I am not much interested in responding to theoretical questions posed by philosophers and theologians (though I am one of them). My concern is with Christ’s lambs who find themselves staggering under the weight of affliction. If God has any purpose in allowing His people to suffer, then I want to find it. If Scripture offers any answers and any hope, then I want to help my brothers and sisters see them. For God does have purposes, Scripture does provide answers, and Christians can find hope in their pain.

For just a moment, Carlos’s tearless gaze turned defiant. “I don’t understand it,” he said. “What I do know is that I’m just so angry. And I have no answers.” This conversation took place beside the casket of Carlos’s adolescent son. The teenager had been tinkering with the family car in an open garage. A young stranger had come up the driveway, shot Carlos’s son, and then walked on as if nothing had happened. To all appearances it was a completely random act.

Not many of us will be asked to suffer in the way Carlos has. Still, ever since the fall, pain has been a basic fact of human existence. Suffering is guaranteed for everybody. Its intensity and variety will vary from person to person, but nobody escapes this world unbruised.

It seems odd, then, that when some new suffering descends upon us, our most common response is to ask why. In a world of universal pain, each individual feels as if she or he has been singled out by affliction. Most of us wouldn’t find it unusual if we alone were exempted from the universality of suffering. We hardly notice what we don’t endure. During our placid moments we may, if we think about it, see the world’s evil as a philosophical or theological problem. We may even manage to ignore it. When evil bursts into our own lives, however, the problem turns personal and existential. Our pain takes on a stark and malevolent substantiality. At those moments we rarely ask why not? We almost always ask why me?

Read More