One Question | If God Is Good, Why Is There So Much Pain?

ONE QUESTION: IF GOD IS GOOD, WHY IS THERE SO MUCH PAIN?

We are in this series called One Question, where we're looking at a variety of questions that people have asked about God.

So far, the first week we discussed: What if we're wrong about Jesus? Why do we believe in Jesus, and why are we convinced that following Jesus is the right way of life? And then last week we talked about: Can faith and science coexist? We talked about how it is more than possible that faith and science are both asking the same question from different perspectives, both trying to find truth and what is true.

But today we're going to talk about a question that I hear probably more than, or at least as much as, any question that has ever been asked of me. And it's the question that probably makes faith most difficult for the most people.

If God is good, why is there so much pain?

Why do children get cancer? Why do our loved ones die far too soon? Why are people abused, or abandoned, or betrayed? And why do these so-called acts of God, earthquakes and hurricanes, why do they destroy so many lives?

And then at some point in all of our lives, the question becomes very personal. It's not simply, "Why does suffering exist in the world around us?" but "Why did this happen to me? Why am I suffering? If God is good, why didn't he stop it? Why didn't he protect me? Why didn't he heal my loved one?"

And when God feels silent, we can start wondering. Maybe he doesn't care. Maybe I'm being punished. Or maybe he's not even there.

Jesus, we all claim, and we talked about it two weeks ago, rose from the dead on Sunday morning. So why does it still feel like Saturday? I mean, we were just singing about resurrection. Why does it still feel like Saturday so often?

So if that's a question you've ever asked, I'm really glad you're here today. I hope that today will not, it's not going to give you all of the answers. That is not what we're going to be doing today. I think that's impossible. But at least it can give us some handles about how to trust God even in the midst of so much pain and suffering.

MY STORY

It's been a couple of years since I've shared my story, or at least this part of my story. But we have a lot of new people who are part of our church family, and today's question really hits home for me, so I thought I'd share a little bit. I'll keep it briefer than I have in the past.

I got married when I was 20 years old. My wife's name was Jennifer. I was still in college, serving as a part-time youth pastor, and I was really young. We had been married for about two years, so I was almost 22. It was right before I graduated college.

We had gotten home from a church event that night, and Jennifer said she felt dizzy and she was struggling to breathe. I could see that, and then she passed out. I immediately called 911.

At the hospital, in the waiting room, I just started praying. I don't know what your background is, but I started praying every spiritual cliche I had ever heard, because I just knew that if I said the right words, God would heal my wife. I knew he would.

Eventually the doctor came out. Jennifer had a blood clot in her lungs, and he said she's not going to make it. He invited me in to go say goodbye.

Man, I was completely caught off guard. We were way too young, and we were in ministry. I mean, God, we've given you everything. We've donated our whole lives to you. What is going on? Because it is not supposed to be this way. Where are you?

I remember standing right by her unconscious body, saying goodbye, and I prayed this prayer. I remember it vividly: God, I know you can still heal her.

But he didn't. He didn't.

And I had to make the decision whether to take her off life support. Twenty-one-year-olds are not supposed to be making those kinds of decisions.

I felt so completely alone. I felt so completely abandoned. I was so angry at God, at least I was when I believed in him. The Bible promises that if you believe, you will receive whatever you ask. And I would yell out: I did believe. I did my part. Why didn't you do yours, God?

I was mad. I was so, I don't even know what the word is. Not depression. I was just in a hole. I was in a pit.

I graduated about six weeks later with a degree in religion, but I didn't even know if I believed in God. It's really hard to make a living with that degree. So I left the youth ministry I was a part of and went back home to Lakeland, and I figured I just had to start over.

Years later, I read something C.S. Lewis wrote after his wife died, and it really resonated with me:

"Where is God? Go to him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. And after that, silence."

Man, I felt that. That is exactly how I felt, and it resonated with me for a long time. And maybe you have felt that way too. Maybe you have felt abandoned by God.

BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE

So before we say anything else about suffering, about pain, about evil in the world, I feel like we need to acknowledge something.

There is no explanation, there is no apologetic, that can restore what we've lost. No answer can make Jennifer's death okay. No words can fix it. And nothing can make things like they were.

