of their lungs if they could have. They couldn't. Powerless before death.

LETTER: "So it is against this background of human beings falling apart because they couldn't do more to help that God who COULD have helped looked down on a young woman devoted to him and decided to sit on his hands and let her death top the horror charts for cystic fibrosis deaths. I tell you Philip, it does not help to talk of the good that results from pain, nor does it help to talk of God almost always letting the physical process of disease run its course, because if he EVER intervenes then at the point of every human suffering he makes a decision to intervene or not to intervene. And in Peggy's case it was his choice to let cystic fibrosis rip. Again I wonder, how could he be in a situation like that and sit on his hands?"

Does God Care When You Suffer?

Job 2:13

“Yet what we suffer now is nothing compared to the glory he will give us later.” Romans 8:18 NLT

THE PROBLEM OF SUFFERING

On my shelf is a little books that asks a big question. It is titled DOES GOD CARE WHEN WE SUFFER? and was written by Randy Becton. Randy is a good friend and a cancer survivor who has spent much of his life ministering to people with terminal illnesses. Randy writes:

Of the hard “why” questions, “why is there suffering?” may be the hardest. This is probably because it not attacks us personally, but also because whenever the question is raised, the question of God’s part in suffering follows close behind... We are desperate for the meaning behind all this. We seek some someone to blame or deliver us, and that always leads to our view of God.

DOESN’T GOD CARE WHEN WE SUFFER?

Of course he does.

THEN WHY DOESN’T HE DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT?

He did. Becton sums it up this way:

The answer is the cross of Jesus Christ.... From now on all human suffering must be understood in the light of his suffering; it is the source of meaning, hope, and new life for sufferers. When someone cries out, “He doesn’t care. He’s immune to pain,” they are brought to the foot of the cross to see for themselves.... The cross and resurrection hold the key to the mystery of suffering.

________

Adapted from Embracing Eternity by Tim LaHaye, Jerry Jenkins and Frank M. Martin (Tyndale House Publishers, 2004), p. 3

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[Original illustration at this number was added to HolwickID #6935]

When Bad Things Happen To Good People

Job 1

The book, "When Bad Things Happen to Good People" (Schocken, 1981), shocked everyone in the industry. When was the last time a book on a profound human question, much less a book about God, had ranked up there with the guidebooks on thinning thighs and mastering Pac-Man? Now, two years later, half a million hardback copes have been sold and the paperback sales are expected to total in the millions.

The book, with its splendid title and articulate rabbi author (Harold Kushner), has confused many Christians. The largest Christian book distributor sent out a warning notice to its bookstore clients, admitting that demand from readers virtually forced them to carry the book but acknowledging that Kushner's answers "do not present an orthodox Christian theology of suffering." Some Reformed denominations published cautiously negative reviews, and at least one evangelical leader, Charles Colson, went public with a blast against the book. Yet, throngs of average Christian consumers have found the rabbi's book comforting; his answers to the problem of pain sound good and feel good. Because I have written a book on the problem of pain (Where Is God When It Hurts?) and sometimes speak on the topic, I often get questions about Rabbi Kushner's approach. What do I think? Is he a heretic or a prophet?

COMPASSION AND PERCEPTION

First, I must congratulate Kushner on a wonderful writing job. Whatever else he is doing, he should stop it and get back to the typewriter. He tackles complex issues with a gracious style that makes them accessible to large numbers of readers. This book especially, coming out of his own family's experience with a horrible illness, shows human warmth and compassion. It deserves best-seller status. But a book that exists mainly to answer a theological question cannot be judged on its clever title, empathetic tone, or literary style. The central question is, are his conclusions biblical and true?

Frankly, I cannot join with those who categorically condemn the content. Kushner has presented some true and needed correctives for people who stuffer or who stand with others who suffer. Let's face it, too often evangelicals have offered guilt ("You must have done something to deserve this") and frustration ("You must not be praying hard enough") to sufferers. Thousands of years later, we keep falling back on the same rationalistic explanations for suffering that were voiced eloquently by Job's three friends - and repudiated in a withering attack by God.

Rabbi Kushner offers a superb analysis of the false guilt we can bog down in. His rejection of the idea that suffering is a common, specific punishment by God squares with Jesus' comments in John 9 and Luke 13 and with the underlying message of the entire Book of Job. A person in pain need not compound his or her suffering by such torturous questions as "What have I done wrong?"

In addition, Kushner offers stimulating insights on the role of natural law in this universe, the meaning of the fall of humanity, and the nature of free will. I wish all theology books were written with such clarity and brightness. Indeed, the book stands as a good model for Christian writers, who seldom have been able to present theological concerns to such a broad audience.

SOME RESERVATIONS

Despite my deep admiration for what Kushner has accomplished, however, I cannot endorse his ultimate conclusions. Essentially, he concludes that suffering exists on this planet because "even God has a hard time keeping chaos in check," and God is "a God of justice and not of power." In other words, God is as frustrated, even outraged, by the pain on this planet as anyone, but he lacks the power to do anything about it. After perceptively uncovering the flaws in other explanations of pain and evil, Kushner stumbles when he must provide his own solution to the age-old riddle.

Kushner wisely devotes an entire chapter to Job, a book of the Bible that could conveniently be subtitled "When the Worst Things Happen to One of the Best People." The Bible's fullest treatment of the problem of pain confronts the issues of undeserved suffering in their most absolute terms, even at the risk of approaching caricature. No one deserved suffering less than Job; no one suffered more. Somehow, though, Kushner and I come up with opposite conclusions looking at the same evidence. To me, Job's predicament gives God the perfect platform from which to launch an explanation of his less-than-omnipotence. Surely Job would have welcomed a speech that implies like Kushner: "Job, I'm truly sorry about what's happening. You know, of course, I had nothing to do with the way things have turned out. I wish I could help, Job, but I really can't." Such a speech, though hardly relieving Job's physical ailments, would have restored his faith in a loving, faithful God.

GOD'S ANSWER TO JOB

The speech Job got instead is one of the most extraordinary passages in the Bible, the longest single speech of God recorded. It has dazzling poetry, a wild celebration of nature, and a combination of exuberance and explosive force. The speech is so eloquent, we can easily miss its central message. Nowhere in the Bible is God's power described more impressively. God never once apologizes to Job for his lack of power; rather he composes verbal fugues about ostriches, wild oxen, snowstorms, and constellations to illustrate it. Frederick Buechner summarizes the argument this way, "God doesn't explain. He explodes. He asks Job who he thinks he is anyway. He says that to try to explain the kind of things Job wants explained would be like trying to explain Einstein to a little-neck clam.... God doesn't reveal his grand design. He reveals himself."

Job's response is as amazing as God's speech. In spite of the fact that God never answers question one about Job's own predicament, just hearing that blast flattens him. Perhaps Job, like Buechner's little-neck clam, doesn't understand any more about the theory of relativity, but he has seen enough to convince himself there really is an Einstein out there, one worthy of worship.

A response such as this causes me to question Kushner's final conclusion. If God is less-than-powerful, why does he choose the worst possible situation, when his power is most called into question, to claim omnicompetence?

To me, the puzzling question of God's involvement in the world is seen much better in terms of God's self-imposed limitations. He acts, and does not act, not because of weakness but because of self-restraint designed to promote certain other possibilities, such as freely given human love. And I know of no better example of God's self-imposed limitation than the Incarnation, an event that Kushner, a rabbi, understandably does not discuss.

The Book of Job reveals the more abstract, theoretical side of God and pain. (Looking back, we may have trouble understanding why Job felt so satisfied with a seemingly evasive answer; but, then, we didn't hear God speak out of a whirlwind, either.) Thankfully, the Bible also reveals God's close and personal response to human suffering. God himself, the God who boasted Of his power in creating the wild things, of earth, subjected himself to natural laws, including pain, when he visited our planet.

CHRIST ON PAIN

How did God-on-earth respond to pain? Surprisingly, Christ reacted much as we react. When he met a person in pain, he was deeply moved with compassion (from the Latin words "cum" and "pati", "to suffer with"). When his friend died, he wept. Very often (and every time he was directly asked) he healed the pain. Obviously, God is not a God who enjoys seeing us suffer.

When he faced pain personally, Christ also responded like most o f us. He recoiled from it, asking three times if there was any other way. When there was no other way, he experienced the sense of alienation that all of us feel to some degree at such moments. "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" he cried out. It was the only prayer Jesus uttered that did not begin with the familiar term "Abba," or "Father."

No other religion - not Judaism, not Hinduism, not Buddhism or Islam - offers this unique contribution of an all-powerful God who willingly takes on the pain of his creation.

I am glad the Bible describes both sides of God' response - the perspective from heaven, in Job's case, and the perspective from the cross - for those of us who try to figure out why God permits suffering. We need both dimensions. The gospel writers stress that Jesus' suffering was not a question of impotence; he could have called on a legion of angels. Somehow he had to go through it for fallen creation to be redeemed. Suffering was the cost to God of forgiveness.

Often, when I contemplate the paradoxes inherent in the problem of pain and God's involvement in our world, I find myself going back to one passage of the Bible that falls halfway between the Book of Job and the first account of Jesus' life on earth. In a remarkable blend of prophecy and poetry, Isaiah 53 summons up an image of a suffering servant who bears our diseases, carries our pains, and is wounded for our rebellions. Jewish interpreters often apply the suffering servant to themselves as a race. Christians, following the New Testament, apply it to Christ. Could this be the reason, asks Japanese theologian Kazoh Kitamori, that Judaism has attracted so few converts? No race has suffered more than the Jews. But human pain, no matter how great, remains meaningless and barren unless it can become a symbol of God's empathy.

NOT CAUSATION, BUT REDEMPTION

After spending several years reading about and thinking about this messy problem of pain, I have concluded that the key word is not causation - the first question that occurs to one who suffers - but rather redemption. Senseless pain offers us little. But redemptive suffering, whether that absorbed by Christ in the reconciliation of he world or that ultimately accepted by such persons as Job and Jeremiah and Paul, can ignite the world. God took the Great Pain of his own Son's death and used it to blot up into himself all the minor pains of our confinement on earth. It doesn't seem like impotence to me.

________

Philip Yancey is a CHRISTIANITY TODAY editor at large.

What Christians Told A Dying Woman

Job 42

Few Christian thinkers today write with the penetration and boldness of Philip Yancey. His experience contemplating a beautiful young bride suddenly devastated by a fatal illness [brings up many important issues].

Claudia, a beautiful young bride only a year into a glorious marriage, is now suddenly confined to a hospital bed, her beauty rapidly fading, her body sinking into unexpected and yet certain death from Hodgkin's disease.

This we hear from Philip Yancey. But his (true) story only begins there.

Now six kinds of visitors show up.

One is a deacon. He solemnly and earnestly "reminds" Claudia that our God would not "do such a thing to her" unless He had some good reason, unless there was some sin, some lesson for her to learn. Search for that in faith, he said. But, in her weakness she could not think of anything she had done wrong. And, anyway, why such a violent punishment?

Another visitor is an ebullient, cheerful woman. She arrives with flowers and flowery words to cheer. She insists on changing the subject every time Claudia refers to her illness. She overflows with exciting stories. She does not come back. She has done her duty.

Another woman arrives with great confidence in the power of faith. When she learns about the first visitor, she reacts instantly with, "Sickness is never God's will! Haven't you read the Bible? The devil stalks like a roaring lion, but God will deliver you if you can muster up enough faith to believe you will be healed Simply name your promise, in faith, and then claim the victory." Claudia was exhausted and confused.

A fourth visitor "brought along some books about praising God for everything that happens." This very spiritual woman told Claudia, "You need to come to the place where you can say, 'God, I love you for making me suffer like this.'" This repulsed Claudia. Is God really like that? What kind of glory of God is that?

On and on. You must get Yancey's book -- Where Is God When It Hurts (Zondervan, 1990).

This is not just an intellectual problem. It has a great deal to do with Who and how we worship.

What is the connection between worship and a day-by-day deeper awareness of the true glory of God? If worship hinges on our sense of His "worth-ship" we can't go on singing again and again "Majesty, Worship His Majesty" and expect the mere repetition of those words alone to deepen our awareness of His Glory. Jack Hayford did not write that magnificent song so much to gain or procure a sense of God's majesty as to express his awareness of it -- and to allow us to do so along with him.

But the power of his marvelous song hinges on the degree of whatever true sense we have, what true awareness we have, of God's majesty. Otherwise those words can become no more than a Hindu mantra.

Thus, if our awareness of God's glory is confused or distorted by the puzzling issues of Claudia's visitors, our worship is going to be limited to our actual experience of that glory.

Yet we commonly hear people wondering out loud why would God have "done" this or that dastardly deed, as though there is no other power working to tear down His Glory.

I would not give you a dime for the idea that God's sovereignty is limited by His "inability" to know what choices His created beings will make in the future, or the reverse extreme that nothing really happens that is dead wrong or truly evil. Apparently a handful of "openness" theologians are being accused of the first extreme. And Christianity Today (April 23, p. 103) gives a whole page to let us hear them stoutly deny this.

But I would give you far more than a dime to know more about that "other" person in this world whose sole occupation is incessantly to pervert and despoil God's goodness and creation, and to twist our understanding of what in this world God does or doesn't do.

Yancey is right to bring this puzzle before us. Why are our usual hospital "visitors" so confused about the virtually omnipresent pain, suffering, premature death, and the myriad examples in our world of the distortion of God's intent -- in a word, evil? Or, why are we so illiterate -- so seldom discussing -- what precisely are "the works of the devil" which "the Son of God appeared to destroy" (1 John 3:8)?

As a matter of fact, how in this world of universal pain and violence, can anyone for a moment question the existence of a Satanic campaign to reduce and distort the true glory of God? How can we be content if we do not learn more of the details and how to fight back? [...]

How long will our pre-scientific theologies allow us to go on believing naively that if we will just "live right" and "eat the right thing" that we will not succumb to any of the virulent viruses, bacteria, parasites, and many other violences that pervade our sad world?

In other words, what may well be "all to the good" is definitely not always good enough. Urging sick and dying people to "praise the Lord" becomes much more inspirational if we and they understand that our faithful God is not only mindful of the nature of evil but He is, with our help, in the process of conquering it. Only in that process of conquest can the full meaning be glimpsed in John's brief statement that "the Son of God appeared for this purpose that He might destroy the works of the devil (1 John 3:8)."

We can ask, "Where were our theologians when one of the most outstanding theologians of all time, Jonathan Edwards, sought -- against theological opposition -- to do away with smallpox?" Massachusetts pastors back then condemned him for "interfering with Divine Providence." What kind of Satan-favoring, God-distorting theology is that?

Why did it take another 200 years for any concerted effort to eliminate smallpox from the face of the earth? And why, when it did happen, was it not any kind of direct result of Christian initiative?

Can we not better worship and glorify a God who is pleased by the ending of the horrible annual toll of two million people dying by smallpox, that most terrible of all deaths?

Why is our mission to this evil-ridden world not more strategically obedient to God's concern to triumph over that evil? Maybe it is, as my pastor (Gordon Kirk, Lake Avenue Church, Pasadena) put it, "Satan's greatest achievement is to cover his tracks."

What happens to the quality of our worship if we only go around the world making plain by "actions that speak louder than words" that the God we worship is able merely to offer malarial ridden sufferers a bed on which to die? Does this not mean He does not know or care, or even with our help is unable to do anything, to eliminate malaria once and for all?

Or, does it not affect our worship if we worship a God that does not ask us to do anything about the fact that four children die every sixty seconds from the work of that devious, ingenious, metamorphosing parasite called malaria? At the minimum, are we not shouting to the world that the God we worship has not enlisted us on His side in this endeavor?

Don't blame Calvin. He did not have the faintest idea about germs and he only faintly understood the evil intelligence embodied in the masses of parasites that inflict us. With greater knowledge comes new responsibility.

And, worse by far, it may very well be that Calvin, along with Thomas Aquinas, Luther, etc., were infected by an Augustinian pagan syncretism from neo-Platonism that conceived of God as actually orchestrating evil for good -- not after the fact, but in its very initiation! The idea is, we must not fight evil but simply resign ourselves to it, knowing that a good God would never have anything but good in mind for us in "doing these harmful things to us."

