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why, why, why?
If I asked if you have had a personal encounter with suffering and pain, you would most likely say that you have.
If I asked if you have experienced the emotional pain of losing a loved one through a tragedy or through natural passing away—or perhaps a personal loss like divorce, career derailment, or any form of social suffering—you would likely say that you have.
If I asked if you have suffered a personal form of pain like an illness that has no obvious purpose, you may also say that you have.
In these moments of suffering, a very natural, human response is to ask WHY.
Why this pain?
Why this suffering?
Why me?
We know there is good form of pain in our lives: the pain of not eating the donut we crave for the sake of losing weight and gaining health; the pain of going to the gym and enduring cardio exhaustion, lifting weights and being sore for two weeks after that, in the hope of achieving better health.
But what is the response to pain to which we see no purpose, a suffering which we just cannot understand? Maybe in those dark moments of your life you have even questioned God. It’s natural for many people, when they experience deep pain, to question God’s goodness, his love, even his existence.
If God is all-good, all-powerful, all-knowing, why doesn’t He do anything right here and now for my loved one, for me, in this pointless suffering?
In today’s Gospel (Mark 1:29-39), Jesus is asked to cure Peter’s mother-in-law [After all, what good Christian man wouldn’t ask Jesus to cure his mother-in-law!?]. And he does so, without saying a word: He touches her on the arm and raises her up—all in silence. After this miracle, people hear that Jesus is in town and they start flocking to him, bringing him countless numbers of ill and possessed people, and Jesus cures them. The next morning, while Jesus is praying, the apostles alert him that the whole town is looking for him. Probably because they heard of all the miracles he performed the previous day and they themselves seek to be healed or released from the demons that oppress them. It’s interesting to see Jesus’ response: Rather than going down and healing all them, he says:
“Let us go on to the nearby villages
that I may preach there also.
For this purpose have I come” (Mark 1:38).
Jesus is giving his followers an insight to a greater ministry for which he came, one greater than just healing and exorcising demons: He gives a response to human suffering which goes beyond an immediate “miracle-fix.” But let’s set the notion of Jesus’ ministry aside for now.
the Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away…
The story of Job, part of the poetic books of the Old Testament approaches the mystery of suffering in a fascinating way. The book, from today’s readings, tells of a godly man, Job, a good father, a good husband, and good worker. God has blessed him with cattle and land, a large family, a big house. The story begins with God expressing to Satan how proud he is of his son, Job. Satan contends that the only reason Job continues to exalt and bless God is because God has blessed him so much—Anyone would bless the giver of this land, this cattle, and this family!
Satan bargains with God: If you let me tempt Job, if you remove this barrier of protection you have, you’ll see how quickly he curses you. Yahweh agrees to remove His protection on Job and to allows Satan to tempt him by doing away with his possessions, but with the condition of not harming Job or his family. Satan kills his cattle, takes away his land and his house. He even breaks his promise and kills his family members one by one. You may be familiar with one of Job’s phrases: “The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away, blessed be the name of the Lord” (Job 1:21).
Job has been faithful so far, but Satan comes back for round two and he is determined to make Job curse God. Job has already lost everything. So much suffering begins to take a toll on Job’s life, both physically and mentally, we get a glimpse of his struggle, “Is not man’s life on earth a drudgery?” (Job 7:1). He cannot sleep and when he does, he doesn’t want to get out of bed. “My eye will not see happiness again” (7:7)—a man who has lost all hope, is profoundly sad and is, in today’s words, clinically depressed.
Then, three of his friends show up and try to explain Job’s suffering.
Maybe you actually did sin and just don’t know it?
Maybe you’re not as good as you think?
Maybe you really do deserve this, in a way?
Maybe you really did offend God?
Job insists that his conscience is clear on all counts. There’s a point when Job, wrestling with these questions, turns to God himself and, in the ancient formula of a lawsuit, he accuses God of being unjust and challenges him publicly, calling him to trial.
And something terrifying happens.
He shows up. God responds.
“Then the LORD answered Job out of the storm and said:
Who is this who darkens counsel
with words of ignorance?
Gird up your loins now, like a man;
I will question you, and you tell me the answers!
Where were you when I founded the earth?
Tell me, if you have understanding.
Who determined its size? Surely you know?
Who stretched out the measuring line for it?” (Job 38:1-5).
God, in his answer, gives a beautiful hymn of his creation:
Can you raise your voice to the clouds,
for them to cover you with a deluge of waters?
