This world is a broken, and grieving place, a place where the Enemy of our souls has the power to inflict pain. There is a spiritual war at play, a war that precedes all of us, a war into which we were born. We cannot change that reality; but we can live well within it. God is not the enemy in this grief-stricken world. He is not the One inflicting pain. To the contrary, He did not consider it beneath Him to take on human flesh and experience the loss, fragility, betrayal, abuse and death we do. Show me a god who has given as much as this.
Many are the afflictions of the righteous, yes. But many also were the afflictions of the Righteous One. To our detriment, we focus on the afflictions rather than the promises:
My eyes are on you.
My ears are open to you.
I hear you.
I will rescue you.
I am near to you.
I will save you.
I will rescue you from all of this.
The test of faith is learning to trust a rescue that doesn't look the way we think it should. I suppose Jesus would have benefited from the rescue of Simon the Zealot, the defense of Peter's impulsive sword, or even the financial smarts of Judas. But he denied them all and walked a road of affliction “for the joy set before him.” (Heb. 12:2) What was the joy? It certainly was not the throne by itself, because He had that before the Incarnation. The joy on the other side of affliction was uninhibited relationship with us. He bore our sins in His body so we could be called children of God.
You ask me how I can have faith in God's goodness, and feel His affection, in a season of loss and unknowns. The joy and love I have for God is not a farce or a fake. I am not putting on a show of faith for the public. I would not use my grief, and the deaths of my unborn children, in such an irreverent way. What you see of my faith is real, and it is real because my faith is not in changed circumstances but in the unchanging goodness of the God who was afflicted for me. Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord has rescued me from them all.
We ask where God is.
God is the righteousness of anger
And the sorrow in our suffering,
God is in the widow’s tears and child’s cry;
the Hail Mary whisper at the end of ourselves.
God is a gavel,
God is the grief
when it consumes and crushes
the very heart of us, He is the
essence of such grieving.
We forget in the suffering how God -
He suffers too.
He suffered once, but not only once.
To bear a Cross for the world is to die a thousand-thousand times,
to feel the pain of every loss, rise with rage at evil
and take up arms against it. And this He did:
fought evil to His death knowing well
how many would die after Him; what suffering was yet to come.
Did the sky darken for what occurred
or what was coming?
Did it break God’s heart to see the sin He bore,
sins that put a world to pain?
“Why don’t you do something?”
But He did. And He still does.
He suffers with us,
sorrows with us,
loses with us,
longs with us,
hurts with us,
weeps with us,
and died with us.
Each death, cry, wound, longing, loss
wrapped in a grief deep as an ocean canyon,
long as the journey to a star.
We look at death and ask, “Where are you?!”
And He cries from the Cross, “I am here,
taking its sting.”
Theodicy, PDM