Grief and suffering remind us that the world is not how it should be. And there are no easy answers.

So I want to tread lightly, because I don't know your story, and everybody in here has a story. And I don't want to presume to say that what I'm going to say today is going to make everything better, because it's not.

But I believe God is good. And I also believe that suffering sometimes makes that very difficult to see.

So before we jump into the message, would you mind praying with me, that we would just ask God for faith to trust him and to see clearly?

Jesus, thank you. Thank you that you do not abandon us in the suffering. A lot of us in this room have gone through a lot of things in our lives, and some of it is very raw right now for people. And so I pray, Lord, that you would help us to see clearly this question about why, if you are so good, you allow pain and suffering. And God, I pray that when we leave this place today, it's not that we will even dream that everything can be better, but Lord, that we will recognize that you are present with us in the suffering, and that you will have the last word, not the suffering. In your name we pray. Amen.

JOHN'S QUESTION

Last week, in our message where we were talking about whether faith and science can coexist, we looked at a passage about John the Baptist, where he had been put in prison. He asked his followers to go to Jesus and ask this question. This is what we talked about last week, from Luke 7:

"John said to Jesus through his disciples, 'Are you the Messiah we've been expecting, or should we keep looking for someone else?'"

In other words: Nothing is working out the way I expected it to.

Jesus gave John reasons why he could believe that Jesus was the Messiah, why he could have faith in Jesus. That was very helpful as we were looking at science and evidence and saying there are good reasons for things.

But Jesus's evidence about why he was Messiah did not answer the question that John, I assume, deeply felt: Why am I still in prison?

Jesus healed people. He raised people from the dead. Why didn't he open John's prison door? John never got out. That prison sentence is the one where Herod had him beheaded. John never got out of prison.

And maybe you have been where John probably felt like he was. Maybe someone else's treatment worked. Maybe someone else became pregnant and you didn't. Maybe someone else's marriage was restored, but yours didn't make it. Maybe someone else's child came home. You prayed for a miracle, but somebody else received the miracle, not you.

So what does faith look like when we don't receive the rescue that we're desperately praying for?

That's the question of a grieving heart. That's the question John was asking, I assume. And that's definitely the question I was asking.

And it's also a question Jesus himself faced. That's what we're going to look at today.

GETHSEMANE: MATTHEW 26

"Then Jesus went with his disciples to a place called Gethsemane, and he said to the disciples, 'Stay here while I go over there and pray.'"

He took Peter, and James and John, Zebedee's two sons. And Jesus began to feel sad, overcome with grief. He was anxious, because he knew what was coming. Jesus knew that the time for the cross had arrived.

In verse 38 he said to them, "I am very sad." Actually, the translation doesn't quite do this passage justice. I am overwhelmed with sadness. It's as if I'm dying. Would you, my brothers, would you just stay here and be alert with me? Stay awake with me.

Jesus in this moment is not pretending everything is okay. He is naming his sorrow. And he prays. Look at verse 39:

"My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will."

That first half, I feel that prayer. God, you have the power to take this away. Please take it away.

Then verse 40: He returned to his disciples and found them sleeping. "Couldn't you men keep watch with me for just one hour?" Jesus, I mean, please. Verse 41: "Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. I know the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak."

Jesus is asking his closest friends: Can you stay awake? Can you stay near me? Can you be present with me?

But they couldn't. They couldn't.

Verse 42: Jesus went away a second time and prayed, "My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be done." And it says that when he came back, he again found them sleeping, because their eyes were weary. So he left them and went away one more time and prayed a third time, saying the very same thing.

Jesus asks the Father again and again: Take this from me.

But the cup wasn't taken away.

Verse 45: Then Jesus returned to the disciples and said to them, "Are you still sleeping and resting? Look, the hour has come. The Son of Man is being delivered into the hands of sinners. Rise, let's go. Here comes my betrayer."

And he began to drink the cup.

Jesus. The name above all names. God the Son. Jesus asked for another way, and he was betrayed. And he was arrested. And he suffered. And he was crucified.

It is a brutal, brutal chapter.