Can you send forth the lightnings on their way,
so that they say to you, “Here we are”?
Who gives wisdom to the ibis,
and gives the rooster understanding?
Do you know when mountain goats are born,
or watch for the birth pangs of deer,
Who has given the wild donkey his freedom,
and who has loosed the wild ass from bonds?
I have made the wilderness his home
and the salt flats his dwelling.
He ranges the mountains for pasture,
and seeks out every patch of green.
Will the wild ox consent to serve you,
or pass the nights at your manger? (Job 39:1, 5-9)
This is the longest uninterrupted monologue by God in the whole Bible—two chapters long! But, if you notice, God never actually responds to Job’s question of why he is suffering, at least not directly.
God never even tells Job the backstory of Satan’s testing. So…the questions remain:
Why did Yahweh allow Job to suffer?
Why doesn’t Jesus go out and cure all these people but rather moves to another town to preach?
If He is a loving compassionate God, why doesn’t He turn his ministry solely into healing and curing people, freeing them of their burdens and oppressions?
How does a theologian approach these questions?
A contemporary theologian reflects on this idea of how God responds to Job’s suffering, by comparing it with the suffering of an ill child:
Consider a child with aggressive leukemia who is suffering the pain of a bone marrow transplant and who wants to know why his mother does not help and stop the suffering that she could so clearly do by taking him out of the hospital. His mother could respond to him by explaining the benefits of the transplant by giving him a medical account of the benefits of the reconstruction of healthy bone marrow. She could tell her son that he has a cancer that affects the blood, and that major blood products are produced by the stem cells in the bone marrow: “We are removing some of your stem cells, cloning the healthy ones, and reinfusing them back into your blood. Then we inject you with a series of cytotoxic drugs that destroy the diseased stem cells in your bone marrow, but they also harm the cells in your mucous membranes that line your mouth, esophagus, and gut, and that’s why you have the sores in your mouth, why you’re throwing up…” This could be a good response, but then again, it might not be.
-Eleonore Stump.
What would that child even do with that information?
“A child undergoing a painful medical procedure may be at least as hurt by what he takes to be his mother’s abandonment of him and apparent indifference to his pain and need as by anything happening to his bones and mucous membranes.”
Wouldn’t that child feel like his mom, the very person who loves him most, abandoned him? Even more, that she is just watching him suffer, without intervening in any way? She is consenting to this evil in his life. She abandoned him. She betrayed him.
In that case, the best response—perhaps the only response that makes love ‘available’ to him—is for the mother to give her son a ‘second-person experience’ of her as loving him. This may be the best means in the circumstances to show him that she would only let him suffer to bring about some outweighing good for him that she could not obtain in any easier way.
And that is exactly what Job gets: a ‘second person’ explanation. In his monologue, God is telling Job: look at the waters, look at the clouds, look at the foundations of the earth, look at the celestial bodies in all their perfection, look at the horses in its beauty and strength.
If I see them, how can I not see you?
If I am present to the waters falling from the sky, if I am present to the marvels of my creation, how, Job, can I not be present to you in your suffering?
God’s revelation is a revelation of presence:
I see you
I am present to you
in this dark hour of suffering and questioning
I am with you
In our suffering, like that of the child, he is present to us. Sometimes, like Jesus healing Peter’s mother-in-law, without saying a word, He holds our hand in silence.
The outcome of Job’s suffering
What happens after Job’s challenging dialogue with God? After this encounter, [and I suggest you finish reading the book of Job!], Job’s heart is converted, something has made it grow stronger. “By hearsay I have heard you, but now my eyes have seen you” (Job 42:5). Job has “seen” God—his loving presence—with his own eyes. Later, we see that Job ends up being more blessed, with even more land and more cattle, a bigger house, a greater family. But especially, a more intimate experience of God, of his love present even in his darkest moments, hidden, in silence.
Job’s heart has grown stronger. His suffering has increased his capacity to hope, to believe, and to love a greater good that he could not humanly comprehend.
As with Job, God also sees you and he is tenderly present to you in your suffering. And if you strive to stay faithful, like Job, you will also see him with a stronger heart and a deeper hope. Purposeless suffering would not have the last word.
May Mary, at the foot of the Cross (who was perhaps asking herself these same questions: Why Him? Why now? Why this way?), show us how to find the loving presence of our Father, especially in dark times of suffering.
May she show us patience in suffering, that we may encounter God’s presence, even in his silent love.
This post is also available in: Spanish
