The Problem of Pain

I was going to start this blogpost with an explanation of why I started doing a nightly devotional in the first place, but not only was it kind of tangent-y, it was also deeply personal and, to be honest, I just don't think I want you to know about some of the stuff that goes on in my pain. You understand, I hope.

Besides, the point isn't why I started doing I nightly devotional, the point is that: for the past two and a half years, I have done some bible studying before going to bed. The first two books that I worked through where entirely biblically based surrounding the idea of "what does this segment mean?" and "how do we apply this old story about this old dude and his farming to our day to day suburban modern lives?" The next was written in the arrogant style of old white middle class men who have degrees from semi-prestigious universities. (The third one that I read said something about 1 Corinthians telling us what women's proper place in the church is in the introduction. I can't believe I read past that. Honestly. I can't believe I didn't just put it down and say, "Sorry, God, I'll find something new tomorrow.)

My current devotional is Hope by Nancy Guthrie. Compared to the others, Hope is much more personal. Guthrie applies biblical passages to personal experiences, many of which surround the loss of two of her infant children to Zellweger Syndrome.

So, there's this common argument against God that if He is really all seeing, all knowing, and all loving He wouldn't let bad things happen. And every time bad things do happen people tend to wonder, "Why would God let this happen?" I have heard the presence of suffering as many people's reasoning for not believing in God. And, along with that, I have heard a lot of Christian justifications for suffering. (Also, I own C.S. Lewis's The Problem of Pain, but I haven't gotten around to reading it. In the past four years that I've owned it. Yikes.)

Gutherie's semi-memoiric devotional is one in a long line of Christian writings that assign reason to pain, grief, and suffering. Gutherie's losses brought her closer to God. In the Soul Surfer franchise, Bethany Hamilton's loss of her arm in a shark attack ultimately helped her find strength, ability, and purpose through God. In Wake Up, Generation, Paige Omartian outlines how dealing with cancer in her childhood led her to a closer relationship with God, gave her purpose and strength. All three, and many other Christian writers, use their experiences to bring the Word of God to others.

But the other day as I was reading about Gutherie's pain and her growing closeness with God I couldn't help what perspective she might have taken had she not been so fortunate in other aspects of her life. By no means do I want to discredit any of these individuals' experiences or the wisdom they received because of it. As a culture, we attribute spiritual ethos to individuals who have experienced great losses and those who have come close to death and I believe that's deserved. The lens through which you see the world would be dramatically and divinely altered by such an experience. And by no means am I challenging the truths and lessons included in such devotionals.

But all of these authors were white, heterosexual, cis, middle class women. They were blessed with supportive families, external opportunities, and at the time their tragedies struck they were already living Christian lives.

If I were to throw in my "witnessing" story it would be the same. I went through a great deal of emotional pain throughout high school with depression, anxiety, loneliness, and insomnia. And I felt God with me. And all that pain did strengthen my faith in God. But, I too am a middle class white woman with a supportive family. And I had years of Sunday School lessons telling me which direction to turn my pain towards.

Certainly none of that diminishes their experiences. But in this lies my question.

What would the story look like if the mother whose child was suffering from an incurable disease had to spend most of her child's life working two minimum wage jobs, stacking up debts from hospital bills, and still barely able to keep food on the table? What would the story look like if the eleven year old girl battling cancer was born to impoverished parents and faced racial discrimination on the playground. And what if the story was about a young girl who was suffering from an eating disorder and feelings of isolation prior to losing a limb? What would those women have to say about God?

And that's ultimately the problem of pain, isn't it? We may be able to assign meaning to individual cases. Particularly when they're our experiences of pain. But I have trouble looking at areas of poverty with high rates of crime and violence. Thinking of people dealing with self-hate, being persecuted and assaulted. And then thinking, "God has a plan for all this pain."

It's certainly easier to see God in new life, rekindled friendships, beautiful scenery, moments of forgiveness, and the relief at the end of the week.

...This lacked resolution. But that's life, right?