How much more logical to believe what the Bible clearly assures us, that God is able to use for good -- and with our help ultimately triumph over -- the evil deeds of Satan after they happen, but that He does not guide Satan or "put him up to" evil.

I personally don't put great stock in mere philosophizing, but I am very concerned that so very, very little of the vast energies of the world's millions upon millions of followers of Christ are so marginal and distantly related to the major matter of eliminatable evil. And I believe that to many intelligent observers of Christianity our integrity and credibility are at stake.

Terrorist Attack: Christians Seek Answers About Why Evil Exists

Job 13:3

Be it the chaplain in Manhattan, the pastor in Pittsburgh or the farmer in Kentucky, Christians across the country searched for answers to explain what happened Sept. 11 and offer a God-centered approach to personal healing and the country's response.

From the Oval Office to the pulpit, one word came up consistently to describe the terrorist hijackings and crashes of four commercial airliners: evil.

But charting a Christian response to such evil requires prayer, pause and purpose, according to theologians, ethicists and others who wrestle with such issues.

"You have what Paul called the 'mystery of iniquity,' and evil is there," said Henlee Barnette, professor emeritus of Christian ethics at Southern Baptist Theological Seminary. "It's everywhere, and the challenge to the Christian is to respond in an intelligent, reasonable way to evil in his or her own life, in the lives of others and in the life of our nation."

All crises bring out basic questions of meaning and purpose, but a number of Christian observers outlined three major questions that Christians must answer in the wake of recent events:

-- HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?

"I have been asked hundreds of times in my life why God allows tragedy and suffering," evangelist Billy Graham said during a prayer service at the National Cathedral. "I have to confess that I really do not know the answer totally, even to my own satisfaction."

Understanding the human potential to cause such destruction leads Christians back to the basic doctrines of their faith, including sin and the freedom to choose right from wrong, said ethicist David Gushee.

"Why this happened is really in a sense the same answer to 'Why did Adam and Eve sin?'" said Gushee, professor of moral philosophy at Union University in Jackson, Tenn. "It happened because we have the freedom to make bad choices."

Albert Mohler, president of Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, agreed. "We need to be very clear that the problem behind all of this does not come down to a lack of security in an airport," he said. "Ultimately, we still have to deal with the reality that God has allowed a sinful world to exist and for some time he is allowing sin to take its toll."

Mohler and Gushee said Christians should avoid answers about the existence of evil that either are simplistic -- such as "God will always protect me" -- or outright heresy, such as "God must have caused this to happen."

Romans 8:28 often is cited in times of suffering, proclaiming "that in all things God works for the good of those who love him." But Mohler said that doesn't imply that God causes tragedies. The Bible consistently insists God does not cause suffering, Mohler added.

"No way can we dignify these murderous acts by proclaiming in a glib way that some good is going to come of it," he said. "The biblical affirmation is that even in the face of such awful evil, God's grace will triumph."

But God's ability to redeem a tragedy doesn't eliminate the challenge for Christians to insist that God is loving and powerful even though he permits sin to cause terrible consequences.

Theodicy, the branch of theology that seeks to vindicate God's permission for evil to exist, is nothing new.

Evil is a major theme in both Psalms and Job, according to George Klein, an Old Testament professor at Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary in Fort Worth, Texas.

But while both books contain agonizing petitions to God in the face of evil, neither holds God's answer for why he allows suffering, Klein said.

Many psalms that lament evil have a common structure, Klein noted. Rather than staying focused on the evildoer or how God will judge him, the psalm reviews one of God's previous great acts, such as creation or protection during Israel's exodus from Egypt.

"They jump fast-forward to their conclusion, and their conclusion is that the Lord is righteous, the Lord is powerful and he should be revered even in the midst of uncertainty and trouble," he said.

"The Psalms do emphasize God's role as king and righteous holy creator. But the way they function is to help God's people lift up their eyes, to look on the Lord to realize that he is good. The fact that somebody appears to do well even though they are evil does not undercut God's righteousness. He will deal with them in his own way," Klein added. "It's not a nice bumper-sticker theology, but it really is a hope, a confidence."

Likewise, the book of Job never defends God for allowing the central character to suffer.

"It just doesn't. Instead it just quickly jumps and says that God is worthy of worship, ... God is good and in his way, in his time, what is mysterious, unknown, troubling to us will be seen in a different light. But for now, our responsibility is to accept the painful mysteries and uncertainties and to trust in God wholeheartedly and his righteousness and his power and his knowledge, his providence."

-- WHAT SHOULD AMERICA DO?

Christians dare not shrink from their responsibility to influence a government's response to evil, several theologians and ethicists said.

From "just war" theories of combat to an introspective view of American policies, Christians must lead the country to develop a moral response, they said.

"When the public discourse turns from grief to retaliation, the community of faith must offer a different language and articulate different solutions," said Robert Parham, founder and executive director of the Baptist Center for Ethics.

Beginning with St. Augustine 1,600 years ago and modified since, a "just war" doctrine requires that government military action be measured and appropriate, said Chuck Colson, a Christian author and former adviser to President Richard Nixon.

"Augustine's formulation was that it has to be, obviously, a just cause," Colson said on his BreakPoint radio program. Military action also must be a last resort and intended to prevent more evil or damage than it will cause.

"There's got to be a good chance of success, and, most importantly, civilian casualties have got to be limited. You cannot target civilians," he said.

Mohler said Romans 13 outlines government's responsibility to maintain order and punish evildoers. Biblical admonitions to turn the other cheek do not apply to a proper response to last week's attack, Barnette added.

"As Christians we should respond with love, even to our enemies," he said. "Jesus taught us to love our enemies. But let me add, love without justice is pure sentimentality."

"Now personally, I'm a man of peace, but this is a defensive war against a destructive evil. As a Christian ethicist, I believe that the most loving thing to do is to seek out the evil perpetrators and their supporters and bring them to justice," Barnette added. "If someone comes up and strikes me on the right cheek, I turn the other one. But if someone comes to destroy my family, love becomes justice."

But Christians also must lead the country in controlling its emotions, Gushee added. "We may be setting ourselves up for a deep sense of national rage if we are not able to achieve the kind of perfect justice that we appear to be looking for."

Like the Jews around the world who lost a more massive 6 million lives in the Holocaust, Americans might have to come to terms with an inability to balance the scales of justice in this life, he said.

"The theme that there is an eternal Judge and that we don't have to hinge all of our future hopes on achieving some earthly justice is very important right now," he said.

"The most powerful nation in the world, unable, perhaps, to get the full and perfect justice that it's looking for, could be a pretty dangerous nation," Gushee said. "Let's hope we have more wisdom and sobriety and realism than that."

The Christian command to love one's enemies also dictates a willingness to understand the motivation of perceived injustice behind such hateful acts, he said.

"That doesn't make the decision any less evil," he quickly added. "But I think a distinctively Christian response says there is humanity in the image of God, even in the adversary. And you seek to recognize that even while you deal with appropriate responses to protect yourself from being harmed like this in the future."

-- AS A CHRISTIAN, WHAT SHOULD I DO?

A Christian personal response to evil begins with a willingness to base one's actions on something other than simple human nature, Barnette said. "We should respond and not merely react."

Part of that response begins with a simple decision to engage in the experiences and suffering of others, said Vicki Hollon, director of the Wayne Oates Institute, an agency in Louisville, Ky., dedicated to Christian-based ethics and pastoral care.

More than just showing compassion or being a good civic person, a Christian's involvement in assembling care packages, donating money, giving blood or praying for victims should be based on God's instructions and be intended to help others find God, she said.

"We have ... a framework out of which we do what we do very clearly, very intentionally with a purpose of serving as a light that points back to God," she said.

Prayer is a basic response to any tragedy, many noted. "I heard one person say all we can do is pray, but you know that's not a little thing," Mohler said. "Prayer is one of the most important ministries that a Christian can perform in order to reach out to those we cannot see, we do not even know."

Individual Christians also should recognize that evil is not entirely an outside force, Barnette noted. "I have to say this: The more optimistic theologians overlook the evil within," he said. "Wherever there is an overwhelming desire for power, for the accumulation of things for self or for a nation, you're going to have this kind of evil."

Christians leaders also must be prepared to interpret events through the lens of the Christian faith, Gushee added.

During his address at the National Cathedral, Billy Graham noted that victims entering the World Trade Center, the Pentagon or any of those four planes probably didn't think it would be their last day.

"That's why each of us needs to face our own spiritual need and commit ourselves to God and his will now," he said.

Likewise, all Christians have an opportunity to offer a distinctive moral vision and spiritual presence, Gushee said.

"I cringe when I think about the inevitable Sunday school classes that will mainly consist of 'We need to go nuke those guys' kind of response. We can do, and must do, so much better than that."

___________________

David Winfrey is news director of the (Ky.) Western Recorder.

The Resurrection As God's Answer To Suffering

Job 1:22

What is God’s answer to suffering? The resurrection of Jesus is God’s answer, Gary Habermas said.

Habermas, chairman of the department of theology and philosophy and distinguished professor of apologetics and philosophy at Liberty University, discussed the issue of suffering in a New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary chapel service.

Himself a doubter of the Christian faith earlier in life, Habermas described himself as sensitive to skeptics and doubters, often engaging in dialogue to help them believe. Habermas has formed a friendship, for example, with noted British atheist Anthony Flew, whom he has debated numerous times –- a friendship that played a key role in Flew’s recent move toward a belief in God.

Habermas cited the resurrection as having rescued him from the depths of doubt. His conclusions about the resurrection earlier in his life were reaffirmed during a crisis in his family –- the death of his wife Debbie.

Most people doubt for emotional reasons rather than factual reasons, which holds true for Christians as well as non-Christians suffering from doubt, Habermas said.

“How do you handle the worst upsets in life?” he asked. “What do you do when the worst possible thing comes upon you? Having the right theory is necessary but it is not sufficient.”

In 1995, Debbie Habermas had been sick for months with flu-like symptoms when things took a dramatic turn for the worse. While he was away on a speaking engagement, Habermas received a call from her saying she was to undergo a series of tests as soon as he returned.

“From that point on ... I began measuring my life in a serious of shocks,” Habermas said.

His wife endured numerous tests, hospital visits and a misdiagnosis. First, doctors thought she was suffering from ovarian cancer. When it came time to operate, doctors discovered her condition was worse than they initially had thought. She had inoperable stomach cancer, and Debbie was only given a few months to live.

At this point in his message, Habermas referred the chapel audience to the Book of Job. For the next few minutes, he guided the crowd through a survey of the book, bringing out Job’s increasing questioning of God. He noted that many Christians read selectively from Job, rarely reading between chapters 3 and 38.

“At the end of chapter 1 and in the middle of chapter 2, we are told that Job did not sin,” Hambermas noted. “We jump from there to chapter 38, wondering why God is so upset with Job. After all, he didn’t sin.”

Between chapters 3 and 38, Job struggles with his circumstances and his relationship with God. Habermas said Job’s chief complaint comes in 10:18-20, when he asked God to leave him alone.

“Job is saying to the God of the universe: ‘Get out of my face and give me a break,’” Habermas said. “How far had Job fallen or how twisted was his thought process that he would say, ‘Get out of my face,’ to God?”

Habermas said it is surprising that Job would take comfort from the thought of God leaving him alone. But Job does not stop there. Later, Job seeks to debate the God of the universe.

Later in the book, Job begins to experience the silence of God. Despite Job’s calls for help, God is silent. Habermas commented that many people today also complain about God’s silence in the face of their suffering.

Finally in chapter 38, Job hears from God and comes to the answer that satisfies his questions of why -- through a series of pointed questions from God.

“God said, ‘I want to ask you a question,’” Habermas said. “‘Where were you when I created the world?’”

Job had no answer for the questions God asked. Though Job is not told why he suffered, Habermas said, Job comes to a realization that he can trust God.

Job probably lived during the time of the Patriarchs and did not have the Bible to read, Habermas said. While he did not have access to all that Christians today know about God, Habermas said, “Job realized he knew enough about God to trust Him with those things he didn’t know.”

Habermas returned to the story of his wife’s bout with cancer. For a four-month period, he cared for Debbie constantly. He fed her through tubes and cared for their children and the house. Debbie slept as much as 18 hours a day. Habermas feared the doubts that he encountered earlier in life would return. They did not.

During the afternoons, Habermas would sit on the porch and pray to God, seeking answers.

“I did want to know, ‘Why is Debbie upstairs dying at age 43?’” he recounted. “I had my own Job chapter 38.”

Habermas said it is common for Christians who are suffering to experience a time of questioning. Christians seldom discover why they are suffering but he said God gives the answers that are needed.

The answer God used to help Habermas came in the form of a question. “Did I raise My Son from the dead?”

“My students know that is the answer to every question you can possibly ask,” Habermas said. “That [question] rescued me from my doubts. It is the center of theology. It is the center of practice.”

The question kept coming up throughout Habermas’ struggle: “Did I raise My Son from the dead?” Of course, his answer was “Yes.” Habermas already had written 13 books about the resurrection –- he believed it with all his heart.

“God never promised to take us from situations,” Habermas said. “God promises not to take us from an incident but to hold our hand through the incident.

“The resurrection is God’s answer to suffering,” he said. “Job’s answer really works and it goes like this, ‘I know enough about God to trust Him in those things I don’t know.’”

God did not remove Jesus from the cross during His intense suffering, and Christians should not expect better than what the Son of God received, Habermas said.

The fact that God raised Jesus from the dead provides an answer even when a person does not understand the suffering, he said. The resurrection is God’s answer to suffering because it is an historical fact, he continued, pointing to the Apostle Paul’s account in 1 Corinthians 15 as “the best evidence anywhere [for the resurrection]. Even critics allow this data as authentic.”

Debbie Habermas lost her battle with stomach cancer on August 9, 1995. The fact of the resurrection helped Habermas and his children through the difficult time. Because of the resurrection, they knew they would see Debbie again one day.

The words Paul wrote in 1 Thessalonians 4:13 were a great help to Habermas. Paul said that Christians grieve, but they do not grieve without hope.

“We grieve with hope, because we will be with our loved ones forever,” Habermas said. “Again, we are back to Job’s answer. I may not know the ins and outs, but I know the God who does.”

Habermas finished his remarks by reading Jesus’ words from John 14:19: “Because I live, you shall live also.”

How Can I Believe In God and Pain?

Job 13:3

“How do you expect me to believe in God,” asked Woody Allen, “when only last week I got my tongue caught in the roller of my electric type-writer?”

For a while now, at least in the Western world, the existence of any form of pain, suffering, or evil has been regarded as evidence for the non-existence of God. If a good God existed, people reason, these things would not. But they do and, therefore, He does not.

My job takes me around many different parts of the world in order to answer people’s questions about the Christian faith. I find it fascinating that I have never been asked this question in India, a country that certainly knows a lot more about suffering than we do. I find it even more intriguing that Christians who write books in situations where they have known unspeakable torment because of the Gospel do not normally raise this as an issue for themselves either. Why?

There are so many ways in which questions concerning pain can be raised. It can be raised because of personal loss and suffering, or because of a personal interest in the issue of theodicy, to name but two. However, regardless of the way the question is raised, it normally comes down to a moral complaint against God. “How could you allow this to happen?” The complaint is against God’s moral character. “Can I really trust God if I see this happen?” But if you are sure that you can trust Him, regardless of the pain you find yourself in, there is no temptation to turn away from Him as He is the only one who can help.

Firstly, let’s deal with the argument against God’s existence. Ravi Zacharias has dealt with this brilliantly in his book CAN MAN LIVE WITHOUT GOD. If you argue from the existence of evil to the non-existence of God, you are assuming the existence of an absolute moral law in order for your argument to work. But if there is such a law that would also mean that there is such a God, since He is the only one who could give us such a law. And if there is such a God to give us this law, then the argument itself is flawed, since you have had to assume the existence of God in order to argue that He doesn’t exist. It is an attempt to invoke the existence of an absolute moral law without invoking the existence of an absolute moral law giver, and it cannot be done.