But thank the Lord, it is not the end of the story. Because on the third day, God raised Jesus from the dead.

He did have to drink the cup. He did have to suffer.

I don't have an explanation for why every tragedy happens. But I do know that God's response to suffering is resurrection.

Scripture never promises that a good God means a life without suffering. That is not the Bible we read. Yet for many of us, that is the faith we kind of assumed. What Scripture actually reveals is a God who enters suffering with us, and then defeats death.

TWO HANDLES

So what does faith look like when we're the ones hurting, or when our loved ones are the ones hurting?

I'd like to give you two things, if anything. I really wrestled with this, and it feels so shallow, so I don't know how to say it. But two takeaways. Two handles to hold on to when we're dealing with this. Because the reality is, suffering is awful.

HANDLE ONE: WE CAN BRING GOD OUR UNEDITED PAIN

The first handle might be one of the most difficult for us, especially for those who grew up in environments where faith means you've got it all together, where you can't admit you're not okay, you can't struggle to believe. Because if you do, and if that gets out, if people see that kind of weakness in you, you might be rejected, you might be shamed, or worse, you might be given the fear of judgment, not just judgment within the church, but even hell, if you doubt.

So for those of us who grew up in that kind of environment, this one might be hard. But what we learn from Jesus, what we learn from John, what we learn all throughout Scripture, is that we can bring God our unedited pain.

Unedited pain.

Jesus did. He named his sorrow. He admitted how overwhelmed he was. He asked his Father to take the cup away. And then he asked again. And then he asked again.

Jesus didn't approach his Father with polished religious language: Everything's going to be great. He didn't minimize the struggle with spiritual cliches: Everything happens for a reason. That doesn't make anybody feel better. It doesn't. And it's not even really true, unless the reason is that terrible things happen and terrible people do terrible things.

Jesus was honest with God about what he was feeling. That's why Hebrews 4 says this incredible thing: "This High Priest of ours understands our weaknesses."

Why? How? Because he faced all of the same testings we do, yet he didn't sin. He kept coming back to the Father, back to the Father, back to the Father, making the same request. Disappointed, but he did not sin.

Jesus knows our suffering. He has been there. And because he understands, we are all invited. The next verse says we are invited to "come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive his mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most."

We can approach the Father just like Jesus did. It doesn't promise the suffering is going to be taken away, but it promises that we will receive grace to help us when we need it most.

Come boldly. Not with polished faith. Not with fake faith. Not with platitudes: You got this, man. God's got this, man. I shouldn't even say stuff like that, because those things aren't meant to be mean, and sometimes they probably are helpful. But often they're not.

Coming boldly means we can come to God in our pain, in our frustration, in our anger. When life knocks the wind out of you and you don't even know what to pray, maybe, just maybe, the best prayer begins with a sentence like this:

God, if you are good, why? Why did this happen? Why do I feel like you're gone? Where are you? I am so disappointed. I am so angry. I feel like you have let me down.

Maybe that makes you a little uncomfortable, to pray that way. I'm just telling you right now: God can handle it. Boy, he really can. He already knows you feel this way.

That's one of the things that blows me away, that we think we have to say certain things to God, or act a certain way. But he already knows the truth. He already knows how we really feel.

It's okay to be honest. In fact, God wants us to be honest with him. You don't need to make it sound spiritual. You don't need to clean it up. Tell God what you actually think, and then ask him for what you want.

Ask for the healing. Ask him to restore what is broken. Ask for the miracle. Because this is something that I know: healing and reconciliation and restoration, these things reflect God's kingdom. That's why we sang all of those songs a little while ago.

I told Allie, my daughter, I laughed when we sang the song about him opening the prison door, I said, you know, my first illustration today is that God didn't open the prison door for John. But he does open prison doors. He does free people. He does heal brokenness. He does. That reflects his kingdom.

So when we are struggling, we can come boldly and ask him to make these things right. And whether he does it now or later, we'll talk about that in a minute, we can come boldly and ask, and receive the grace, and know that he is with us in it.

And when you do, tell somebody. I probably should have made this a separate handle. Tell somebody safe. Not everybody. Somebody safe.

