By Emma Gregory
As a consequence of the fallen world in which we live, we each inevitably encounter suffering throughout our time on earth. Numerous philosophical responses (the free will defense, soul-making defense, etc.) seek to make sense of a question most of us wrestle with at one time or another: why would an omnibenevolent, omniscient, and omnipotent God allow suffering?
Such philosophical responses to the problem of evil are valuable for preparing us in advance to walk through suffering with confidence in the character of God and to respond to objections unbelievers raise about the apparent incompatibility of a good God who permits the suffering of creatures—including innocent children and animals—whom he supposedly loves.
However, these arguments appeal primarily to our reason. When we walk through the death of a loved one, chronic illness, the betrayal of a friend, depression, or a host of other afflictions, such arguments may fail to assuage the searing, suffocating pain in our heart.
How might we instead address the existential problem of evil in the midst of present suffering?
Our Suffering Savior
Let us first look toward the life of our Savior Jesus Christ, who suffered in our place, in search of where we may find respite from heartache.
While Jesus retained his omnibenevolence, omniscience, and omnipotence when he walked the earth as God Incarnate, he willingly took on human form, experiencing the fullness of human nature (aside from our sin nature), so that he might redeem us (Phil. 2:5–11). Don’t miss it: Jesus’s divinity did not prevent him from enduring the trials common to ordinary human experience. Jesus had to navigate complex relationships with friends. He felt the sting of betrayal when those he trusted most left him. And, he even experienced the apparent absence of the Father’s presence in his darkest hour on the cross.
Hebrews 2:17–18 says: “Therefore he had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people. For because he himself has suffered when tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted.”
Christ’s suffering enables him to walk with us through suffering, not as a distant, divine dictator unbothered by his children’s pain, but as the God who himself serves as our high priest, having experiential knowledge of the crippling pain we endure.
Raising Lazarus: Martha Confronts Jesus
In John 11, Jesus’s friends Mary and Martha, whom the text tells us Jesus loved, send a message to Jesus informing him that their brother is ill.1 Jesus delays his departure to meet the sisters at Bethany for two days, and in this intervening time, Lazarus dies and is buried in a tomb.
When Jesus finally approaches Bethany, the sisters each respond to his tardy appearance differently, but both exhibit grief over Lazarus’s death and Jesus’s absence in their time of need. Martha, routinely the more direct, even confrontational sister, meets Jesus on the way and says out loud the thought over which both sisters must have been agonizing for the past couple days: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died” (John 11:21).
Why did Jesus not come immediately when they informed him of Lazarus’s illness? He is the Christ, the Son of God; healing their brother would be an easy task for him, whether from near or afar.
Did Jesus not care about them as much as they thought?
Raising Lazarus: Mary Encounters Jesus
When Mary hears that Jesus is on his way, she stays put. Mary does not move toward Jesus until she hears that he is calling for her, at which time she hastens to him, still consumed with grief.
When she reaches Jesus, she utters the same words as Martha previously: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died” (John 11:32). However, rather than engaging in a rational conversation with Jesus as Martha does in her encounter with the Lord (John 11:21–27), Mary simply collapses at his feet, weeping. Mary’s deep anguish troubles Jesus deeply. Rather than attempting to reason with Mary in her distress, Jesus merely weeps alongside her, joining her in her grief.
Now, Jesus knows that he will soon raise Lazarus from the dead; he has said as much to his disciples before they set off to meet the sisters (John 11:11–15). Nevertheless, Jesus weeps with Mary. He does not chastise Martha and Mary for their lack of faith, but he is simply present with them for a moment, sharing in their suffering.
From their perspective in this moment, Jesus has let them down. They cannot see the bigger picture yet. The Son of God could have prevented their suffering, but he chose not to. As most of us have asked at one time or another, Martha and Mary must have been asking, “Why?”
Nevertheless, Jesus does not offer the sisters an explanation immediately; rather, he is grieved by their grief and sits with them in pain.
Jesus Is Present in Our Suffering
Like Martha and Mary, Jesus does not chastise us in our suffering. He is present and endures our grief with us. Even when we cannot see the bigger picture, when we cannot imagine any outcome that would justify the crushing weight that feels like it will smother us, Jesus has not left. He can redeem even the most hopeless situations in ways that exceed our expectations.
But even if we never witness the redemption of a particular instance of suffering on this side of eternity, even if we never get to see the bigger picture, Jesus is our high priest, suffering alongside us.
“Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (Heb. 4:14–16).