Secondly, we must also ask the question: what it would take to create a loving world void of evil? A world in which love is capable of meaningful expression and experience would also imply a world in which there is choice. If someone tells you that they love you, those words mean something because they are freely given. If you learned that someone had told you they loved you but that they had been forced to say it, their words would not mean very much. Thus, if we want to speak of a loving world, we must also speak of a world in which choices are exercised. And in such a world, there is also the possibility of choosing a course of action that is NOT LOVING, i.e. evil.

While these observations are helpful in getting at the heart of contradictions often behind the questions of God and suffering, I do not think they get at the heart of the questions as people most commonly ask: Can I trust God even when faced with great evil? Is He morally trustworthy? Can I trust Him even if I don’t understand what is happening?

These are profound questions, and whole books could be written about them. But I will offer one more thought. Maybe the reason we question God’s moral character when bad things happen is that we live our lives largely independent from Him. In other words, we struggle to trust Him in times of trouble because we do not really trust Him when things are going well. Maybe we struggle with suffering so much in the West because we are so comfortable most of the time that we feel we don’t need God. We do not rely on Him on a daily basis, and so we do not really know Him. When suffering comes along, therefore, it is not so much that it takes us away from God, but that it reveals to us that we have not really been close to Him in the first place.

As I said earlier, I have never been asked questions about God and suffering when I am travelling in countries riddled with the realities of it. In fact, when I visit churches in parts of the world where they are faced daily with horrific affliction, I normally leave inspired. They trust God in everything, even when things are going well. When times are hard, they cling to God because they have already learned to trust Him. They have learned that God does not change, even when our circumstances have.

________

Copyright © 2007 Ravi Zacharias International Ministries (RZIM). Reprinted with permission. "A Slice of Infinity" is a radio ministry of Ravi Zacharias International Ministries.

Faith Under Fire: Where Is God In Wartime?

Deuteronomy 31:6

Where is God amidst the horrors of war? How do soldiers keep their faith in God’s goodness amidst the suffering and slaughter of battle?

American soldiers and sailors, airmen and Marines have asked questions like these ever since the War for Independence. The questions occupy their thoughts and find their way from faraway battlefields into letters to loved ones.

Journalist Andrew Carroll has collected many of these letters in a book entitled GRACE UNDER FIRE: LETTERS OF FAITH IN TIMES OF WAR. Among them is a note from Private Walter Bromwich, who questioned God’s role in the slaughter of World War I.

“How can there be fairness in one man being maimed for life, suffering agonies, and another killed instantaneously, while I get out of it safe?” Bromwich asked his pastor back in Pennsylvania. “What I would like to believe,” Bromwich wrote, “is that God is in this war, not as a spectator, but backing up everything that is good in us. I don’t know whether God goes forth with armies, but I do know that He is in lots of our men or they would not do what they do.”

Other soldiers worried about their public witness more than their personal safety. In 1943, Private First Class William Kiessel, who was about to take part in the invasion into France, wrote to friends that he did not want prayer for his safety, because “safety isn’t the ultimate goal. True exemplary conduct is.” And he added, “What is important is that whatever does happen to me I will do absolutely nothing that will shame my character or my God.”

Where is God in the midst of war? Lieutenant Colonel Scott Barnes, a doctor who treated hundreds of wounded patients in Iraq, offered an answer to that question in an email home to family and friends.

“Some of my colleagues have wondered out loud,” he wrote, “how there can be a God with all of this suffering. I just remind them that He might just be right in some of our hands and working right beside us.

“Where is God? He is in the O.R. guiding the hands of the surgeons, He is in the will of the sergeants helping organize a blood drive as only they can, He is in the hearts of the soldiers who immediately rolled up their sleeves to give what they had to save a dying brother whom they don’t even know” — or even a captured enemy.

Letters like these renewed Carroll’s own faith in God. “They showed me that even in the bleakest of circumstances, with God’s help, we can overcome all adversity,” Carroll writes. “Through Him, we can endure any hardship. Because of Him, we are never alone.”

Where is Christ during the horrors of war today? He’s on the Cross.

On this day, Memorial Day, I want to send a personal message to our servicemen around the world: We at home are deeply grateful to you and we are proud of your service to our nation and our God as you defend the innocent. And I encourage you to remember the words found in Deuteronomy: “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified ... for the Lord your God goes with you, he will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Deuteronomy 31:6)

________

Copyright (c) 2007 Prison Fellowship Ministries. Reprinted with permission. "BreakPoint with Chuck Colson" is a radio ministry of Prison Fellowship Ministries.

from BreakPoint Commentary · Charles Colson via Kerux Sermon and Illustration Database sufferingtheodicy

The Problem of Pain: the Intolerable Compliment

Job 1

Why would a good God allow pain and suffering? It’s the age-old question. When we’re experiencing pain ourselves, or watching someone we love experience pain, no answer seems adequate, and our faith faces its severest test.

That’s why it was a daring and risky project for C. S. Lewis to write the book THE PROBLEM OF PAIN.

As Lewis himself said, he was trying to tackle the intellectual side of the problem because he felt himself unequipped to tackle the emotional side. Lewis says in his preface, “For the far higher task of teaching fortitude and patience I was never fool enough to suppose myself qualified, nor have I anything to offer my readers except my conviction that when pain is to be borne, a little courage helps more than much knowledge, a little human sympathy more than much courage, and the least tincture of the love of God more than all.” Beautifully said.

As usual, Lewis uses his characteristic blend of “logic and imagination” to tackle these tough questions. He explains that God takes the universe He created so seriously that He has to allow it to operate according to the rules He set up. Similarly, He has so much respect for our free will that He allows us to use it even when the consequences will be harmful.

As Lewis puts it: “It is no more possible for God than for the weakest of His creatures to carry out both of two mutually exclusive alternatives.... Not even omnipotence could create a society of free souls without at the same time creating a relatively independent and inexorable nature.” He also says that if God corrected every abuse of free will at every moment, “freedom of the will would be void.”

But there’s more to it than that. There are times when God permits pain to enter our lives, not just as a consequence of evil actions, but because He can see the big picture, and He knows that in the long run these painful experiences will help us. With our limited perspective, this is so often hard for us to grasp. But God is so much wiser than we are that we cannot always understand His idea of goodness; it is not opposed to ours, but greater than ours. I have found this to be the case.

We often think that goodness simply equals happiness. Lewis writes, “We want in fact not so much a Father in heaven as a grandfather in heaven: a senile benevolence who as they say liked to see young people enjoying themselves and whose plan for the universe was simply that it might be truly said at the end of each day, ‘A good time was had by all.’”

But God wants something more for us, Lewis says: “We are a divine work of art ... something with which He will not be satisfied until it has a certain character.” God has paid us “the intolerable compliment”: He takes us and our moral development seriously and is working to make us holy.

One day, Lewis reminds us, THE PROBLEM OF PAIN will be solved. Evil will be destroyed and we will be perfected. Until that day we can find help and reassurance in a book that, as Ken Boa has said, “has helped thousands, millions perhaps, reach greater understanding and courage in the face of life’s pain.”

________

Copyright (c) 2009 Prison Fellowship Ministries. Reprinted with permission. "BreakPoint with Chuck Colson" is a radio ministry of Prison Fellowship Ministries.

from BreakPoint Commentary · Charles Colson via Kerux Sermon and Illustration Database sufferingtheodicy

The Problem of Evil -- For Atheists

Job 13:3

In his book “The Cross of Christ,” John Stott said that the “the fact of suffering undoubtedly constitutes the single greatest challenge to the Christian faith.”

The ages-old problem of evil is the apparent conflict or contradiction between the existence of evil and suffering and the existence of an all-powerful, all-knowing and ever-present God who is also perfectly good.

As the problem goes such a God would stop evil and suffering, if He existed. Another form of the problem of evil focuses on the amount of evil, suggesting that while God may have good reason for some evil, surely the amount of evil we experience makes it unlikely that the God of Scripture exists.

Why is this argument such a challenge to the Christian faith? For many people, the argument is not about logical inconsistencies, probability or deductive logic. Rather, the problem of evil is about a sick child, an experience of abuse, personal exposure to horrific and traumatic evil or perhaps the hurtful actions of Christian leaders.

The problem of evil often boils down to our inability to reconcile our belief in a good and loving God with our experience of sin, suffering and evil.

There are smart people who have offered lengthy defenses of God against the problem of evil. Such a defense is called a theodicy, and you can check out the free will defense by C.S. Lewis or Alvin Plantinga or Gordon Clark’s view of sovereign decree.

On a practical level, ministers can answer this question by turning the question back on the person who is raising the objection.

As Christians, we need to give an account of why evil exists. The good news is that the problem itself is understandable because we know who God is, we know what evil is and we know why it is a problem. An atheist, however, in raising the problem of evil must answer: If there is no God, why is evil, evil?

As Christians, we believe that evil is that which fails to reflect the beauty, goodness or will of God. As Augustine said, evil is “deprived of good”.(1)

When an atheist points to the evil in the world as proof that God doesn’t exist, he faces much bigger problems: If not for God, what constitutes evil?

A person who rejects God still lives in a world with suffering and evil, yet cannot explain why suffering and evil are bad. A person who rejects God lives in a world with suffering and evil, yet without any hope of future redemption and salvation, without any future reward for the righteous, punishment for the wicked and vindication for the abused.

Psalm 14:1 says, “The fool says in his heart, ‘There’s no God.’” One aspect of the foolishness of unbelief is that, apart from God, the evils of suffering, abuse, persecution and injustice fail to be evil.

If not for God, evil ceases to be evil. If not for a perfectly just Creator revealed in Christ, the very idea of injustice becomes meaningless. If there is no God and no Imago Dei, then moral outrage is reduced to collective emotionalism, social posturing or political maneuvering.

The problem of evil makes us realize just how much we need God.

________

(1) Augustine, Confessions, VII: [XII] 18.

________

Adam Groza is a vice president and associate professor of philosophy of religion at Gateway Seminary of the Southern Baptist Convention.

Job As A Sacrifice of Suffering

Job 1

Many people associate self-denial (and suffering) with Catholicism. Pope John Paul II’s SALVICI DOLORES records all the benefits that suffering brings. In contrast, the appendix on theodicy lists all the arguments defending God from the crime of causing unjust suffering. Is suffering and denial a good thing or a bad thing? Was God doing Job a favor or an insult to afflict him so heavily? How can I even ask such an obvious question? In our modern Western culture we have perhaps lost any sense of the value of righteous suffering, a concept that was well understood by the ascetics and martyrs of past centuries. Perhaps it would be beneficial to examine this story from such a perspective.

THE TYPES OF SUFFERING

Since human suffering (not to mention animal suffering!) has often been equated with unmitigated evil, it would make the remainder of this chapter an oxymoron unless we can carefully distinguish between the two. Clearly evil is a moral judgment, for though we might call a murderer evil, it would not seem correct to call a man-eating tiger evil. In contrast, suffering, for the most part, is amoral, for we might again say that a long drought causes animals to suffer without saying that the drought is evil. Evil seems to require that a sentient being freely chose to cause suffering in some manner. We will come back to this choice, but for the moment, let us look objectively at types of suffering.

• PHYSICAL PAIN

Dr. Brandt, in his book with Phillip Yancey, WHERE IS GOD WHEN IT HURTS?, discusses his medical work at a leprosarium. Because of the social stigma associated with the disease of leprosy, which goes back at least as far as the Mosaic Law, lepers were often forced to live in a quarantined community, a leprosarium, despite the relative difficulty in actually contracting the sickness. Dr. Brandt discusses the nature of the disease and its consequences, a bacterial infection of the nerve endings that causes a cessation of feeling, particularly of pain. The disfigurement that is associated with leprosy is almost entirely a secondary result of lacking the sensation of pain. He tells the story of a rusted padlock that would not yield to his efforts to unlock it. A young patient ran over and said, “Here, Dr. Brandt, let me help you.” The fellow gave a quick turn of the key and the lock opened. The amazed Dr. Brandt seized the boy’s wrist and said “Let me look at your hand.” The lock had been so rusty that the key cut the boy’s fingers right down to the bone, to which he was completely oblivious. Pain, Dr. Brandt argues, is essential for living, it is a necessity for survival.

Pain, in and of itself, appears to be distinct from suffering, however it is often associated with suffering, and in fact is the most common explanation for suffering. Since we don’t want to say “suffering is essential for living”, we must somehow again distinguish between them. One might try to say that great pain, or chronic pain produces suffering, but it seems too easy to find counter-examples. My children, for example, are quite capable of turning a mosquito bite into impossible suffering, particularly when they should be asleep in bed. Thus it appears that suffering has to do more with the attitude taken toward pain than the pain itself. In his book, 1984, George Orwell presents a “hero” whose resolve collapses under torture, the torture being the fear of pain, rather than the pain itself. In contrast, one might distill from the stories of great heroes of the past the definition that true heroism is the ability to overcome fear in the face of pain. So we see that suffering is an added dimension to pain, it requires a certain type of emotional response, which, though triggered by pain, is independent of the amount or duration of the pain itself.

• EMOTIONAL DISTRESS

Even without physical pain it is easy to find examples of suffering, particularly in those, such as Job’s wife, who are forced to observe the pain of someone they love. In fact, as others have remarked, it is this group of sufferers who write most of the literature on “the problem of evil”, since those enduring the hardship of pain most often lack the energy or the drive to philosophize. It is really not even fair to label this “vicarious” suffering, because the observer experiences it so vividly himself. Into this group one could put all other forms of “painless” suffering: broken relationships, discrimination, rejection, betrayal etc. What they all have in common is an emotional viewpoint toward the circumstances that makes one a victim or object of suffering. Only when this viewpoint changes can the suffering be remedied. The most moving account of this process that I have encountered was C.S. Lewis’ pseudonymous book, A GRIEF OBSERVED, in which he describes the death of his wife. How one reaches this resolution is probably unique to each person, and forms the subject of a vast body of literature in the field of counselling. Nevertheless, it is probably true to say that when emotional distress is combined with physical pain it produces the most stubborn form of suffering known to modern psychology. Job fits in this category, and is therefore an archetype of the most pernicious type of human suffering.

• SPIRITUAL REBELLION

There are lengthy debates as to whether the Old Testament supports a two-part separation of man into Body-Soul, or whether a three-part separation is justified, Body-Soul-Spirit. Without intending to take sides in this debate, let me venture into neo-Platonic territory with St. Augustine and propose that evil has no objective reality, rather it is the absence of reality, in the same way that a shadow is the absence of light. We can define suffering in a similar way, so that emotional distress is not so much an objective condition as it is the absence of emotional well-being.

Physical pain is not so easily defined away. Physical pain, as a neurologist might say, is caused by the firing of certain pathways in the brain, generally stimulated by messages from the nerves. But since it is interpreted in the brain, a “short-circuit” in the brain is possible that produces pain without external stimulation, so that, for example, a man with an amputated leg might still feel pain in his now absent appendage. In such cases, electrical stimulation of the nerve endings of the stump or in the spinal cord can prevent the short-circuit from generating pain. In fact, meditation and biofeedback techniques have proven very effective in treating cases of “phantom” pain. So despite its very real existence on electro-encephalograms, one could still view physical pain as a disruption of the normal alpha-wave pattern of a healthy brain.

What have we gained from such neo-Platonic word play? The ability to define spiritual suffering, i.e., if physical pain is a disruption of a “normal mode” brain wave, and emotional distress is a disruption of “emotional well-being”, then spiritual suffering is a disruption of “normal mode spiritual well-being”. And what, pray tell, would that be? Well if Genesis 1 and Job 1 could be said to define the normal state of heaven and its footstool, Earth, then the Fall in Genesis and the Suffering of Job constitute an anomaly, a disruption in the Heavenly order. Such a lack of “rightness” in the spiritual realms constitutes “spiritual suffering”. Without impugning God, one might say that Satan’s presence in the court of heaven caused God spiritual suffering.

