The Theology of Suffering & The Resurrection

             As Gary R. Habermas relayed the story of his wife’s death due to stomach cancer in his book, The Risen Jesus & Future Hope, tears stung my eyes and a knot formed in my stomach. His wife was 43 when she succumbed to cancer, the same age my husband was when he died from blunt force trauma. Habermas was very transparent as he shared his fears and doubts.[1] Through studying Job he discovered that Job’s real problem was his inability to understand the circumstances he was questioning.[2] This seems to be a common theme when considering the theology of suffering.

            The problem of evil has been a philosophical argument against the existence of God since Epicurus first formulated and classically stated the problem. Why would an omnibenevolent God allow suffering and pain in the world? What do believers do with the theology of suffering? The crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ answers these questions and more.

            On Mother’s Day 2015, my children and I watched as their devoted father and my loving husband lost his footing and slid belly first down a granite slope until he disappeared over the ledge. He continued to tumble like a rag doll for over 100 feet until his head crashed into a tree stump and stopped his descent. When we reached him he was still alive, but it was only his brain stem that was still functioning as he moaned and thrashed around like a wounded animal. His skull was cracked and his scalp hung from the back of his head. We held him on a steep slope for over an hour waiting for the EMT’s to arrive, constantly in fear of our own lives, knowing there was 60 more feet to fall. When the EMT’s arrived they hurried everyone out of the area knowing it was too dangerous. They worked on him for hours, but as he was strapped to a board being lifted by a helicopter to the life flight crew, he died. Life would never be normal again.

            As we all struggled through post-traumatic stress disorder and the loss of our leader, the one question I asked God continually was, “Why? Why did he have to die in such a traumatic way? He could have died from a heart attack or a car accident—anything that did not involve my children being traumatized in the process.” God kept taking me to the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus anguished over what lay ahead. Then God took me to the flogging and the humiliation Jesus suffered in the hands of His tormenters. God reminded me, just as He reminded Habermas, that He had watched His son die a humiliating, brutal death and Jesus was only 33.[3] “I understand your pain,” God whispered to me in my despair and brokenness. I realized that God was the only one who could understand my pain perfectly.

            Why does God allow suffering? Vince Vitale suggests that it is because He desires to create a specific community of individuals, and suffering allows Him to obtain precisely that community.[4] In Ephesian 1.4-5, Paul tells us that God chose us before the foundation of the world to be holy and blameless and adopted us as His children. If we consider that God’s own Son learned obedience through suffering, how can we truly believe it should be different for us?[5] Philippians 2.8 states that Jesus humbled Himself and was obedient unto death. How can we hope to escape the circumstances of living in a fallen world? Through suffering we are transformed into new beings, and as we seek consolation in God’s mercy and grace, we are comforted.

My hope through all of this has been in the resurrection. Because Jesus bodily rose from the dead, I will see my husband again. I know where he is. Through Jesus’ suffering, death, and resurrection there is hope for all mankind. Although there are several reasons mankind suffers in the world, Jesus’ death and resurrection is the answer to them all. Something I wrote to be read at my husband’s celebration of life sums up how the crucifixion and resurrection are tied to the theology of suffering:

“Tragedy did strike our happy home. The bliss I have known, the love and the beauty of a fulfilled marriage, have been ripped from my hands by an incident too terrible for words. However even though I am completely broken, I am still blessed. God gave me the most exquisite gift, one forged through the flames and polished to a golden glow. I will never stop praising the name of the One who allowed me to know what it was to be Woody’s wife. Broken and blessed by the One who blessed me ultimately through His brokenness.”

            We will suffer in this lifetime. However, because of the resurrection our mourning will be turned to joy. I no longer view the trials we continue to face because of that fateful day in the same way I did before trauma marked our lives. I know I will never suffer to the point Jesus did, and I know I am never alone in my pain. Slowly, I am being transformed, as the dross is removed. God will continue to polish me until He is able to see His reflection in my life, and like it or not that requires suffering.

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[1] See chapter eight in Gary R. Habermas, The Risen Jesus & Future Hope (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2003).

[2] Ibid. 190.

[3] Ibid. 194.

[4] Ravi Zacharias and Vince Vitale, Why Suffering? Finding Meaning and Comfort When Life Doesn’t Make Sense (New York: Faith Words, 2014), 71.

[5] See Hebrews 5.8.

Never Again

I’m not sure why it hit me so hard this morning, but out of nowhere a wave of grief came crashing down on me pulling me out to sea as I flailed, trying to catch my breath. For a moment I was buried beneath the weight of the water as it flooded my soul and squeezed any sense of contentment from my heart. It was a thought—one innocuous thought—that sent me reeling. We have a summer league swim meet tonight, which Haden will be participating in. A friend of mine mentioned that her husband will be out of town for it. When she told me, I was completely unaffected by her statement, but for some reason it hit me this morning that Woody is not out of town. That is not the reason he will miss this meet and every swim meet Haden will ever swim in. He is gone. He will never see his son swim again. He will not watch his oldest son get married in nine days. He will not see his only daughter mature into the beautiful, strong woman she is. He will never be here again.

