Why would God even allow suffering?
I remember one Sunday morning at a former church, I visited one of the Sunday School classes attended by children from the United Methodist Children’s Home. A new boy to the Home, who was around ten years old introduced himself to me. With one of the most beautiful smiles I’ve ever seen, he stuck out his hand and gave me his name. It was then that I noticed that his face and body were covered with healing bruises—bruises that had been inflicted by someone who was supposed to love him and protect him. I forget all that I said to him that morning, but I remember walking out of that room in anguish:
Why, oh, why, God? Why that child? Why not someone who deserves to be wiped off the face of this earth? Where were You?!
The answers for me usually come when I’ve howled out my pain, when I’ve quieted down much like a child after the tantrum has spent itself out. Then God speaks.
“So Jan, if I am such a good and all powerful God, why would I allow the innocent to suffer? Think. Reason it out. You might not like the answer, but have the courage to ask it and wrestle with it. Feel it, feel all of it—the injustice, the pain, the sorrow of a being other than yourself. Let it shake you to the core. Ask the question, and then, let it pull you out of your lethargy.”
Oops. Demanding answers from God can be discomfiting because many times the answer involves me.
Maybe the question I need to ask first, “If I’m so outraged about the innocent suffering, what can and will I do about it?
Crisis grabs our attention; otherwise, we have a tendency to ignore situations that lead to the suffering of the innocent.
For me on that Sunday morning, suffering suddenly had a face–one that insisted on engaging the world with a beautiful smile. Suffering reached his hand out to mine, trusting me not to knock him down. Such suffering and trust demands a response. Will I take that hand? Will I take another hand after that? If I see something needs to be done, will I bother to lift my hand to help?