Now the origin of this spiritual suffering is beyond our understanding, consisting as it does, in the origin of Satan’s rebellion. That angelic rebellion spread to Man in the Fall, and from thence to Job, as described in Job 1. Job’s plight then takes on a third dimension, beyond the physical and emotional torment, to a realm of spiritual suffering in the heavenlies. The “why?” of Job’s pleas are thus far more than expressions of his agony in the particulars of his own situation, but the cry of all the innocents who have died at the hands of merciless men, “from Abel to Zechariah”. If we can say that the most stubborn form of human suffering lies at the interface between body and soul, we see that the most profound form of human suffering lies at the interface between soul-body and spirit, between heaven and earth. It is the resolution of this spiritual suffering that is, in some sense, THE important answer that the book of Job holds for those who ask the question.

THE CONSEQUENCES OF SUFFERING

It is, in general, a very dangerous thing to give reasons for suffering, which will be construed wrongly no matter how carefully put. But in practice, most of the supposed “causes” for human suffering are inferred from the actual consequences, so that many of the purported explanations become merely tautologies that make better expressions of faith than of logic. Attempting to avoid this trap, we focus instead on the consequences of suffering, not from a secret desire to defend suffering, but rather in the hope that one’s view of suffering will broaden and become enriched, permitting a shift in viewpoint from victim to participant, from sufferer to worshipper, from prophet to priest.

• DEPRESSION, DECAY, AND DEATH.

Suffering, whether emotional, physical or spiritual, is the shadow of negation, of emptiness, it is the onslaught of Hell. Its natural consequence is depression, decay, of erosion of all that is bright and good and joyful. Such natural responses easily become self-fulfilling, self-sustaining, so that the end result of suffering is naturally death. If there be anything good resulting from suffering, it must be exceptional, it must be unnatural. As Simone Weil, a mystic and sister of a more famous mathematician, put it, “The spiritual laws are as fixed and certain as the physical law of gravity. Only grace violates all laws.” If this chapter is to continue, then we must consider this most irrational of all results of suffering, the consequence of grace.

• THE FIREBREAK FOR EVIL.

There is a tendency today to despise the retributive justice system of our childhood innocence and claim that “an eye for an eye” is barbaric and uncivilized; that the only justification of a retribution is the prevention of further crimes, which is obviously ineffective. But what is overlooked in these debates about justice is the presence of evil, the existence of spiritual suffering. When a surgeon operates on a suspected cancerous tumor, he will often remove a great deal of “normal” tissue on the chance that the tumor has metastasized and spread invisibly into to the surrounding region. When a forest fire is spreading toward inhabited areas, firefighters may start secondary “controlled” fires to burn off the available fuel before the fierce heat of the uncontrolled wildfire approaches. In the same way, suffering can be a firebreak for evil.

Consider the detailed instructions given by Moses concerning the discovery of a dead body out in the fields (Deut 21). After ascertaining that no one will admit to the crime, extensive ceremonies are carried out involving the elders of the nearest village, blood sacrifices, and petitions that God will not hold this guilt against them. For, as Moses warns about the death of the innocent, “So you shall not pollute the land in which you are; for blood pollutes the land and no expiation can be made for the land for the blood that is shed on it, except by the blood of him who shed it.” (Num 35:33 NASB). A concrete, yet disturbing example of this principle is given in 2 Samuel 21, where the land of Israel is suffering a three-year drought. Probably children are dying, so King David beseeches God for an explanation for this suffering. He is told that his predecessor, Saul, broke a treaty with the Gibeonites and shed innocent blood. So David arrests seven surviving relatives of Saul who are handed over to the Gibeonites to be killed and so expiate the blood guilt. The principle is clear, suffering of the innocent may sometimes act as a firebreak against the spread of evil and even greater suffering.

• THE CAUSE FOR REPENTANCE.

Without a doubt suffering catches our attention and forces us to rethink our course of action, just as surely as a state trooper with his lights flashing causes us to check our speedometer. The book of Judges has example after example of God given suffering that caused the people of Israel to repent and return to Him. This is not to be confused with discipline. If my daughter wants to play with the pretty flame on the stove top, the pain of disobedience is not discipline, it is a wake-up call that something is seriously wrong. Suffering grabs our attention, it can be a call to repentance.

• THE CONSTRUCTION OF CHARACTER.

Suffering also forces us to change our decision process. When I caught my 3 year old jumping on the couch, in flagrant violation of house rules, I told her she was due for a spanking. She objected on the grounds that she had forgotten this particular house rule. In a moment of inspiration I replied that this was exactly why I was spanking, to help her remember. In the following years I have repeated this answer countless times as I get out the spanking spoon. “Do you know why I am spanking you?”, I ask. “To help us remember?” they reply. By use of corporeal punishment I am trying to change their behavior, to encourage self-controlled, disciplined actions, to get them to internalize their decision process so that when they get too big to spank, they will have formed the good habits that will last a lifetime. In short, suffering builds enduring character.

• THE REDEMPTION OF MEN.

There is a sense in which all of the above consequences of suffering are small redemptions: the uncle who died in France while opposing the Nazi war machine; the woman saved from suicide by a flat tire; the student who resisted peer pressure to begin a revival. Yet there is a more acute sense in which suffering is a purification, a sanctification, even a salvation for a stained soul. Having said that, I must be quick to clarify what I didn’t say. For we must be careful, when talking about any of these consequences, that we do not turn them inside out and say “we must suffer in order to have these good effects”. Flannery O’Connor in her book, WISE BLOOD, explores the consequences of searching for salvation in self-inflicted suffering. Somehow, just as it is impossible to tickle oneself, it is also impossible to benefit from self-imposed suffering. Nevertheless, suffering that is out of our control, suffering that only God can stop, can be suffering that saves our souls.

Continuing the analogy with cancer, a tumor that has metastasized sends virulent cells, nascent tumors throughout the body. These cells are indistinguishable from healthy cells in most respects so that the defenses of the body’s formidable immune system are rendered powerless. Yet these cells have become, well, evil; excreting enzymes that allow them to tunnel through capillary walls, they burrow into every organ of the body where they throw off every constraint, multiplying furiously while demanding new blood supplies and killing neighboring tissue. The medical establishment has very few remedies, their most effective being poison which attacks growing cells. Even then the cancerous tumors develop resistance to these chemicals, so that multitoxin cocktails have become the norm in chemotherapy. The dosage is found by trial and error, increasing the levels of poison until the entire body is on the verge of death: weak, nauseous, bald, and anemic. It is no wonder that my aunt chose rather to forego treatment than to have a cure worse than the disease. The hope this suffering holds is that the cancer will fare worse than the patient and the body will be cleansed. Suffering then can be salvation.

• THE PARTICIPATION WITH GOD.

As an Old Testament study, we are on hermeneutical thin ice if we argue that Job believed God could suffer, much less that our suffering made us any more like God. If anything, Job seemed to say quite the opposite, that a transcendent God could never understand our very human suffering, arising as it does from our powerlessness and finitude. Yet in another sense, Job did understand God’s suffering in a way that Elihu never could. Job knew that the death of the innocent and the fat of the wicked were abhorrent in God’s sight, that it caused God pain. The three friends said, “Impossible!”. Elihu said, “God doesn’t even notice.” Job said “Speak for yourself, my God cares.” Otherwise, why would Job have wasted his breath directing his speech toward God? Somehow Job knew God to be compassionate, and therefore a God who concerned himself with Job’s pain.

Many years ago I spent a summer internship in Haiti, in the impoverished, voodoo infested highlands near the capital of Port-au-Prince. One’s first impressions of a person or a place are usually the most profound, and I had an impression of deep beauty and deep pain. The very trees that lined the road flamed with red blossoms, six-foot hedges of poinsettia bloomed all year round. Yet the deforested valleys were scarred with white, where tropical storms had created such runoff that the undercut limestone walls were crumbling into the valley floor, making these streams into rubble strewn wastelands as alien as the cratered moon. The slash-and-burn agriculture had created bedrock deserts out of lush rain-forest. Among the mobs of children were those with mottled red hair, characteristic of protein starvation, due not so much to want, as to neglect. The pain of a culture cobbled together out of a thousand African tribes under the slash of the slavemaster’s whip, finding in fear a religion that unified their many tongues. I stood one night, under a tropical moon so bright that I could tell red from blue, mourning the death of my host’s son, hearing the voodoo drums in the valley, feeling the pain of existence, crying out to God like a woman in labor, wordless tears washing my face -- “God, don’t you know?” And though I never heard an answer, my pain was lessened, not because the world had become any better, but because God had heard, because my pain was shared. So it was with Job, when God appeared and he finally knew that God had heard his voice. Suffering, spiritual suffering, is solidarity with God.

THE BENEFITS OF SUFFERING

I have listed above some of the consequences of suffering, but have not yet applied them to the characters of this story. In one sense I really can’t apply it, because I would be putting words into their mouth. Imagine, for a moment, that you have a teary-eyed 3 year old who has just burned her fingers on the stove. After giving her a cup of ice water to hold her fingers in, you begin to tell her the benefits of her suffering. Chances are that she will respond poorly, not believing that you are truly sympathetic. In the same way, I can identify potential benefits, but whether the sufferer actually benefits remains a highly subjective response. Suffering, the same identical suffering, can either bless or destroy depending on the participant’s response.

• TO THE THREE

It may seem strange to say that Job’s suffering benefited these men. They were such bitter enemies of Job’s religion, so intent on tearing down his defenses, so desirous of extracting a false confession, how can we say that his suffering was in any way beneficial to them? As Job tells them himself, “You see something dreadful, and you are afraid”. But it is exactly in showing them their fear, their duplicity, their disloyalty that Job’s suffering provided them a warning, a call to repentance. When Job, at God’s instruction, prayed for his friends, we can see that perhaps this suffering even provided for their salvation. Certainly someone wrote down the story of Job or at least composed and recited it. Surely that someone was present throughout the debates recorded in the book. Could it be that this book is testimony to the transforming power of Job’s suffering in the lives of his friends?

• TO JOB

I am not the first to find some benefit for Job, nor will I be the last to be blasted for trying. Surely the restoration of Job’s fortunes and the birth of 10 more children -- even if they were the most beautiful daughters in the land -- surely these blessings were not the result of Job’s suffering. Indeed, he might have been even wealthier if he had had the capital to invest. Nor would one expect debilitating disease to make one more virile than before. No, it appears that these blessings were not a result of but in spite of his suffering. If one is to find a silver lining in Job’s trials, then it must lie somewhere between his final complaint and his restoration, somewhere between chapters 31 and 42. I cannot find much encouragement in Elihu’s speech, nor even in God’s. So I am astonished by Job’s reticence to speak in chapter 40.

However chapter 42 perhaps holds an answer that shows Job has finally obtained what he sought. If there is one thing this suffering has done, it has brought Job closer to God. Job answers God’s question “who is this that obscures my counsel without knowledge?” by replying that he has said things he didn’t understand because they were too wonderful for him. Now this is quite different from his previous complaint. God’s ways had been just as obscure to him then as well, but then they had been dark, heavy, and oppressive; now they are full of wonder. How did this transformation take place? Job’s next phrase indicates that God had asked this very question. “It happened,” Job replied, “when instead of just hearing you, or hearing about you, I saw you. That’s when my whole outlook changed.” Job’s suffering has not only brought him solidarity with God, it brought him into God’s very presence.

• TO GOD

If I was skating on thin ice before, now I am surely over my head! How can suffering benefit God? If God is transcendent, dwelling in unsearchable light in whom there is no shadow due to changing, who am I to claim that suffering can modify His already perfect condition? Let me tiptoe lightly around these lethal theological landmines, and say that we are talking not of God’s essence, which is transcendent, but of His interaction with Man, of His communication with Man, which is His concrete revelation. For whatever reason, God has chosen to interact in a causal way when He speaks to us. The court of heaven in Job 1 has convened to hear Satan’s accusations. These accusations and God’s response would not make a lot of sense if the order were inverted or scrambled. Therefore God takes the limitations of human existence into account when He deals with us. Suffering cannot benefit God’s essence, but it will impact on His revelation. Is that impact beneficial?

Let us go back to the “firebreak for evil” section, and ask, “Why does blood guilt pollute the land?” If we believed that God is totally free to enact any legislation He wants governing the spiritual realm, why does His law say that the innocent must suffer to stop another creature’s evil? I can not answer that, other than to say that God’s being is primary, and therefore God’s interaction with Man, His revelation, is limited by His essence. Thus the Bible says, “God cannot lie.” Somehow this question of suffering is tied into God’s essence and where that leads I cannot follow. Recognizing our inability to ask the limitless “Why?”, we nonetheless can still learn something about suffering and God from examining His revelation to us.

In our Augustinian section we argued for the existence of spiritual suffering, of disorder in the heavenly realm. In the section on pain we pointed out that suffering can be a firebreak for evil. Arguing from analogy, what is it that can stop the creeping spiritual darkness, the spreading negation of evil? Is it not a lamp or a light? Well if suffering is a firebreak for evil, could it not also be a spiritual light as well? Slow down, didn’t I just say that suffering is negation of all that is good, how then can it be something good in itself? This is the mystery of grace; that God can make something good out of suffering. But then is it correct to define suffering neo-Platonically as an absence of good? No, it is not entirely correct, and we must look to see what is the nature of this thing that God can use for both good and evil.

The Knowledge of Good and Evil was the title of a famous tree. Like that tree, created by God and declared “good”, suffering can be used for infinite gain or infinite loss. Suffering is the currency of heaven, redeeming sinners (Isaiah 53) and damning them (Isaiah 51). Suffering has been part of the human condition since the Garden, where God planted the tree of pain. And since the Fall, suffering has been the only way back into the Garden, where Adam once conversed with God. The story of Job is an inside-out Garden, a story of a man forced to eat of the tree and gaining knowledge “too wonderful for me” that led him back into God’s presence. The story of Job is a reversal of the Fall, a story in which God beats Satan at his own game. It becomes the archetypal story of victory over suffering and the defeat of death.

Job As Existentialist

Job 1

A story that I heard second-hand from a meeting of phenomenologists has two philosophers driving together to a conference. They must have rented a car at the airport, because the passenger is reading the informational material stuffed in the glove compartment.

“Hey,” he says, “Do you know that there’s a fine for burnt out lights in this state?”

“No,” replies the driver, “I didn’t, and I didn’t check them either. I’d better pull over and make sure they’re in good shape. Why don’t you go around the car and check the bulbs?”

“Okay” says the passenger, as he opens his door and walks around to the front of the vehicle.

“I’m checking the turn signals,” shouts the driver, “are they working?”

“Yes!”, came the reply. “Wait, No! Yes! No! Yes!...”

Like those philosophers, the truth we extract from Job depends crucially on our expectations of truth. This chapter is designed to disappoint everyone’s expectations. Those of you who thought I was going to follow in the footsteps of great theologians and philosophers of the past, the “ground of being” and all that will be disappointed as will those who find in Job an irrational God who steps outside all of our understanding. For it seems to me absurdly futile to construct rational arguments proving the essential irrationality of the Universe. Yet both intensely conservative and thoroughly intellectual people have done just that, arguing that the message of Job is intentionally illogical and irrational. What could have enticed them into such dire straits? Who incited them to abandon, even scuttle, the ship of reason in such perilous waters? Finding the answer to these questions reveals more about the captain and his choice of the Charybdis of despair than about the Scylla of suffering. For the writer of Job, by putting truisms in the mouths of the enemy, and enigmas in the mouth of God, cleverly forces the reader to make choices about what constitutes truth. Thus this chapter will not be about Job so much as it is about modern man and his encounter with Truth.

KIRKEGAARD, CHAMBERS AND BARTH

What do Soren Kirkegaard, Oswald Chambers and Karl Barth all have in common? Besides all being Europeans born in the 19th century, they were all deeply religious men who found a refuge for faith in divine irrationality. In each case, they were responding to sacrilegious men who used the cover of rational argument to draw the Church into heretical behavior. This did not, of course, prevent their philosophy from being used by the same sacrilegious spirit as a weapon against the Church. For the Truth cannot be protected by defenses of Men, he can only be encountered by the sincere of every age. Inasmuch as rational argument or irrational faith clears a path through the choking weeds of this world’s irreverent philosophy and leads us to Truth, so it becomes our true journey of faith.