Perhaps, somewhere deep inside, I had fooled myself into believing that Woody has been on an extended business trip. The last eight months of his life he commuted to work in North Carolina, which meant we only saw him two to three times a month. I think I had convinced a part of myself that just as he returned from all of those business trips, he would someday return. I think I somewhat expected him to walk through our front door and apologize for being gone so long and for causing so much grief. I knew he would never miss out on his kids’ big events. He was the most involved father I have ever known. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, “he’ll be back,” has been playing on repeat. But not anymore. Woody is gone. We are on our own.

Therefore, I will crawl into my Heavenly Father’s comforting arms and wait for Him to soothe away the pain. I ache for what Woody is missing. I ache for what the children are experiencing without him. I ache for the life we had planned that will never be. Yet, I know God is here, and He will not miss a single breath. And that is the hope I cling to when grief washes over me and takes my breath away. God is near. We are not really on our own.

Getting Into the Trenches

Christians have become complacent, comfortable. We like everything to run efficiently and with ease. We have no time for those things which interfere with our daily routines. Problems are welcome as long as they don’t involve too much discomfort and sacrifice on our part. Grief, trauma, sorrow—those are messy items that we spend hours upon hours trying to fix and tidy up. We want to remove the suffering and make everything better. We will apply every salve known to mankind in order to ensure that there are no scars left behind. We wouldn’t want anything spoiling our ideal lives; and wounds are ugly, complicated affairs that have the ability to leave nasty scars.

Yet, I look at the resurrected Christ, whose power lives in us, and He had scars. Thomas put his hand in the wounds of the resurrected Christ. Those scars and His suffering are foundational to the power to which God has given believers access. Christ’s suffering is the very thing that has given Christians their freedom. His weakness is our strength.  The message in the scars is not that the power of the resurrection makes our suffering go away, but that God can and will use it for His glory. In Philippians 3:10, Paul states that he wants to know Christ and the “power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings.” How many of us are truly willing to share in the fellowship of suffering? How many of us are willing to walk among those who are suffering great trauma and loss and enter into a relationship founded upon suffering? But that’s what we have been called to do.

Christians need to get over this idea that suffering, grief, loss, and sorrow are horrible things to be avoided at all costs. When someone suffers great trauma, it is our job to climb into the trenches with that person—not in an attempt to make the suffering go away, but to help that person process the unspeakable and bring the power of the resurrection to revitalize the dead places. It is our job to assist the individual as he or she figures out how to live with the atrocity and visualize how God can work through weakness to demonstrate His great strength.

Life is messy, and grief is even messier. Quit trying to sweep it under the rug. Instead, encourage healthy conversations that will truly help the person who is suffering learn to heal.

One Year and Nine Months

“I cried out to God for help; I cried out to God to hear me. When I was in distress, I sought the Lord; at night I stretched out untiring hands and my soul refused to be comforted.” –Psalm 77:1-2

One year and nine months. I have suffered more than I can adequately articulate. My heart has been shattered countless times. My tears could have filled an ocean. Suffering?—it has become an old associate, one whom I am ready to abandon. I have been intimately acquainted with despair. Like the psalmist, I have stretched out my hands at night, waiting for comfort that constantly eluded me.

Yet God has brought me through the storm. He has lifted me out of the darkness where my memories tormented my soul and filled my heart with hopelessness. God has pried the fingers from my throat that threatened to snatch away my life. He has given me shelter and satiated my whole being with peace. He has sat quietly by my bedside as I sobbed through the nights, waiting for the morning light to bring reprieve. God has been by my side through every tear, every fear, and has loved me through it all. I am His—completely and continually.

There may still be valleys that I must voyage through, and misery may accompany me through them. However, I will never be alone and eventually the gloom of grief will be completely overcome by God’s glorious love. You see, I am not forgotten.

Survivor's Guilt?

“Who would like to go?” was the question that accompanied a dear friend's post on Facebook. She had attached a link with information about the “Taste of Georgia.” Impulsively I responded that I would love to go, and then before I could change my mind, I followed the link and purchased a ticket. Later while communicating via text with the same friend, I admitted that this future outing will be the first time that I have socialized with friends sans children since Woody died.

I am conflicted in my emotions. Part of me is excited at the prospect of grown-up interaction in a relaxed atmosphere with people I thoroughly enjoy; yet the other half of me feels guilty—guilty for allowing myself to live and laugh without Woody. It has been over a year, yet I still feel as if I will wake up one morning and find him lying next to me in bed with a mischievous grin on his face and explain how it was all a horrible hoax. I still struggle at the thought of allowing myself to engage in life, enjoy new experiences, and make new friends without him. I still miss him with every fiber of my being. Sometimes the feelings of loneliness and loss overwhelm me, until the pain is a physical ache deep within my chest. However, at the same time laughter comes quickly. Smiles grace my lips; and with every bit of joy I experience there is also a twinge of guilt for allowing myself to be happy.