As followers of Jesus, we, the church, are his body in this world. We are his tangible presence here. God works through us to give hugs, to give words of encouragement, to bring meals, to love one another. Sometimes we pray, and sometimes we have those times alone with the Lord. But sometimes you just need a real hug.

So when you're hurting, tell people. Tell somebody close to you, so that you can get the real hug that you need. Because that just might be God giving you a hug through that person.

Sometimes we just need people who are present with us, who aren't trying to fix everything, but are just sitting beside us, grieving with us, walking with us long enough for our perspective to begin to change.

THE MOUNTAIN

For the first few years after Jennifer died, I felt like I was standing at the base of a huge mountain of overwhelming pain. Like this, an insurmountable mountain. All I could see was the pain.

I thought it was more than I could bear. I thought I would never, ever be okay again. I thought I'd never get over that mountain of pain. I thought it was going to last forever.

It didn't. But how could I have known that back then? That's all I saw.

But as the years passed, it felt as if I was moving a little farther away, and I had a little bit of a different perspective. Same mountain, just backing up. I could see more of the landscape. I could see beauty that I didn't see before. I could see ways that God had been present in my life even when I couldn't recognize him at the time.

And now it's been 30 years, and it looks a little bit more like this. Same mountain. I've just moved back. I have a lot more perspective now. The mountain is still there, but it looks so different.

I would never wish my experience on anyone. I would never want to go through it again. But I am deeply, deeply grateful for what God has done in me, even through something I would never have chosen.

I do experience joy again, but it's different now. It's deeper. It's richer. My joy, at least, has been shaped by grief.

And that's part of the tension, isn't it? Suffering happens, and suffering is not good. But God is so good that suffering does not get to decide what comes next. God does. God can bring beauty even from the places we thought would only hold pain for the rest of our lives.

For me, Raelyn has been a huge part of that picture. Raelyn has been a huge part of what God has blessed me with, and I am incredibly grateful for her, for her patience and her perseverance to walk with me, especially in those early years when the mountain was this close and I was a wreck and I was a mess. I look back at those days and go, I cannot believe she stayed with me. But she did, and I am grateful for that.

But Raelyn didn't replace Jennifer, and the beauty doesn't erase the mountain. I still have scars. I still go to therapy. I'm still working through things.

But the pain is no longer all I see. It's just no longer all I see.

HANDLE TWO: STAY AWAKE WITH SOMEONE WHO SUFFERS

And that leads me to the second handle. I really want to encourage you, church: stay awake with someone who suffers.

Remember what Jesus asked his closest friends? Can you just stay awake? Can you stay near me? Can you be with me? And they couldn't.

My grief has definitely done one thing: it's allowed me to sit with people who are suffering in a different way than I used to. I don't think I would be the way I am if I hadn't gone through what I did. Because you know how I hate awkward silences. I hate them. I always fill silence with words.

But something has happened, because when I'm sitting with people who are suffering, I'm okay just being there and being quiet and sitting with them.

You don't have to explain anything. When people are suffering, you don't have to have the answers. When they ask the questions, they're not expecting answers. You don't need to defend God. All you need to do is be present.

Let them grieve. Let them question. Let them curse God if that's what they do. Just be quiet and be present.

I know it can be awkward, but really, the awkwardness is just for you. They have so much going on in their head, they're processing so much, that they're not thinking about the awkwardness. They'll talk when they're ready. I promise you that. Just be present.

And just keep coming back. Keep coming back again. Because I'm telling you: the loneliest part of suffering, especially when you've lost somebody, whether through death or divorce or whatever causes that separation, is the weeks later, when everybody else's life has gone back to normal and yours can't. That is the hardest part of suffering and grief.

So if you're staying awake with somebody who suffers, would you please put it in your phone? To grab coffee. To bring a meal. To make a call or send a text. Put it in there to remember the anniversary of the tragedy.

Let me tell you: two of my very best friends took me to Disney World on the first anniversary of Jennifer's death. They couldn't remove the pain, but boy, could they be with me in it. That trip was a gift. It was a gift. And I am so grateful they had the wherewithal. I mean, they were 21 or 22 by that point. We were young and didn't know anything. But they figured it out, and they did the best thing in the world for me.