In response to the creeping eighteenth century rationalism and its trivialization of the Church, Kirkegaard saw true faith opposed to reason. He saw in Abraham the anguish of belief, as God demanded from him his sole heir and son, Isaac, where the only deliverance from this anguish became Abraham’s blind faith in a loving God. Kirkegaard generalized that anguish to all of life, and by that step made blind faith essential to all of life. It was a bold step, but a desperate one, which now repeated countless times, has left atheistic rationalists in firm control of reason, and cast the Church adrift on the stormy seas of irrational faith. Soren would have approved.

Likewise Karl Barth was appalled by the blatant appropriation of the Church’s sacred symbols by the Prussian army, the wholesale theft of holy scriptures. When the very belt buckles of the army had imprinted on them “Gott mit uns”, God with us, it suggested that the generals had made God their mascot, their lucky talisman against the enemy. In contrast, Barth argued that God is beyond our beckoning, beyond our understanding, and it is therefore absurd to imagine we know on whose side God stands. In a similar way, this was the answer of the American doughboys who responded to the German banner by raising a hand painted sign from their side of the barbed wire, “We got mittens too.” Karl only said it more elegantly.

Oswald Chambers was a relatively young man when he died in 1917, leaving only a few of his works. His semi-mystical MY UTMOST FOR HIS HIGHEST has become a best-selling devotional book in some circles, rivalling the more famous THE IMITATION OF CHRIST. In addition, his wife collected his daily sermons on the book of Job, made at the YMCA Hut Zeitoun Camp in 1916. In this short book, BAFFLED TO FIGHT BETTER, Chambers addresses the question of why England should be suffering through the first world war. Some godly people had inferred that God must be very angry at England and must be disciplining its people. Chambers’ answer, strangely enough, echoes Kirkegaard and presages Barth, when he denies any causal relationship and says that God has “no reason” we can understand, just as God gave “no reason” for afflicting Job. I focus on this book for two reasons: first, Chambers has an impeccable reputation with conservatives unlike the other two men; and second, Chambers addressed an entire study to the book of Job. If we understand Chambers, then, I believe, we will understand much of the modern response.

• THE WAR

It is impossible to understand the attraction of existentialism without understanding the milieu in which it developed. The nineteenth century growth of scientific rationalism and the Hegelian triumph of the spirit had spread the message of the imminent arrival of the millennium, a 1000 year period of unparalleled peace and prosperity that immediately preceded the return of Christ. To put it in perspective, the amount of world trade and the growth in the gross world product of the 1890’s had produced an excess of disposable income and prosperity that was not seen again until the latter half of the 1980’s. This rosy view of civilization was destroyed by two bloody, senseless, exhausting, and destructive world wars. The aftermath left more than nations in ruins, it destroyed the philosophy and moral fiber of three generations, it produced despair. Thoreau had written 50 years earlier that “most men lead lives of quiet desperation”. That desperation had visibly changed, so that in the first half of the 20th century one could say “most men lead lives of deepening despair”. It was to that subvocal cry that Chambers directed his study of Job, and it is the test of his answer that we ask “does his solution bring hope?”

• THE NEGATION

As with many other studies of Job, Chambers begins by negating other interpretations. Chambers begins with a provocative sentence, “It is in such a book as Job that many suffering souls will find consolation and sustaining, and this because no attempt is made to explain the WHY of suffering...” In the second paragraph he denies that Job was perfected by suffering because he was blameless to begin with. In the third paragraph he argues that the only explanation for Job’s suffering lies in the heavenly court, not in Job’s earthly behavior. In the following paragraphs he argues that Satan cannot be blamed for instigating or causing Job’s pain, leaving God alone, as chief of the heavenly court, responsible for Job’s pain. A little later Chambers argues that a changing “dispensation” cannot account for Job’s suffering either. He makes the point more than once that there is no rational explanation for Job’s suffering based on past experience or expected outcome. Job’s trial was in essence, tragic.

Already at the end of the first chapter, Chambers is developing the theme of tragedy. He argues that Job’s faith had been built on circumstance, on cause and effect. “Then came calamity after calamity, everything Job believed about God was contradicted, and his creed went to the winds.” The explanation for Chambers’ interpretation can be seen in his application of this calamity to the present. “Today there is in our midst a crop of juvenile skeptics, men who up to the time of the war had had no tension in their lives, and as soon as turmoil embroiled them they flung over their faith and became cheap and easy skeptics. The man who knows that there are problems and difficulties in life is not so easily moved.... Many a man through this war has lost his form of belief in God and imagines that he has thereby lost God, whereas he is in the throes of a conflict which ought to give birth to a realization of God more fundamental than any statement of belief.” Chambers apparently sees in tragedy the only way to divorce one’s faith from a rational empirical belief, a step which requires complete tragedy. “One such thing the war has done is to knock on the head all such shallow optimism as telling people to ‘look on the bright side of things’ or that ‘every cloud has a silver lining.’ There are some clouds that are black all through!”

• THE DESPAIR

Chambers does not leave us in any doubt as to the outcome of tragedy. “Facing facts as they are produces despair, not frenzy, but real downright despair, and God never blames a man for despair. The man who thinks must be pessimistic; thinking can never produce optimism....The basis of things is not reasonable, but wild and tragic, and to face things as they are brings a man to the ordeal of despair.”

I quote these sentences from Chambers because otherwise you might think I was quoting Kirkegaard or Sartre. I find the amazing similarity of their thought can only be explained, not by their common faith, but by their common background. We who live at the end of the 20th century know the result of choosing Charybdis, but we must appreciate the many lethal heads of Scylla before we condemn such a choice.

Chambers develops the theme of despair to argue that it is not temporary, but permanent. “The sense of the irreparable is one of the greatest agonies in human life....There are things in life which are irreparable; there is no road back to yesterday. Job’s sense of the irreparable brought him face to face with the thing God was face to face with, and when a man gets there he begins to see the meaning of the redemption. The basis of things is not rational, common sense tells him it is not; the basis of things is tragic, and the Bible reveals that the only way out is through redemption.”

• THE IRRATIONAL

In this last quote we see Chambers developing the theme of the permanent character of despair and its intimate connection with logic, with rational reason, with empirical belief. In contrast, Chambers holds up the irrational redemption of God. “Reason is our guide among the facts of life, but it does not give us the explanation of them. Sin, suffering, and the book of God all bring a person to the realization that there is something wrong at the basis of life, and it cannot be put right by his reason. Our Lord always dealt with the ‘basement’ of life, that is, with the real problem; if we only deal with the ‘upper story’ we do not realize the need of the redemption; but once we are hit on the elemental line, as this war has hit people, everything becomes different. There are many men today who for the first time in their lives find themselves in the midst of the elemental with no civilized protection, and they go through appalling agony. This war has put an end to a great deal of belief in our beliefs....A man up against things as they are feels that he has lost God, while in reality he has come face to face with Him....There are many things in life that look like irresponsible blunders, but the Bible reveals that God has borne the responsibility for these things.... God accepts vicariously the responsibility for dealing with sin, and on the basis of the redemption men find their personal way out and an explanation.”

• THE EXPLANATION

Here, on page 28 of a 142-page book, Chambers presents his thesis. God’s irrational redemption that only allows a personal interpretation. No one else can interpret it for you, no one else can explain it for you, but when you take the mighty leap of faith, without reason, without experience as a guide, only then is an explanation found. The remainder of the book becomes merely an elaboration on these themes. Let me skip to the end of the book, in Chambers’ explication of Job 42 where he summarizes the answer:

Everything a man takes to be the key to a problem is apt to turn

out another lock....Everything that man attempts as a

simplification of life, other than a personal relationship to

God, turns out to be a lock, and we should be alert to recognize

when a thing turns from a key to a lock. The creed Job held,

which pretended to be a key to the character of God, turned out

to be a lock, and Job is realizing that the only key to life is

not a statement of faith in God, nor an intellectual conception

of God, but a personal relationship to Him. God Himself is the

key to the riddle of the universe, and the basis of things is to

be found only in Him. If a man leaves out God and takes any

scientific explanation as the key, he succeeds only in finding

another lock....

We sometimes wrongly illustrate faith in God by the faith of a

businessman in a check. Faith commercially is based on

calculation, but religious faith cannot be illustrated by the

kind of faith we exhibit in life. Faith in God is a terrific

venture in the dark; I have to believe that God is good in spite

of all that contradicts it in my experience....

There is a great difference between Christian experience and

Christian faith. The danger of experience is that our faith is

made to rest in it, instead of seeing that our experience is

simply a doorway to God Himself. The reason many of us refuse to

think and discover the basis of true religion is because

evangelical Christianity has been stated in such a flimsy way.

We get at Truth through life and personality, not by logic or

scientific statements.... Intellect asks, ‘What is truth?’ as

if truth were something that could be stated in words. ‘I am the

Truth’, said Jesus. The only way we get at Truth is by life and

personality. When a man is up against things it is no use for

him to try and work it out logically, but let him obey, and

instantly he will see his way through. Truth is moral, not

intellectual. We perceive Truth by doing the right thing, not by

thinking it out....we shall find that the Truth is not in a creed

or a logical statement, but in Life and Personality. This is

what Job is realizing.

A POSTSCRIPT

What was it about the two world wars that produced such deep despair? Why is it that this despair was not found in America, though she had fought in both wars? What is so European about Existentialism? As I puzzled over this, I thought, perhaps because the world wars were not fought on American soil. But then, 50 years previously the United States had fought the bloodiest war in history on its own soil, the American Civil War. Yet this war had not produced profound despair. What could be different about these wars? Surely it was not the weapons of mass destruction. The machine gun was first deployed in the Civil war, as was the introduction of trench warfare. Nor was it the immediacy of tragedy; one of every four men in the South died during this war. The duration of the wars were all about the same as well. Something else must be different.

Then it occurred to me, the Civil War was a war about ideas. Separatism versus Federalism, Slavery versus Industry, the Knight versus the Guild. All the players in this conflict knew to a greater or lesser extant that this was a war of ideas. Lincoln agonized over the responsibilities he faced in waging war on his brothers, his Gettysburg address is a clear statement of his recognition of this battleground of ideals, the experiment that was the United States. The Abolitionists interpreted the war as apocalyptic judgment on the sin of slavery; the famous battle hymn of the republic began “Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord, He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored, He has loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword...” And because this war was viewed as a holy war, it had a simple interpretation. It caused suffering, vast suffering, but it was suffering for a reason.

But there were no such easy explanations for the two world wars. Rationalism was rampant in both camps, and rationalism seemed incapable of stopping the conflict, worse, it justified the conflict. Christianity had become a trapping of state, and was voiceless and powerless to stem the tide of war. Greed, power, pride, and fortune, these were the instigators of the war, but hardly worth dying for. The wars of Europe were wars of men against themselves, they were self-inflicted, holocausts of hubris. The reaction of Chambers then, is the correct response, for it recognizes the deep emptiness, the dark pit into which Western Europe had stumbled. It is in such a bear trap of despair that a man might cut off his leg to save his soul. We can empathize with Chambers, but we have lost the lesson if we emulate him.

A SUMMARY

I hesitate to summarize such a complex thinker and proponent of the faith as Oswald Chambers, yet a few points might be made without doing him great injustice. He has indeed adopted much of the terminology and arguments of the Existentialists, yet at the same time he gives a curious twist to the ending of his book. He argues for the irrationality of Truth, yet simultaneously for the application and morality of Truth. Other philosophers pick up on the theme of truth equated to moral action, but few have found the answer to universal suffering in a personal Truth. Though not emphasized by Chambers, this personalization of Truth appears to me to be the crux of the argument, for it is the hope he advances against despair. Therefore I frame my questions in the light of this Truth.

Was the disease of 18th century rationalism so deadly that it required such radical surgery? Is life truly tragic? Was the solution of “faith in a personal God” just another pit for a religion based on empirical experiences? Was the rational demand that we avoid all rationalizing an impossible task, like “not thinking of pink elephants”? Is it possible to separate the “rationalism” of man from the “rationalism” of God in the person of Truth? Why should it be necessary to make Reason and Life antagonists in the person of Truth? Do we have any justification in believing Job himself could find this hope that Chambers ends with? I raise these questions because I prefer not to examine Job in the same manner as Chambers. That study has already been done. Rather I would like to write the epilogue to Chambers, to take his Existentialism into a new Epistemology, to the knowledge of personal Truth.

ELIPHAZ, BILDAD, AND ZOPHAR

In the light of Existentialism, these 3 friends would be used as counter-examples, as men who held on to a indefensible belief in the rationality of God long after such belief was rendered incredible. In explaining this strange situation, many commentators present these men as priggish, stick-in-the-mud, reactionary demagogues who cannot conceive of a transcendent, supra-rational or, heaven forbid, irrational God. Chambers takes such a line, equating these men with dogmatic, judgmental Christians. A variant shows up in the Appendices, where Roger Eaton presents Bildad as a doddering, well-meaning old man with outdated advice. A strange hybrid appears in many “conservative” commentaries where the three are presented as essentially correct, but with serious attitude problems that hindered their message.

All of these analyses possess a common denominator, they do not merely attack or refute or defend the message of the three -- the necessity of a rational God -- but rather the attitude and presentation of the three. These abundant analyses are about more than the psychology of these men, though certainly psychology plays an important part, but they are about the interface between psychology and truth. This indicates that the writer of Job is successful at drawing the reader into the debate about what constitutes truth: words? actions? attitudes? a combination? If I will be allowed to call that epistemology, then the book of Job is about the certainty of knowledge, the quality of truth, the search for understanding: the epistemology of God.

THE ARGUMENT

Doing gross injustice to the debate recorded for us in Job 3-30, this is my brief summary of the argument. The friends argue that the laws of nature and heaven require that all evildoers be punished and all the righteous blessed. Why? Because God is running the universe and God, by definition, is just. Thus a just God implies a just creation, which in turn implies a just retribution for man’s actions. Job’s accuser’s invert the equation to say that the existence of good or evil in our life is directly traceable to God’s retribution. However this conclusion may be an error in logic.

Without getting too deeply into symbolic logic, we can demonstrate that one cannot easily invert the “implies” relationship between subject and predicate. Look at this syllogism:

(A) Rain implies that rainclouds are overhead.

(B) It is raining.

(C) Therefore, there are rainclouds overhead.

Now let us attempt to invert it by switching (B) and (C).

(A) Rain implies that rainclouds are overhead.

(B’) There are rainclouds overhead.

(C’) Therefore it is raining.

Clearly we have seen cloudy weather without rain, showing that an implication is too weak an argument to support inversion.

Thus Job’s friends are making a much stronger statement when they infer that Job must be guilty of great sin. They are saying that the linkage between Heaven and Earth is more than a chain, it must be as stiff as steel, that God’s justice is equivalent to perfect retribution. The connection must be bi-directional to be invertible. To appreciate the strength of this statement, let us invert the predicate and the subject: Man’s actions require that a just God respond appropriately.

THE DEFENSE

Now there are easily a dozen ways one can attack or defend this statement, each one leading to a different view of God. Many of these arguments are listed in the Theodicy appendix. Let me suggest a partial list of defenses that could be made.

1. Our knowledge of the laws of heaven is inductive (generalized from observations) and not deductive (a priori necessary). Therefore the “law of retribution” is an imperfect human generalization of God’s divine justice, which may not be infallibly construed by our finite understanding.

2. God’s interaction with humans, His revelation, is only limited by His essence (e.g., God cannot lie). But human behavior cannot limit God, for God is free to do whatever is not contrary to His essence. Thus God is never required to respond in a certain way, to perform a perfect retribution for human behavior.

3. God’s choices are inherently beyond our comprehension, for God is transcendent, Man finite. All so-called “laws of heaven” are accidental regularities interpreted by men as “laws”. God is in essence, irrational or supra-rational.

