Sorrow in Suffering

<--Michelle Goss (1982-2002), at dinner before our prom night.


Rachelle Goedhart (1983-2005), Calvin student photo.

















My oldest cousin, Laura, is grieving right now because her best friend from college was shot to death last week. Two men followed this girl home and shot her execution-style in order to take her laptop and car (to see more on this, go to Laura's sister's site link, which is linked to this page under "WTS Cousin's Blog"). This provides another one of those unending "What the hell?" moments that humanity must constantly suffer through.

It is that vein that I opted to write about suffering and include the photos above. The first is of Chelle--my first prom date and kiss. She was a wonderfully brilliant girl who remained one of my good friends until she died at age 20 of ovarian cancer. The second picture is of my friend, Rachelle--a friend who struggled with depression and self-image until alcohol and sleeping pills killed her at age 22. Both of these gals had incredibly bright futures, and I cannot help but think that all of life will be a bit dimmed by their absence.

There are many horrible responses to those who are suffering. When I grieved over Chelle, some tried to tell me how they knew exactly what I was going through, as if no death is unique in itself. Others scolded me for picking up smoking, because it could kill me. How ironic! The more generous in heart would quote verses like Romans 8:28, as if knowing that God had a purpose for me would negate the fact that my friend no longer had a purpose in this world.

It is amazing how people try to beautify suffering and death. Whenever tragedy strikes, we start pointing fingers, because, heck, if there was an obvious failure on some person's part, then human virtue and ingenuity will prevent such failures in the future. The California wildfires were handled magnificently by communities and public officials alike, but you wouldn't know so from the public finger-pointing.

So what do we do when terrorists level towering buildings and thousands of lives? When cancer or pills take the young? When fires wipes out every hard-earned possession and link to the past?

For one, we avoid easy answers. Humanity cannot eliminate evil with utopian dreams and to minimize the effects of suffering and sin is inhumane. The word of Solomon translated "meaningless" in Ecclesiastes could likely be fairly translated as "f'd up" in the modern vernacular. It connotes frustration and helplessness in the face of a screwed up world. So much that happens makes so little sense to us.

Second, we have some guiding principles that don't explain, but guide us through suffering:

1) The brokenness of the world is humanity's baby. This world is f'd up because humanity f'd it up soon after the beginning of human history. The human nature that we anchor our hopes to for some sort of utopian ideal is the the same human nature that obliterated the beauty of God's Creation in every sense and would ruin this world entirely if not for God's common grace. Our perceived answer is in reality our greatest problem.

2) The God whose ways are not our ways doesn't give our simple minds an easy answer to the problem of suffering, but He does give us an authoritative response: the cross. God's love manifested itself in grace (demerited favor) for sinners and mercy for the suffering. Thus, He sent His Son, fully God and fully man, to live perfectly within our screwed up world, finally paying the price of our rebellion on a Roman cross. For the Christian, this means hope.

So as I and others ponder the unbearable sorrow and endless flow of tears that this world produces, I turn to God. I may occasionally cry out "Where are You in all of this?", but I know the answer even as I ask the question. He was here in the person of the Son, taking sin and suffering upon Himself so that His children by faith would know a day when there would be no more tears.