We can't always remove the cup of suffering, but we can refuse to let people drink that cup alone.

Amen? That's what it means to be the church.

CLOSING

I want to invite the worship team to come up. Prayer team, I would really invite you all to come up and be available. If people want to pray, whether during the song or after, I want to invite you: if you need prayer, and you want Jesus's physical voice and hands and feet, this prayer team is amazing. They are some of the most prayerful people I've ever met, and they would love to pray with you.

But maybe you just need to spend a moment alone with God. Whether you come and kneel here, or you kneel or sit at your seat, I just want you to be able to have a moment with God.

I can't explain why one prayer gets answered and one doesn't. I can't explain why one person gets a miracle and another doesn't. The only thing I know is that Jesus is risen. And because that is true, we all have hope. We have hope that pain and suffering and death will never have the final say.

God doesn't promise that every prison door in this life will be opened. John's wasn't. God doesn't promise that every person we love will be healed in this life. Jennifer wasn't.

But God does promise that suffering and pain and death are not the end of the story, and the resurrection of Jesus is proof of that.

That is our hope. That is my hope.

God doesn't abandon us in the waiting and in the suffering. He walks with us. He walks with us, because our story is part of his story. And this is a story that is going somewhere. We are not simply surviving. We are heading toward restoration, toward resurrection, toward a world that will be made new.

Because the suffering will not last forever.

The story in the Bible ends with a promise, and this is how I want to end our message. These are the last words in the New Testament:

"Look, God's home is now among his people. He will live with them, and they will be his people. God himself will be right there with them. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death, no more sorrow, no more crying or pain. All these things are gone forever. And the one sitting on the throne said, 'Look, I am making all things new.'"

That is not today. But that is where the story is going. There is still suffering and pain today, but it will never have the final say. We are going to a place, a time, a day, where Jesus will make all things new.

Let's pray together.

Lord, I thank you for the many, many people who ask this question. And I pray, Jesus, not that we all have satisfying answers to the question, but what I pray, God, is that we experience your presence in the midst of the suffering.

Sometimes our lives are like the lepers you healed and the people you raised from the dead. But sometimes our lives are more like John the Baptist. We're still in prison, and we don't know why.

And so I pray honestly and just ask: would you help us to trust you in the pain and the suffering, the way you trusted your Father when you said, "Not my will, but yours be done"? Because you knew in that moment that this story was going somewhere, and that somewhere was beautiful and good.

And so, Lord, may we trust you for the same. We need faith. We need faith. But Lord, we have hope, because you have risen from the dead. So I pray for the very people in this room who are struggling to trust you: would you give us faith? In your name we pray. Amen.

ANNOUNCEMENTS

I don't know everybody's story. I know a lot of stories in our family, but I don't know everybody's. If you would love to share your story, I would love to hear it. And if you have a question, maybe from the past couple of weeks, and you're thinking, I would really love to chat about that, whether by email, by text, or over coffee, which is always good.

I just want to encourage you: email me. Let's set up a time. If you want to call, if you want to meet, or if you just want to email, that's my email address. It's not hard, you can remember it. I would really love that. I would really love to walk with you. That's one of the joys that I have.

And as part of staying awake with others, I want to remind you of something we started last week. At the end of every service, rather than just running out to get your kids or running out to get lunch and beat all the Methodists and the Catholics to the restaurants, I want to ask for two minutes. Two minutes to connect with those who are around you. Just to say hi, just to reconnect. Maybe ask a question: What's your favorite restaurant? Where are you going? What are you doing? Whatever it is, I'd really encourage you to spend two minutes connecting with those around you, being Jesus's hands and feet and voice to each other. Maybe a hug, if it's appropriate. It would be a beautiful thing.

BENEDICTION

I wanted to end with this benediction today. I really thought about this one.

Go with the hope that Jesus is risen and that God is making all things new, and therefore suffering, pain, and death don't have the final word anymore.

So if you are hurting, may you bring God your unedited pain, and may you find comfort in not carrying that pain alone.

And if those around you are suffering, may you be the presence of Jesus in their lives.

In his name we pray. Amen.

Have a blessed week.