Note the progression in the above list concerning the link between Heaven and Earth. The first says something about man’s limitations in holding his end of the link. The second says something about the link itself, and the third completely abolishes any link whatsoever. Existentialism takes the third approach, performing radical surgery on man’s relationship to Truth. Calvinism and medieval nominalism both adopt the second approach. C.S. Lewis in THAT HIDEOUS STRENGTH and others including possibly Karl Barth argue for the first approach.

There are strengths and weaknesses for each position. Clearly the third position silences all rationalism but at the very real danger of cutting the Church adrift from the stays of the historical creeds and confessions. The second position saves God’s face, but at the risk of making it inscrutable or, even worse, hardened. The first may divert the frontal attack, but is vulnerable to a flanking motion of rationalism making additional claims on truth and justice. (See the Theodicy appendices.)

TRINITIES

Perhaps these arguments can be crystallized by analogy to the trinity of communication in which three steps are needed: intention, execution, and comprehension.

1. Intention: As I write this chapter, I have in my mind what it is I want to say. This has a real, though perhaps intangible existence.

2. Execution: I then attempt to write it on the page, editing and rewriting until it comes close to my ideal. The final product is the written word, with potentially eternal existence.

3. Comprehension: Finally you, the reader, with laudable perseverance, convert those words into ideas in your head as well, which have both an intangible and perishable existence.

Now let us apply these steps to the transfer of truth, to the understanding of heavenly laws, to the knowledge of God.

1. The first defense argues that man’s comprehension is limited.

2. The second defense argues that God’s execution is arbitrary.

3. The third defense argues that God’s intentions are irrational.

The chain of truth can be broken at any link to halt the heresies of deterministic rationalism. But can it be broken without setting the ship of reason adrift?

• JOB

Job’s defense against the attack of the three uses elements from the entire chain. He argues that God’s intentions are deliberately hidden, so that he is unable to understand God’s actions. Now Job is not saying that God is normally incomprehensible, rather the opposite, that this is unusual behavior for God. Second, Job argues that God is always free to do as He pleases, that the wicked do prosper and the righteous perish; one counter-example is enough to demolish the equivalence relation of the three friends. But note again that he does not think this is good or just behavior, it is incomprehensible, yet it is God. Third Job argues that Man cannot stand in God’s presence, that despite God’s apparently unfair actions, it is not possible for him or anyone else to present a case before God. This is not a problem with man’s intellect, but a problem with man’s spiritual condition. Thus without impugning God, Job argues that the chain of Truth connecting Heaven and Earth is seriously rusty and occasionally non-functional.

Is this Existentialism? Well, probably not. Job would say that normally God does behave rationally, otherwise his suffering would not be atypical. Job is not saying that God is always unreasonable, but rather that God has been much more approachable in the past. Nor does Job restrict God or condemn God for His actions, if only He would do it in person. Job is devastated by more than the calamities that have befallen him, he is devastated by God’s apparent absence. Carefully note the difference between this feeling of abandonment with Kirkegaard and Chambers’ sense of tragedy. For Kirkegaard, it was the non-believer who must make the leap in the dark to find the light of God’s presence. But for Job, it is the believer who finds, as C.S. Lewis writes in A GRIEF OBSERVED, not only does God not answer the door, but one hears the sound of the latch being locked and the bolts being thrown. Existentialism may arise from the despair of the skeptic but Job’s cry is the voice of the abandoned child.

• ELIHU

Elihu’s attack, coming as it does at the end of Job’s speech, has no countering argument. This has led some commentators to suggest that Elihu holds the answer to Job and the three. However, if we view Elihu with the above filter, we see that Job has already answered him.

Elihu abandons the doomed attempt of the three to prove equivalence between God’s justice and Man’s behavior. Instead, Elihu argues, we need only consider God’s activities and our response. Thus the connection between Heaven and Earth need only be uni-directional, the “implies” connection is sufficient for men to understand God’s demands. In contrast to Job, Elihu argues that God’s directives to men are clear and straightforward, that God’s actions are perfectly understandable, and His intention is plain: the creature must worship the Creator.

To Elihu, Job’s insistence on a personal touch is therefore ludicrous, why God would absolutely swallow him up. No, Elihu says, we should instead submit to God’s chastisement patiently and reverently. That’s the way the Universe is constructed, and the way it runs. Man is completely insignificant in the grand scheme of things, and any attempt by Job to hog the limelight puts far too much attention on this miserable creature. In fact, Job is in real danger of heresy by associating himself with man-centered pagans. Job’s sin, according to Elihu, is in not keeping that stiff upper lip and proper subservience to God. God is free to do what He wants, we are not. In essence, Elihu adopts the second position that God’s actions are arbitrary.

I said earlier that Job has answered Elihu, however, Job never condemned God, as Elihu seems to have heard, rather Job is stating the facts: God has abandoned him. Job says the chain of communication from Heaven to Earth has broken, Elihu refutes Job by telling him it never was a two-way street. If Elihu turns that broken chain and Job’s pain into a virtue, then he is not judging Job, but condemning himself.

GOD

God’s response, on the surface, appears absurd, lending support to those who say God is irrational. One almost gets the feeling that the plot has been developing for 37 chapters, building an air-tight case that God cannot refute, and the author in desperation resorts to a non-sequitor in place of a proper climax. Certainly these final chapters are a major disappointment for those of us who expected an answer to the deep philosophical paradoxes presented by the dialogue. But perhaps this disappointment was intentional, and by it we learn something that a purely philosophical reply would overlook. Let us begin then in the darkness of absurdity and grope towards the light, let us begin with what exists and search for the essence.

• THE GOD WHO IS THERE

The most significant event, independent of the content of these chapters, is simply that God appeared. If God had never come, Job would have died broken-hearted and despairing, a man without hope; even had his fortunes been restored, I doubt that he would have lived long enough to father ten more children. I am hypothesizing, of course, yet the importance of God’s presence to Job cannot be overplayed. This dialogue about epistemology could not be resolved without an appearance by God. Contrast this with the theodicies listed in the appendices, do any of them resolve the problem of evil by a mere appearance of the Almighty? Yet this was the main, if not the only thing Job needed. It is as if the stained glass in the cathedral or the icons in the shrine were a better answer to the problem of evil than St. Augustine’s logic. Why?

In the Garden, was it more important that God gave a reasonable command about the Tree, or that God commanded? When my son had a nightmare and woke up crying, was it more important that I proved the absence of monsters with a night light, or that I was present? For Job’s eloquent complaint, was it more important that God gave a comprehensive answer, or that God answered? Perhaps for pain, Sartre is right, existence does precede essence. In many of these most basic, and therefore childlike difficulties, it is not the intellect that must be satisfied, but the heart that must be comforted. God’s message, by frustrating the intellect, speaks to the heart of this abandoned child. God’s presence, in bypassing reason, goes beyond abstract knowability, it proves His Fatherhood and His huggability.

• THE GOD WHO SPEAKS

However God does more than make a stage appearance, He speaks. And His speech is comprehensible, it is second person singular, it is direct, it is personal. God establishes a two-way, person-to-person, trans-finite, static-free, auditory communication channel. Not only does His presence not “swallow up” Job as predicted by Elihu, but He uses neither dreams, nor circumstances, nor angels to speak with Job. Nor does He communicate with movies, with multimedia, with hyper-linked browsers, with sensory overload or underload, but with words. Just as Adam walked with Him in the Garden, so the Truth is transmitted in person using common speech with ordinary perception.

Why is this so significant? Because many people, including Eliphaz and Elihu, argue that God cannot communicate to us in ordinary ways; Job, on the other hand, expected it. Does this negate their arguments for an infinite God and finite human understanding with its categories and filters? Not really, what it is telling us is that there is nothing common about common speech. Just as we argued that God in His essence is outside spacetime, yet in His revelation to men is both temporal and causal, in exactly the same way His communication with men spans the gulf between Heaven and Earth, it is trans-finite.

Consider Job’s complaint. If no one heard it, its existence would be fleeting and ephemeral; sound waves leaving no imprint on earth or sky. But once his words were written down and “engraved on lead forever”, they would last untold generations. And once God had heard this complaint, those words would become eternal and unchangeable. What has happened? Something very human, something physiological, something created by lips and teeth and breath has become eternal. Yet imagine that Job spoke not Hebrew, but Minoan B, would one still say that his words were everlasting? No, but if through translation the meaning of the words survives, can we not say that both the word and its idea partake of the eternal?

God’s greatest gift to man was speech. Genesis records that God “breathed into his nostrils the breath of life”, the same breath used for speech. Man’s first act and first responsibility was to name the creatures, to speak, to create eternal ideas out of his fleeting perceptions. None of the other creatures speak, excepting angels and the serpent. If we view the serpent as a mouthpiece for Satan, then Man alone among mortals is the sole owner and caretaker of the gift of speech. Science tells us that not only are monkeys (and most other animals) physiologically not equipped for speech, but only humans have special portions of the brain “hard wired” for language. Rephrasing the comment made very early in this study, God’s divine gift to Aristotle was to equip and enable him to speak of Plato’s ideals. Appearing as it does, as the first thing Man does, “hard wired” into his flesh, essential to his psyche, can we separate this function, this essence from his existence? If it is then part of his existence, could it not be “the image of God”, the umbilical cord to Heaven? For this gift, the human-divine word, spans the darkness, the chaos that lies between the Heavens and the Earth.

• THE GOD WHO EXAMINES

We have said that speech was the umbilical cord, but speech alone is not enough, it is a necessary but not sufficient condition or otherwise rhetoric would still be taught in our institutions of higher learning. That is, I can lecture my students on Astronomy, but I have no clue of their comprehension until I examine them. Now some schools of thought hold that examinations are a waste of time, but nearly everyone would agree that there is some objective, testable criterion of comprehension, of conveyed truth. Examination presupposes that truth can be conveyed, that truth can be grasped, that there are objective criteria to evaluate this transfer. Thus when God examined Job (and also, I believe, the three friends), it was more than an appearance, more than a speech, it was an expectation that Man can know, can really comprehend the Truth.

But wait, you say, God is asking questions for which either there is no answer or the answer is “I don’t know”. What kind of teacher gives an examination where the entire class receives a score of 0? Well, one could imagine a number of scenarios. Perhaps the class had not taken the lessons seriously enough. Perhaps they had the mistaken impression that they knew the material, or perhaps they had a completely erroneous perception that needed correction. As we discussed in earlier chapters, an examination is a much more effective teaching strategy for certain types of problems, for just as self-discovery of the truth is more exciting than lectures, so also self-discovery of error is likely to be far more effective than a reprimand.

If we adopt this view that God’s impossible exam was a reprimand, what was the erroneous perception, or what was the overlooked truth He wanted us to learn? Looking through the questions posed by God, I detect the following types (not counting Hebrew parallels twice):

• 29.. QUESTIONS ABOUT MAN’S ABILITY (CAN YOU..., HAVE YOU...?).

• 11.. QUESTIONS ABOUT MAN’S KNOWLEGE (DO YOU KNOW...?).

• 6... QUESTIONS ABOUT GOD’S ABILITY/KNOWLEGE (WHO CAN...?)

• 4... MISCELLANEOUS QUESTIONS.

Clearly the first message God wants to convey is the inability of man to act like God. The second message is that man has limited knowledge. The third message is that God is neither limited in ability nor in knowledge. The remaining miscellaneous questions ask who it is that is challenging God, or is bringing a claim against Him.

Embedded in these categories, is a meta-question, a question about the categories themselves. In 38:36 God asks, “Who endowed the heart with wisdom or gave understanding to the mind?” The close proximity of this verse to the 11 examination questions concerning human knowledge must be intentional, it must be probing more than “what man knows” and asking “how can man know?”, it must be a question about epistemology. Simultaneously, coming as one of the 6 questions about God’s abilities, it expects the answer “God”. So this question appears to say that God has the power to overcome Man’s learning disabilities. This is key, because God is not saying that Man can never understand spiritual truths, but rather that Man depends upon God’s gift of understanding. Thus God not only expects Man to know the truth, but He grants the ability to do so.

SUMMARY

In conclusion we see that the three friends, in an attempt to explain Job’s suffering, are guilty of a sacrilegious rationalism that makes God a puppet to Man’s choices. In response to this deterministic rationalism, Job and Kirkegaard and many others have attacked the chain of truth that connects Heaven to Earth. Using the analogy of the trinity of communication, the knowledge of God can be broken at three points: intention, execution and comprehension. Although Job’s statements are not as radical as those who follow after him, nonetheless he finds the chain dysfunctional in his circumstances. God’s reply re-establishes every link of the chain, while simultaneously superceding the requirements.

• His presence proves more than His rational intent, it demonstrates His Fatherhood.

• His speech says more than His ability to communicate, it establishes the divine character of the human word.

• His probing questions examine more than finite human abilities, they establish the basis for all human knowledge.

These trinities we have discussed are neither a comprehensive list, since one could discover nearly an infinite number of them, nor an accidental similarity, the way two philosophers might have similar facial hair, rather they point to the very personal character of Truth, to the requirement of dialogue with the Truth. The Truth cannot be conveyed otherwise. Be it objective or subjective abstraction, an abstract concept of truth is immediately subjected to the rationalism of the three friends and the existentialist counter-reaction, it is as much a failure of comprehension as the man who watched the blinker bulbs. For only personal truth can rebuild the chain to answer the heart as well as the mind. And if the Truth is a person, we will only know the Truth when we are in relationship with him.

________

1. Oswald Chambers, MY UTMOST FOR HIS HIGHEST (Dodd, Mead and Company, Inc., New York., 1935)

2. Oswald Chambers, BAFFLED TO FIGHT BETTER (Discovery House Publishers, Box 3566 Grand Rapids MI 49501, 1931)

3. God Questions Man's Ability

Job 38:12,16,20,22,31,32,34,35,37,39.

Job 39:9,10,11,12,19,20,26,27.

Job 40:9,24. Job 41:1,2,3,4,5,6,7,13,14.

4. God Questions Man's Knowlege

Job 38:4,6,17,18,19,24,28,29,33. Job 39:1,2.

5. God States His Ability and Knowledge

Job 38:5,8,25,36,41. Job 39:5.

6. Miscellaneous Questions

Job 38:2. Job 40:2,8. Job 41:11.

________

Copyright © 1997 Rob Sheldon

How A Bible Scholar Lost His Faith

Mark 4:17

Religious studies professor Bart D. Ehrman meditates upon how the Bible explains human suffering, why he finds the explanations unconvincing, and why he gave up on being a Christian.

________

If there is an all-powerful and loving God in this world, why is there so much excruciating pain and unspeakable suffering? The problem of suffering has haunted me for a very long time. It was what made me begin to think about religion when I was young, and it was what led me to question my faith when I was older. Ultimately, it was the reason I lost my faith. This book tries to explore some aspects of the problem, especially as they are reflected in the Bible, whose authors too grappled with the pain and misery in the world.

To explain why the problem matters so much to me, I need to give a bit of personal background. For most of my life I was a devout and committed Christian. I was baptized in a Congregational church and reared as an Episcopalian, becoming an altar boy when I was twelve and continuing all the way through high school. Early in my high school days I started attending a Youth for Christ club and had a “born-again” experience — which, looking back, seems a bit strange: I had been involved in church, believing in Christ, praying to God, confessing my sins, and so on for years. What exactly did I need to convert from? I think I was converting from hell — I didn’t want to experience eternal torment with the poor souls who had not been “saved”; I much preferred the option of heaven. In any event, when I became born again it was like ratcheting my religion up a notch. I became very serious about my faith and chose to go off to a fundamentalist Bible college — Moody Bible Institute in Chicago — where I began training for ministry.

I worked hard at learning the Bible — some of it by heart. I could quote entire books of the New Testament, verse by verse, from memory. When I graduated from Moody with a diploma in Bible and Theology (at the time Moody did not offer a B.A. degree), I went off to finish my college work at Wheaton, an evangelical Christian college in Illinois (also Billy Graham’s alma mater). There I learned Greek so that I could read the New Testament in its original language. From there I decided that I wanted to commit my life to studying the Greek manuscripts of the New Testament, and chose to go to Princeton Theological Seminary, a Presbyterian school whose brilliant faculty included Bruce Metzger, the greatest textual scholar in the country. At Princeton I did both a master of divinity degree — training to be a minister — and, eventually, a Ph.D. in New Testament studies.