Perhaps this too shall pass. I really don’t know. What I do know is that God has carried me through the worst season of my life, and He will somehow assist me as I navigate through this next phase of grief.

Nine Months

“Father God, You are my strength when I have none. You are my hope when I am done….” And so begins my journal entry on this day, the nine month anniversary of Woody’s death.

Some days drag on for an eternity, while others whiz by. There is no consistency, no pattern. Therefore, there is no way to prepare for what each new day may bring. Every morning I wake and am greeted by the same solitude as I roll over and stare at the other side of the bed, which remains perfectly made and cold and empty. Every day I parent alone wishing Woody were here to have that “man-to-man” talk with Hunter about his future, a conversation he so desperately needs right now as he flounders trying to find his purpose in life. Every day I watch Haden mature into the man God has designed him to be and am saddened by the fact that his earthly father is not here to see it, knowing how proud Woody would be. And every day I see the sorrow that lives within Haley’s blue eyes and wonder if joy will ever crowd out the grief that has taken up residency in her heart.

Yet, through all of this God has been my one constant—my source of strength, my only hope. I am reminded of Paul’s words to the church in Philippi as he spoke about learning to be content in any state he found himself to be. He knew what I now know that only through Christ can we hope to gain the power necessary to overcome our circumstances no matter how dire.

So even today, as I mark another milestone on this journey, I give Him praise and look to my mighty God to carry me through another day.

Our Wedding Anniversary

It’s 2:00 a.m. I thought I was finished reaching over to your side of the bed searching for the warmth of your body. But here I am. My hand glides across the cool sheet finding emptiness, and I remember. Today is our wedding anniversary—a day we would have celebrated with joy as we did every year. We realized the value in celebrating another year of dedication. Marriage is work! It doesn’t just “happen.” We both understood this concept better than most. We had toiled through years of drought and plenty to glean the harvest we were finally reaping.

You loved to celebrate. I wonder how we would have celebrated our day. Last year we spent the weekend in Chapel Hill. You surprised me with a new wedding ring to replace the one that I had lost. “Let’s hope I don’t lose this one, or at least not for another 20 years!” I teased. We laughed. We loved. We lived. You were my joy and my security. You made every day a celebration. I knew how blessed I was to commemorate another year of marriage with you. You asked me once again where I wanted to go to mark our 20^th wedding anniversary. We decided on New Zealand. You loved to celebrate, but you loved “us” even more.

Today will not be a celebration, but I will remember—I will remember a lifetime of love built on a foundation of faith. I will honor you by continuing to push through the pain and find laughter. I will survive. Although half of my heart died May 10, 2015, I must live on. I will find joy in our children and the memories you gave.

Happy anniversary…well, not happy, but it is not cheerless. I miss you, but I am so grateful for the love we shared. I will never forget.

For now, my life may feel as if I am reaching into the empty darkness, yet I know I am not alone. God has carried me every step of the way and today will be no exception. Perhaps someday the pain will subside enough that I will find a way in which to mark our anniversary once again with laughter and love. For now, I just need to breathe and remember to live.

Joy Is a Choice

You are on a journey leading down a pathway strewn with boulders and loose gravel.  With every step, there is the possibility that you will end up face down in the dirt, nursing your wounds.  Yet you do not have to make your way through the pitfalls alone.  You can choose to accept or reject the assistance made available to all of us.  However, when you reject the loving hand reaching out to catch your fall, do not complain to Him when you are lying in the sand covered in your filth and shame.  You made a choice.

No one is free from suffering.  We all hurt.  We all bleed.  We all cry.  The choice comes in how you deal with disappointment.  If you choose to focus on the negative, your life will be full of negativity.   Joy is a choice.  I chose to accept the joy offered to me when I repented of my sins and became a Christ follower.  I still have to choose that joy on a daily basis.  It requires focus and faith.  Why do you assume that affliction is particular to you?  It is not!  “Oh, but I can’t choose to be happy!  I can’t remember the good!  Too much pain stands in my way!” You moan and whine, convinced that your miserable life is quite unlike any other.  However, have you suffered to the point of death?  Most likely, you have not or you would not be able to wail so heartily.   You have closed your eyes to the light which wants to flood your soul and remove your agony and grief.

I have as much right as anyone to bemoan my life.  I could focus on being thrown up against a wall when I was six years old by an intoxicated relative and punched in the face.  This was only the first of many abusive encounters.  I could focus on being repeatedly raped from the time I was eight years old until I was ten by a close family friend.  I could focus on being neglected and unloved by those who were placed on this earth to shelter and love me.  But I won’t!  I can’t!  I have been set free.  I have been saved!  There is a life time of joy in just that incident alone.  But if the source ever runs dry, I have been blessed beyond measure since that day.  Is my life perfect?  Far from it!  I have three teenagers, after all, and an unemployed husband.  Yet, I am blessed.  I have made the choice to accept the hand, to lay down my burdens, and to focus on the One who saved me.  

Perhaps, it is time that you do the same.