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NOT THIS TIME
Jon Bergmann • Oct 07, 2021
“A pious neighbor comforted me by reminding me that "God was in control." I wanted to say to her, "Not this time."”
These are the words of Lewis Smedes who, before his death in 2002, was a prominent Christian ethicist in the US. His words are written in response to the death of his son, only a day after he was born.
“The next day, just before noon, our paediatrician called: I had better come right down to the hospital. When I met him he told me that our miracle child was dead. Two mornings later, with a couple of friends at my side and our minister reading the ceremony, we buried him "in the sure and certain hope of the resurrection." Doris never got to see her child. A pious neighbour comforted me by reminding me that "God was in control." I wanted to say to her, "Not this time." It seems to me that the privilege of being the delicate organisms we are in the kind of world we live in comes at a price. The price is that things can go wrong, badly wrong sometimes, which should come as no surprise.”
The question of suffering and God is most prominent in moments of great pain.
This has been the general theme of our articles over the last few weeks. One thing that often stands out, however, is that people choose to reconcile that pain differently. Lewis and Doris Smedes, whilst committing to never claim that God had orchestrated the death of the child they longed for so deeply, also never questioned God’s goodness as a result of it. Lewis speaks of the experience, as well as other tragedies such as 9/11, as being simply the tragic consequences of existence. Whilst recognising that God is not responsible for these horrors, he concludes that the most appropriate human response is prayer, not explanation.
This is vastly different to the approach taken by former US Surgeon General C. Everett Koop, whose son also died, that time in a tragic mountaineering accident. He delivered a speech to a group of college students in the 90’s titled, “God Killed My Son” in which he spoke of God’s ‘meticulous providence’, claiming that God had divinely orchestrated his son’s death to be “immediate” and “painless.” According to Koop the only reason he could continue on with his faith was that he believed God to have planned for and orchestrated his son’s death. No other explanation would satisfy: God was in control of everything, and everything God does is for God’s good purposes.
Two men, both passionate and public Christians, and both reconciling with suffering in such different (and contradictory) ways.
Each approach raises questions, doesn’t it?
If you follow Smedes' thinking: that God is not orchestrating these events but is rather present with us in the midst of them, it raises questions of God’s authority and power. Does God have the power to intervene? If not then what kind of a God is that? If so then why didn’t God do something?
If you follow Koop and believe that God is organising all of these events for God’s good purpose then the questions relate to how such suffering could ever be good? And how could a God that is good be responsible for so much horror?
Roger Olsen compares the approaches of both men. He was present when Koop delivered his famous speech and remembers finding it difficult to stomach. He then tells a story of being in a hospital and hearing a young girl scream in agony at the pain she was experiencing. He says:
“I can’t say for sure that Koop’s son’s death wasn’t foreordained by God. Perhaps it was. Without a special revelation, I doubt we can know for sure. But I am confident that God did not foreordain and render certain that tiny girl’s pains.”
It is difficult to claim that God is responsible for the “immediate” and “painless” death of one person without also claiming God is responsible for the prolonged and agonising death of others. It’s difficult to claim that God is responsible for the #blessings we receive in life without also admitting that God must therefore have a hand in the misfortunes of others, unless of course you develop the belief (as many people do) that there is something about the way you live, or pray, or worship, that makes your life more worthy of blessing.
For an increasing number of people, this is simply a belief that can no longer be sustained. As we referenced in a previous post, it runs the risk of turning God into a moral monster.
It should be fairly clear from our articles that we have been leaning towards Smedes' approach, albeit acknowledging that appealing to God’s sovereignty comes in many different forms.
Greg Boyle, a priest who works among urban gangs in LA, talks about God being at the center
of our lives rather than in charge
of our lives - a confronting sentiment to some. What he means is that rather than seeing God as the puppeteer, pulling away at the proverbial strings of life’s fortunes and misfortunes, the role of the Christian faith is to centralise the person to Jesus, and to then live in response to it. This doesn’t exclude us from any manner of suffering or pain, but it does mean that in the midst of it we don’t lose hope.
The words of Smedes ring uncomfortably true:
“For me, there was no mystery about where God was and what God was up to on the morning of September 11, 2001. God was right there doing what God always does in the presence of evil that is willed by humans -- fighting it, resisting it, battling it, trying God’s best to keep it from happening. This time evil won. God, we hope, will one day emerge triumphant over evil -- though, on the way to that glad day, God sometimes takes a beating.”
Sometimes, we categorise people out of Gods kingdom because they don’t meet the brief, they don’t fit our preconceived ideas and expectations. So, this Christmas, when I put my nativity in pride of place to celebrate “the King has Come”, I am reminded that a King didn’t come, at least not in the eyes of all those waiting on one. The nativity was the ultimate Kris Kringle (maybe the first!), where we quite simply don’t know what to expect and should always be prepared for a surprise, but it will be a gift.
For something new to grow,
something else must fade.
Death isn’t just the end of life it’s also the beginning.
St John of the Cross wrote: “If a man wishes to be sure of the road he treads on, he must close his eyes and walk in the dark.” When we can’t see, and can’t make any sense of things, keeping on can be the deepest form of trust. It can serve a profound purpose, for the dark night of the soul is sometimes the space between who we have been and who we will become.
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