I’m giving this brief synopsis to show that I had solid Christian credentials and knew about the Christian faith from the inside out — in the years before I lost my faith.

During my time in college and seminary I was actively involved in a number of churches. At home, in Kansas, I had left the Episcopal church because, strange as this might sound, I didn’t think it was serious enough about religion (I was pretty hard-core in my evangelical phase); instead I went a couple of times a week to a Plymouth Brethren Bible Chapel (among those who really believed!). When I was away from home, living in Chicago, I served as the youth pastor of an Evangelical Covenant church. During my seminary years in New Jersey I attended a conservative Presbyterian church and then an American Baptist church. When I graduated from seminary I was asked to fill the pulpit in the Baptist church while they looked for a full-time minister. And so for a year I was pastor of the Princeton Baptist Church, preaching every Sunday morning, holding prayer groups and Bible studies, visiting the sick in the hospital, and performing the regular pastoral duties for the community.

But then, for a variety of reasons that I’ll mention in a moment, I started to lose my faith. I now have lost it altogether. I no longer go to church, no longer believe, no longer consider myself a Christian. The subject of this book is the reason why.

In an earlier book, Misquoting Jesus: The Story Behind Who Changed the Bible and Why, I have indicated that my strong commitment to the Bible began to wane the more I studied it. I began to realize that rather than being an inerrant revelation from God, inspired in its very words (the view I had at Moody Bible Institute), the Bible was a very human book with all the marks of having come from human hands: discrepancies, contradictions, errors, and different perspectives of different authors living at different times in different countries and writing for different reasons to different audiences with different needs. But the problems of the Bible are not what led me to leave the faith. These problems simply showed me that my evangelical beliefs about the Bible could not hold up, in my opinion, to critical scrutiny. I continued to be a Christian — a completely committed Christian — for many years after I left the evangelical fold.

Eventually, though, I felt compelled to leave Christianity altogether. I did not go easily. On the contrary, I left kicking and screaming, wanting desperately to hold on to the faith I had known since childhood and had come to know intimately from my teenaged years onward. But I came to a point where I could no longer believe. It’s a very long story, but the short version is this: I realized that I could no longer reconcile the claims of faith with the facts of life. In particular, I could no longer explain how there can be a good and all-powerful God actively involved with this world, given the state of things. For many people who inhabit this planet, life is a cesspool of misery and suffering. I came to a point where I simply could not believe that there is a good and kindly disposed Ruler who is in charge of it.

The problem of suffering became for me the problem of faith. After many years of grappling with the problem, trying to explain it, thinking through the explanations that others have offered — some of them pat answers charming for their simplicity, others highly sophisticated and nuanced reflections of serious philosophers and theologians — after thinking about the alleged answers and continuing to wrestle with the problem, about nine or ten years ago I finally admitted defeat, came to realize that I could no longer believe in the God of my tradition, and acknowledged that I was an agnostic: I don’t “know” if there is a God; but I think that if there is one, he certainly isn’t the one proclaimed by the Judeo-Christian tradition, the one who is actively and powerfully involved in this world. And so I stopped going to church.

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Excerpted from God’s Problem: How the Bible Fails to Answer Our Most Important Question — Why We Suffer, HarperOne, an imprint of HarperCollins. All rights reserved.

Is There Justice In the Book of Job?

Job 1:1

The Book of Job, in the Old Testament, opens with words both majestic and once-upon-a-time-ish: “There was a man in the land of Uz, whose name was Job; and that man was perfect and upright, and one that feared God, and eschewed evil.” Job has ten children, three thousand camels, seven thousand sheep, and many servants. He is the richest man in the East. He doesn’t take his good fortune for granted. Always, the Bible says, he gets up early and makes burnt offerings to God.

As the action begins, God is being visited by angels, together with Satan, who at this point in the Bible is not the agent of all evil but a sort of officer of God. (Some translations call him “the Accuser”; a note in the HarperCollins Study Bible says that he is something like a C.I.A. operative.) God boasts to Satan, Have you seen my servant Job, so pious, so devoted to me? Satan answers, Why shouldn’t he be devoted? You have given him everything he could ever want: “But put forth thine hand now, and touch all that he hath, and he will curse thee to thy face.” Well, God says, let’s see, and he gives Satan permission to ruin Job’s life.

This test is the subject of the Book of Job. Is there such a thing as disinterested faith? Will people go on believing in God if they are not rewarded — indeed, if they are unjustly punished? And why should they be faithful to a God who allows the wicked to triumph and the innocent to suffer? Mark Larrimore, the director of the religious-studies program at the New School, has published “The Book of Job: A Biography” (Princeton University Press), which is a “reception history,” chronicling the answers given to that riddle by commentators from the midrash — the rabbinical meditations that were first compiled in the third century — down to Elie Wiesel.

When God first unleashes Satan on Job, he tells him that he must not damage the man physically. So Satan just kills Job’s children, servants, and livestock. In response, Job tears his robe, shaves his head, falls to the ground — and worships God! “The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away,” he says. “Blessed be the name of the Lord.” Satan returns to God and complains that as long as Job remains physically unharmed the test isn’t valid: “But put forth thine hand now, and touch his bone and his flesh, and he will curse thee to thy face.” God gives Satan permission, and soon Job is covered with boils from head to toe. “My flesh is clothed with worms and clods of dust,” he says. “My skin is broken, and become loathsome.... My life is wind.” He sits down in a pile of ashes. His wife tells him to give up: “Curse God, and die.” But Job stands firm: “Shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not receive evil?”

Three of Job’s friends — Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar — come to visit him, and what they say is, basically, what Satan said. God and human beings give to each other as they receive. If Job is afflicted in this way, then he must have sinned. But I didn’t, Job says. Nor, he now realizes, does God administer that kind of justice. It doesn’t matter what you do. The world makes no moral sense.

Almost the entire middle section of the Book of Job is taken up with the debate over this riddle. Again and again, the friends tell Job that God must have had a reason for destroying his life, and Job says no. This could get boring, but for the fact that there is a tense internal drama. Everyone becomes increasingly passionate and bitter — above all, Job. “Miserable comforters are ye all,” he says to the three men. His language is now furious. “I am a brother to dragons,” he cries. Meanwhile, he sees the wicked prosper:

Their houses are safe from fear, neither is the rod of God upon them.

Their bull gendereth, and faileth not; their cow calveth, and casteth not her calf.

They send forth their little ones like a flock, and their children dance. [Job 21:9-11]

The “little ones” are especially painful to read about. Job’s children can’t dance; they’re dead. His feelings about his loss of status are also poignant. He had been proud of his wealth, proud of being able to feed others at his table and to help the needy. People respected him. Now “I called my servant, and he gave me no answer.... My breath is strange to my wife.” Still, Job will not curse God: “Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him.” [Job 13:15] Nevertheless — and this is crucial — ”I will maintain mine own ways before him.” That is the answer to Satan’s challenge. Job acknowledges God’s greatness, but he will not give up the idea that he has not sinned.

Now comes a striking event. God appears, in a whirlwind. Throughout the Old Testament, as Freud claimed, God takes the part of the angry father. Here he surpasses himself, by pointing out to the four men what he is and they are not: the creator of all things. “Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? ... When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?” He proudly inventories the wonders he fashioned. Most thrilling, perhaps, is his portrait of the warhorse:

Hast thou given the horse strength? hast thou clothed his neck with thunder?

Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshopper? the glory of his nostrils is terrible.

He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength: he goeth on to meet the armed men....

He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage: neither believeth he that it is the sound of the trumpet.

He saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha! and he smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains, and the shouting. [Job 39:19-25]

“Ha, ha!” That is the spirit of God’s answer to Job. I am power itself, he says. How dare you question me?

Job immediately apologizes for challenging his maker: “I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes.” Now God addresses the three friends, who told Job that God is just. He punishes them for presuming to say that they understand his ways. Then he turns to Job and tells him that he alone has spoken the truth — apparently, that God is not understandable. For this, God rewards him.

The story is bewildering, from beginning to end. How could God, being God, allow Satan to seduce him into destroying a good man? More important is the moral: that we have no right to question him for doing such things. (God, for all that he says from the whirlwind, never answers Job’s questions.) Furthermore, the Book of Job seems to claim that all wrongs can be righted by property. If everything was taken away from Job, the problem is settled by God’s giving it all back, mostly twofold — fourteen thousand sheep for his seven thousand, etc. As for the ten dead children, in this case Job gets only ten back, but the new daughters are more beautiful than any other women in the land.

For people who take the Bible seriously as an explanation of life and as a guide to right conduct, all this is mysterious. It is certainly not the first instance in which God inflicts appalling misery on his people. In Genesis, he killed everyone on Earth except those on Noah’s ark. But Job is highly individualized — a person like us. He is probably the character in the Old Testament we sympathize with most closely. (David is his only competition.) Therefore, his struggle to go on believing in God is something that theologians and moralists have had to think about. Their conclusions are the subject of Mark Larrimore’s book.

Discouragingly, it begins by listing all the things that we don’t know about Job. In our lifetime, Job has been regarded as a sort of Jewish saint, a symbol of suffering Jewry, but we don’t know whether he was Jewish. (No lineage is provided, and neither Job nor his friends have Jewish names.) Nor is there any certainty about whether the Book was written by Jews. We know nothing about the setting of the tale (where was Uz?), or about how it came to be written. Scholars think that it, or parts of it, was handed down over centuries as an oral tale, and finally recorded sometime after the seventh century B.C.

The text we have is clearly corrupt in many places. The central section — where Job speaks to his friends, and God speaks to them all — is in verse, and its language is impassioned: pleading, sweeping, vaulting. The outer sections are written in prose, and in a blunt, matter-of-fact manner. This stylistic contrast, together with the subject matter, underlies the main puzzle of the Book: the profound nature of Job’s complaint and of God’s answer versus the cynicism of the outer sections, where God bargains with Job’s life and then, at the end, pays him off. Many modern scholars believe that the outer sections may have been written independently of the central section — perhaps slapped on to make it a story, with a beginning and an ending. More daringly, some writers have suggested that God’s speeches are interpolations. God rarely makes such a grand appearance in the Old Testament. Why here, in his most dazzling entry, is he not given any sort of introduction? (All we get is “Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind.”) And why is this proud, thundering deity so different from the cold executive of the opening and closing sections? Also, his pronouncements from the whirlwind are often inconsistent with what he says elsewhere in the Bible. As Larrimore puts it, “The pious asseverations of Job’s friends, condemned by God, are the passages of the book that best square with other texts accepted as scriptural.”

That is by no means the end of the textual problems. Sometimes you can’t figure out what’s happening. Job will make a statement to his friends that doesn’t seem to be addressed to them. Passages have apparently been moved or omitted or inserted. Immediately before God’s arrival, we suddenly hear, at length, from a man named Elihu, who adds little to the discussion and is never mentioned again. But Job’s text was not questioned until the Renaissance, and the investigation didn’t really get going until the nineteenth century, at German universities. For many centuries before that, philosophers and theologians took the Book as canonical and analyzed it as such. Not surprisingly, their main question was the one debated by Job and his friends: Why does God allow evil in the world?

The first single commentator to whom Larrimore gives serious attention is Pope Gregory I, or Gregory the Great (540-604), who wrote a six-volume study of Job. His book, as Larrimore explains it, is our introduction to many centuries of allegorical interpretation of the Book of Job — indeed, of the entire Old Testament — as parallel to the New Testament; in particular, Job’s torment was thought to presage the sufferings of Jesus. Some modern readers find this sort of thinking far-fetched, but it certainly wasn’t confined to the Middle Ages, or to Roman Catholics. Luther’s Bible, one of the earlier vernacular testaments, had illustrations that combine, in the same frame, events in Job that occurred many verses apart. This was not to save money on woodcuts. It was an expression of the view of time that had been held for many centuries, by both Jewish and Christian commentators. To them, the Old Testament was divinely inspired, and, if it seemed to contain contradictions or errors, that was not its fault but ours. We needed to dig for deeper, subtler meaning.

According to Larrimore, this was also, essentially, the opinion of the great Jewish scholar Maimonides, in the twelfth century, and of the formidable St. Thomas Aquinas, in the thirteenth. Aquinas, emboldened by the dispute between Job and his friends, treated the Book as a quaestio, or debate, the primary mode of learning at the University of Paris, where he was a celebrated professor. (Job won the debate, of course.) As Larrimore points out, such a method has the problem of omitting the matter of the hero’s extreme suffering. Maimonides, in his “Guide for the Perplexed,” from 1190, is more modest and quizzical, but he, too, obedient to the tradition, says that we must yield to the text’s divine authority. In Job, he believes, we can understand God’s message only in glimpses. In 1536, John Calvin wrote his “Institutes of the Christian Religion,” with meditations on Job. Calvin’s view was the most radical, in terms of theodicy — that is, the attempt to reconcile the existence of evil with a benevolent and omnipotent God. Calvin said that God had a higher justice, veiled to human eyes. Other thinkers did not buy that. (After all, the Old Testament shows God issuing codes of justice for us — the Ten Commandments, for example.) The problem was stated most succinctly two centuries later, by David Hume: “Is he willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is impotent. Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent. Is he both able and willing? Whence then is evil?”

One logical answer is that there is no God. But before the eighteenth century, and during most of it, atheism was not an option, even for the most strong-minded. To choose between two positions, a person must have two to choose from. Before the Enlightenment, the vast majority of Europeans did not. Larrimore quotes the French historian Lucien Febvre, writing in the early twentieth century:

Today we make a choice to be Christian or not. There was no choice in the sixteenth century. One was a Christian in fact. One’s thoughts could wander far from Christ, but these were plays of fancy, without the living support of reality. One could not even abstain from observance. Whether one wanted to or not, whether one clearly understood or not, one found oneself immersed from birth in a bath of Christianity from which one did not emerge even at death.

What Febvre said of the sixteenth century was also true of the eighteenth century and most of the nineteenth. Bold minds might question God’s care of us, but few doubted his existence. Larrimore quotes a passage from Voltaire’s “Candide” (1759): “ ‘What difference does it make,’ said the dervish, ‘if there is good or evil? When His Highness sends a ship to Egypt, does he worry about whether or not the mice are comfortable on board?’” Voltaire said that Candide was “Job brought up to date.”

Many philosophers, probably without meaning to, inched their way toward the same position. Kant said that all we could do with doubts about God was admit them. For Kant, Larrimore writes, “the book of Job shows that the problem of evil must remain an open wound.” Larrimore thinks that’s still true: that the dispute between Job and his friends epitomizes modern thought. There are no answers, only riddles. In the face of that impasse, the discussion often shifts from content to style. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, a number of people who wrote on Job — the German theorist Johann Gottfried von Herder, the Anglican bishop Robert Lowth — stopped trying to figure out God’s plan, and instead focussed on his poetry, whose sublimity, they felt, was meaning enough. Indeed, the ambiguity boosted the sublimity. This position was undoubtedly reassuring, but the new aestheticism could also be seen as a failure of moral seriousness. Furthermore, it placed God at a very far remove from humankind. One of the reasons that Job complains so bitterly is that he thought that he and God had a relationship. Now it is sundered: “I cry unto thee and thou dost not hear me.” [Job 19:7]

His sense of abandonment is a great part of the poignance of the Book. But as the Enlightenment, whose efficient universe had little place for a punishing God, yielded to Romanticism, with its worship of passion, many thinkers had less need for a pleasant, companionable God. An excellent example is William Blake, who between 1805 and 1810 produced a series of twenty-one watercolor illustrations for the Book of Job. Blake did not need God to make sense. He wanted him to be a figure of pure energy, like the “Tyger, burning bright.” Nor did Blake mind conflicts. Larrimore quotes his “Marriage of Heaven and Hell”: “Without Contraries is no progression. Attraction and Repulsion, Reason and Energy, Love and Hate, are necessary to Human existence.”

Blake’s thunderbolt was bracing, but soon it, too, was not enough. In the twentieth century, the most pressing new influence on the interpretation of Job’s story was the Shoah, after which, Larrimore writes, Job “became Jewish.” The person most responsible for his conversion was Elie Wiesel, an Auschwitz survivor. Wiesel began lecturing about Job as early as 1946. He regards the Book as a great text, and a great torture. For many, Job epitomized the suffering of the Jews during the Second World War and also their perceived response to it, which, in the nineteen-sixties, Hannah Arendt described as going like lambs to the slaughter. As God played dice with his life, Job grieved and protested, but he didn’t take any action. This interpretation anguished Wiesel. An alter ego in one of his novels “never ceased resenting Job.” He says, “that biblical rebel should never have given in.” Eventually, Wiesel decided that Job hadn’t given in.

This, to my knowledge, is the beginning of the modern recasting of the Book of Job. Wiesel, in his “Messengers of God: Biblical Portraits and Legends” (1976), argues that, contrary to the usual reading, Job did not submit when God told him that he must. You can tell, Wiesel says, because, in the text that we have, he submitted so fast. He was just pretending. The true ending, Wiesel preferred to believe, was lost. More recently, he has changed his mind, and settled on the idea that Job merely chose silence, not submission. Job, he wrote, had “learned that he lived in a world that was cold and cynical — a world without true friends,” but one, nevertheless, in which “God seeks to join man in his solitude.”

Wiesel has had many heirs, speaking not necessarily for the Jews but for other suffering peoples. Postmodern critics, by favoring certain political positions and by welcoming self-contradictory, ambiguous texts, have abetted this trend, arguing that the insistence on Job’s submission is a vote for authoritarianism. This is something like the upheaval in New Testament studies after the discovery, in 1945, of the Nag Hammadi manuscripts, a collection of gospels from Christian communities which seem to have been judged too eccentric — or too doctrinally dangerous — to be included in the so-called canonical Gospels. With Job, the danger was that human beings could legitimately ask God why he ran the world the way he did.

But objections to Job’s capitulation came from many ideological quarters. The American rabbi Richard Rubenstein has said that we should think not just of Job, who was able to have his argument with God and be saved, but also of his barely mentioned children, slaughtered because of God’s bet with Satan. As Larrimore summarizes Rubenstein’s position, the death of Job’s children

should put us in mind of the frequency of divine infanticide in the Bible. The track record of the God of the Jews is, in fact, too awful to contemplate. Rubenstein imagines that a modern-day comforter might counsel Job to admit to guilt, even though he was innocent. Lie, or the truth will out, that God is a demon — if he exists at all.

Rubenstein was the chaplain for Jewish students at several leading colleges from the nineteen-fifties through the seventies. He no doubt had considerable influence.

Such teachings may not have been necessary. An honest modern study of Job should take into account the fact that, at least in the West, theodicy is not the issue that it once was. However much people may grieve over the undeserved suffering of others — not just Jews but Cambodians, Bosnians, Tutsis, Syrians — they are less inclined to ask God why he will allow this. Many of them don’t believe in God, or, if they do, they are less likely to regard him as a benevolent intercessor, enforcing justice in the world. They have seen too much evidence to the contrary.

Not all the objections issue from grief and anger. Another heir of Wiesel, or at least of the long-term quarrel over Job, is the translator Stephen Mitchell. In his popular rendering of the Book of Job, the hero, again, does not submit. Instead, he undergoes a “spiritual transformation”: “He has let go of everything and surrendered into the light.” Therefore, where the King James Version has Job, at the end, saying to God that he will “repent in dust and ashes” (other English-language translations have wording close to this), Mitchell’s hero — blissfully aware now that he is part of the infinite — says, “I will be quiet, comforted that I am dust.” Mitchell studied Zen Buddhism for many years and, with his wife, Byron Katie, has written books — ”Loving What Is” (2002), “A Thousand Names for Joy” (2007) — on how to relieve your suffering by challenging the thoughts that create it.

In all this, Larrimore maintains a supremely tolerant position. He approves of the wealth of “interpretative openings and opportunities.” Everything is O.K. with him, and he thinks that whatever disagreements there are may lead to community. (This is interesting, since an absolutely crucial aspect of Job’s trial is that he suffers alone.) Such a latitudinarian approach is perhaps appropriate to a reception study, telling who thought what, and who, after them, thought something else, but eventually it comes to seem anti-intellectual. At times, Larrimore sounds like a kindly Unitarian minister, or like Mister Rogers.

If, for many Westerners, the question of why God allows good people to be tortured is no longer a pressing issue, why is it that Job appears to be the most fascinating book of the Old Testament? I can’t think of a single character in the Bible, apart from Jesus or David, who is quoted more often than the dramatis personae of the Book of Job are.

This is without doubt due, in part, to the Book’s amorality. I believe that if you woke a lot of people in the middle of the night, and asked them why they cared about the Book of Job, they would name the most troubling, least sympathetic character in that document: God. He, not Job, is the star of the Book, and though he is not loving or fair, that seems to be part of the attraction. Once God appears and speaks, you are almost blown to the ground. “Hast thou an arm like God?” he demands. Then, in a rolling magnificat, he names the things that he has created: the earth, the sea, the night, the light, the constellations, the clouds, the winds, the dew, the rain, the snow, the hail, the frost, the thunder and lightning. He goes on to the animals: the goats, the asses, the hinds, the peacocks, the ostriches, the grasshoppers. In two celebrated passages, he describes with pride the monsters he created: Behemoth and Leviathan, Behemoth’s counterpart in the sea: “His breath kindleth coals, and a flame goeth out of his mouth.” God’s description of the warhorse is even more exalting, because this creature is unquestionably real, not fantastic. Likewise the eagle: “She dwelleth and abideth on the rock, upon the crag of the rock, and the strong place. From thence she seeketh the prey, and her eyes behold afar off.” She brings pieces of flesh back to her children. They feed on the blood.

God’s speech slaughters the moral, the what-should-be, nature of the rest of the Book of Job. It is the knife flash, the leap, the teeth. And despite, or because of, its remorselessness, it is electrifying. It is like an action movie, or a horror movie. Of course, Job is important in the story, but today he seems the pretext, the one who is like us, and makes the argument that we would make. As for God, he makes the argument that, at least as far as nature is concerned, is true.

Blaming God First

Job 13:3

What are we to say about a human condition in which “Nature red in tooth and claw” rears up on its massive hindquarters, and hurls a 30-foot wall of water against the lowlands of eleven of the poorest and most populous nations on earth, including some playgrounds of the rich of Europe and America, and crushes, chokes, and twists away the lives of going past 150,000 human beings?

“Nature” is not the way the Greens picture it. Nature batters human beings. Nature has annihilated tens of thousands of other species, why not the human species?

Most of the public voices in our enlightened age have gotten away with the indefensible drivel of liberal sentimentalism, chattering as if all intelligent people are atheists, whose god is a benevolent, nurturing, sheltering Mother Nature. Recently, I was debating on radio a Dutch member of the European parliament, who described herself on air as “an atheist who has values.” She then described her values as “caring about this Earth and protecting it, and passing it on to my children.”

I respect and admire her choice. At that moment, though, she was probably not thinking about this murderous tsunami and other natural furies, such as the raging seas that would overpower Holland if the extensive, huge dikes did not prevent it. Nor about diseases that for millennia kept the primitive human population on earth pitifully low.

How cruel a habitat is Earth!

The evils that afflict humankind upon this Earth are not a scandal solely for those who believe in a Creator. They are also a scandal for those who believe that Nature cares for human beings.

Most of the atheists among my friends at Harvard years ago (and elsewhere in academic departments of philosophy) were actually rationalists, who believed that in the end, at bottom, reason and law governed all things. They simply saw no reason for calling that abiding rationality in things a gift from God, whom they could not see. It was simply there, unexplained.

A few of them, however, were nihilists. They believed that “at bottom” there was just one unexplained bottom after another unexplained bottom “all the way down.” Our existence is only a joke, a fluke, an irrational flick of pure, unadulterated chance. They believed that their superior intellects allowed them to cut through all the fraud, pretense, and superstition in which others took comfort. They thought that even the “rationalist” atheists were not smart enough to detect the absurdity of their own position. An “unexplained” rationality is a non-rational rationality. The rationalists were actually nihilists who couldn't yet admit it.

To this accusation, the atheists who were rationalists replied that they were merely being pragmatic, walking as far as the light of rationality took them, and saw no need to throw themselves on the ground in adolescent “existential anguish.” They thought the nihilists went way too far in romantic self-dramatization, and their admonition to them was: “Grow up.”

Modernism, however, which in my university years connoted Nietzsche, nihilism, contempt for anything bourgois or orthodox, and all the flowers of evil, has become the common language of the arts and “culture.” Although now under the banner of “post-modernism,” the invisible gas of nihilism seems to have seeped into every quarter. More even than the universities, the media have become the carriers of nihilism, even when nihilism is far from the intentions of the carrier.

Well, then, how does nihilism explain the ease with which Nature threw 150,000 living, unsuspecting, terrified human victims in Asia to their anonymous deaths?

The entire “nobility” of nihilism depends on the superiority of intellect that allows the nihilist to see himself as smarter than those who believe in an omniscient, omnipotent, benevolent Creator God. In other words, the Jewish and Christian God. The whole emotional-moral point of nihilism is to hold itself superior to Judaism and Christianity. If everything else is absurd, religion must be too. That is why, faced with a horrendous natural disaster, in which thousands of innocent human beings die irrationally, for no reason, the rationalist atheists and the nihilists alike blame God first. It is important for them to do that.

They do not blame just any God. The God of the Maya and many other religions of nature has always been known to be cruel, as Nature itself is cruel, and heedless of human emotion, aspiration, and hope. Rather, it is only the God of Judaism (learned of and spread round the world by Christians) that they blame. No, perhaps more, they blame the God of Christianity, for in Christ the world has been given an even more vivid image of divine concern for the poor, the lowly, and the needy, and of divine gentleness, friendship and love. They are blaming the God of the Sermon on the Mount. That is the God that there is true joy in blaming.

THE PROBLEM OF EVIL

Truly, the continuing presence of evil in the world — perhaps most acutely when this evil is manifested in unconscious Nature, out of its own laws and processes — is a great scandal to loving, believing Christians. It is truly hard for them to understand how a kind and gracious Providence can allow such terrible things to happen to human beings. To so many scores of thousands of human beings. On such a vast scale.

In some ways, it is easier to understand how individual human beings can do horribly evil deeds. At least one can point to their free will. Struggling to find plausible reasons, one recalls one's own irrationalities and sins, murders one has read of in the local papers, etc.

It is true that some evils are so unspeakable and unimaginable that they defy all attempted comparisons to anything in anyone's previous experience — the Holocaust, for example. How can a good God possibly allow that horror to happen to (in a twofold sense) his own people? But even these we attribute to human agency, however monstrous. Whereas the dead that have suffered from a naked act of Nature seem somehow to have been stricken by God's own unmediated action.

What can biblically informed believers reply to those who, contemplating the massive destruction and death in today's Asia, blame their God (a God in Whom those who do the blaming do not believe)?

Confronted with this demand — confronted with it, actually, quite often in my lifetime — I think first of this: Since those who ask it do not believe in God, the question is not what it seems to be. The real point of the question is to get me to groan inwardly by agreeing that the one who thinks he is my superior is correct, after all. The real point is to get me to deny the reality of God.

The point is even a little more complex. My taunter does not want me to deny the reality of God on the ground that the assertion of that reality is absurd. Actually, my taunter holds that everything, at bottom, is absurd. My taunter really wants to show me that I am like him; and that I too am driven to join him in recognizing the absurd at the bottom of all things. He wants to prove that he has been smarter all along, and to watch me have to surrender as he has surrendered. He has given up his faith in reason all the way down, and he wants me to do the same.

My second thought is as follows. The Bible warns us often of the confrontation with the absurd that each of us who believes in the goodness of the Lord must face, and more than once in our lives. We see all the time in the Bible that the just are made to suffer, while the unjust live and laugh in plenty, heaping ridicule on the just. We read of the horrid, unfathomable afflictions that God piles up on his faithful servant, Job. Job refuses to say that in doing these things to him God is acting justly or kindly; Job knows his own pain, and he refuses to lie. He refuses to “prettify” God, or to cut God down to human standards. He knows that God is no sentimental liberal.

And if Job is the type of “the suffering servant,” whose sufferings cannot be explained by his own deeds, and whose sufferings are on the face of it horribly and inexcusably unjust, so also is the Son of God, Jesus Christ, the sinless One, who in forewarning his apostles of the sufferings he will endure on the cross alludes to Job more than once.

WHO'S JUDGING WHOM?

Stand before the cross. Look at the body of this suffering servant of God. Look, perhaps, with eyes opened by Mel Gibson's all but unendurable The Passion. If this is what God did to His own Son — His own being, with Whom He is one — then what hope is there that we will be treated “nicely”? The God who does this is not “the God of niceness.” His scale of grandeur is far different from ours. One has no sense of Him whatever if one does not feel inner trembling and vast distance.

He is not a God made in our image. We are made as (very poor) images of Him — images chiefly in the sense that we experience insight and judgment, decision and love, and that we too have responsibilities.

This is the God who made the vastness of the Alps and the Rockies and the Andes; who knows the silence of jungles no human has yet penetrated; who made all the galaxies beyond our ken; who gave to Mozart and Beethoven and Shakespeare and Milton and Dante and legions of others great talents; who infused life into the eyes of every newborn, and love into the hearts of all lovers; and imagined, created, and expressed love for all the things that He made. He made all the powers of storms, and all the immense force of earthquakes, and the roiling and tumultuous churning of the oceans. He imagined all the beautiful melodies we have ever heard, and more that we have not.

God is God.

God is our Judge.

We are not His judge.

The question is not, “Does God measure up to our (liberal, compassionate, self-deceived) standards?” The question is, “Will we learn — in silence and in awe at the far-beyond-human power of nature — how great, on a far different scale from ours, is God's love?”

It would be the greatest and most obscene of illusions for a man, any man, to imagine that he has greater love for a child mangled in the oily, dark waters of the recent tsunami than the Creator of that child has. It would be like Ivan Karamazov being unable to forgive God so long as one single child anywhere went to bed at night crying in loneliness and in pain. Who is Karamazov to think that his own love for that child — a purely abstract, speculative, hard-case, counterexample love — is greater than that of the child's Creator?

The tapestry on which God weaves human existence is not the tapestry within the framework of time that we experience. As we do not comprehend the power of nature (especially nowadays, when we live so far removed from it, so protected from it), even more we do not begin to comprehend the love and goodness of God.

The truth is, the sight and smell of awful human death is sometimes more than we can take. Perhaps we should feel confidence in the power of God's love, but we do not see it. All we feel is the night. Our darkness is as keen as that of the unbeliever and the nihilist.

Yet in that darkness, we the believers alone (not the unbeliever or the nihilist) feel betrayed by One whom we love. We alone feel anguish because we cannot understand.

But it is not as if we had not often before bumped into the limits of our understanding, and recognized nonetheless that there are undeniable glimmerings of powers and presences we know not of. And, like Job, we refuse to deny the power of the goodness and light which we do see, their power to go out into the night in which we cannot now see.

It does seem that the Creator is not always kind, not even just, within the bounded space that we experience. It does seem that the Creator acts with undeniable cruelty. In our time, we have seen unimaginable suffering. Like Job, we cannot deny what we see.

Neither can we deny the Light, which is what makes the absurd seem absurd. Only in contrast to Light is the absurd absurd. Otherwise it is only a brute matter of fact.

No less than the unbeliever or the nihilist does the devout Jew or Christian inhabit the night. But only the believers continue in the silence to utter the unseeing yes of our love. The yes that Ivan Karamazov cannot say in the night Alyosha does say.

________

Michael Novak's latest book is The Universal Hunger for Liberty (Perseus, Basic), but he has written extensively on the theme addressed above in Belief and Unbelief and The Experience of Nothingness, as well as (with Jana Novak) Tell Me Why, all of which are still in print and available through his website at www.michaelnovak.net.

from National Review · Michael Novak via Kerux Sermon and Illustration Database theodicycross

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