Epiphany 4, 2005-Contending with God

*Preached at Grace North Church by John R. Mabry on February 6, 2005.*

A little over a month ago, the people of Indonesia suffered one of the worst natural disasters in recorded history. In the blink of an eye a wall of water obliterated cities, towns, and villages, killing everyone in its path, laborers, executives, rich, poor, women, men, and children, dogs and cats and wildlife, gardens, parks, and auditoriums, homes and shops, all of it drowned without warning, without opportunity for escape. The last tally I saw put the human casualties at 145,000-and the counting continues.

Such an event would be troubling enough if it was an anomaly, but it is hardly that. Severe weather claims thousands of lives a year, additionally thousands of homeless people die from exposure every year. And these are just the natural disasters. What are we to do with the genocide in Rwanda, the Holocaust of the Jews at the hands of the Nazis, commemorated just this week, or even with the Scott Peterson trial? Natural evil is troubling, but moral evil even more so.

Such events plague us not only as human beings, whose hearts ache with compassion for those who have died so unjustly, but also as people of faith, because we profess to believe in a God who, we are told, could prevent such tragedies, if he had a mind to.

Orthodox theology in all of the Abrahamic traditions, in fact, asserts that God is both all-powerful and all good. But if that is so, why does God allow such evil and suffering to exist? If God really loved all those people in Indonesia, why did he not simply reach down and stop that tidal wave? If God really loved the Jews, why did he not make all those nasty Nazis just melt in their uniforms like they do at the end of the first Indiana Jones movie? If God really loved Laci Peterson and her baby, why did he not find a way to frustrate Scott's plans (assuming his court verdict is correct and he actually did the crime)? As Elie Weisel said, "He is almighty, isn't He? He could use His might to save the victims, but He doesn't! So-on whose side is He? Could the killer kill without His blessing-without His complicity?"

You know, in this country, if you see a crime being committed, and you can help, but choose not to, you can be prosecuted as an accomplice to the crime. Why should God get off any easier than you do? If God IS all powerful, and God DOES have the power to stop evil and suffering, and chooses not to, then by every standard of law we hold dear, that God is a criminal, a moral monster, and not worthy of my worship or yours.

Welcome to the theological discipline known as theodicy, otherwise known as "the problem of evil." These are questions that theologians and philosophers have been debating since Plato's time, and unfortunately, we are no closer to figuring out the answer to it now than he was then.

Lots of theories have been put forth. One answer is that God is simply not good. As David Hume wrote, "Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is impotent. Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent. Is he both able and willing? Whence then is evil?" Whence indeed? Perhaps God himself is evil. The book of Isaiah says this explicitly: "I am the Lord, and there is none else. I form the light and create darkness: I make peace, and create evil: I the Lord do all these things (45:6-7)."

While the early Jews may have been able to tolerate the notion of a morally ambivalent deity, most religions these days expect more of their gods. But if you hold that God is not only all powerful, but all good as well, how do you explain evil and suffering? If God really cared about us, why would he not simply stop suffering altogether?

Lot's of theories have been put forward. Christians, historically, have followed St. Irenaus in asserting that God permits suffering so that we will learn and grow. If we faced no challenges, we would have no reason to stretch and better ourselves. Evil, then, is simply a tool in God's hands used to make us holy. This is called the "soul-making" defense, but it is not without its problems, either. For one thing, I do not believe that the moral "payoff" of all this struggle and pain justifies the sheer quantity of evil and suffering in the world. For another, more often than not suffering does not ennoble human beings, but simply breaks them, twisting their souls so that they are compelled to perpetuate the suffering they have received. Anyone who has ever said or done anything cruel to their children, only to realize to their horror that that is exactly what their own parents did to them will know what I mean. Evil does not beget good, but only more evil. No, I'm afraid the soul-making defense does not hold much water.

Another possibility is the free-will defense, which is favored by Muslims and some Christians. This defense states that God must refrain from interceding in human affairs in order to preserve our freedom of choice. God does not want robots, but for humans to freely choose to love God. This would be impossible if God were always reaching down and altering human events to protect us. There must be consequences for our actions or we are no better than machines or slaves. Unfortunately, this defense does not adequately explain natural evil like the Tsunami, which seems like gratuitous violence on God's part, a tragedy that could have been averted without upsetting free will. If we did not know it was going to happen, we would never know if it did not happen, would we? Who would be hurt by God's intercession? What would be lost? Nothing. No, I don't buy the free-will defense, either. The good gained from free will is simply not valuable enough to justify the suffering of the world.

So, what answer can we find that can speak adequately to these questions? Perhaps our error is in trying to somehow exonerate God. God rarely needs our defending at most times, why should we start now? Perhaps we are wasting our time trying to explain the problem away; perhaps we should not try to excuse God. After all, we do not know the limits of God's power, do we? Tradition says that God is all-powerful, but tradition also says the devil has cloven hooves and a goatee, so what good is that? Perhaps God simply does not have the power to stop all evil.

Furthermore, perhaps our compulsion to have a perfect deity is our problem. We're not perfect, who says God should be? The book of Exodus clearly states, "And the Lord repented of the evil which he thought to do to his people (32:14)," which is far from ambiguous: God not only is capable of evil, God can repent of it afterwards, too. Sounds awfully human, doesn't it? But once again, we do not know where God falls on the morality continuum. Perhaps the Gnostics are right, and God is only playing nice so we will not guess at his actual, nefarious schemes.

How do we give God a break, here? How do we make sense of this mess?

I believe we do well to remember that the heart of the Jewish revelation is that the God of Israel is primarily interested in relationship. Whenever I enter into a relationship, whether it is a casual friendship or a romantic partnership, I try not to do so with unrealistic expectations. For instance, I do not assume that this person I am in relationship with is going to be perfect, or will even be able to meet all of my needs. Why should I abandon my relationship with God for not meeting these same standards?

In order to maintain my relationship with God, I personally do not need God to be perfect, nor do I need God to be all-powerful. Nor do I need God to have only my best interests in mind. I do, however, trust that God is doing the best God can, and that God is well intentioned, even though I reserve the right to disagree with God's motives or means on occasion.

In a true relationship, we stand by each other even when we disagree with each other. Our relationship with God is no different. I am not sure that an adequate excuse for evil and suffering is possible, but that does not mean I am going to abandon God because of it. But it also doesn't mean I 'm going to take it lying down.

And don't fool yourself into thinking that you have no cause to question God's actions-the daily newspaper is filled with evidence of God's culpability. You see it on TV every day. And you have a choice: you can make excuses for God, or you can tell God to get lost. But there is a third option as well: getting mad as hell and confronting God for his weakness or his evil or his complicity, or whatever reason could possibly have allowed such suffering to be visited upon this world.

This is real relationship. When my friend and I have hurt one another, I am not going to make excuses, I am not going to simply abandon him-I'm going to give him a good shake and say, "What the hell do you think you're doing?" If my relationship with God is a real one, I owe it to myself to do the same thing with him. And so do you. I'm asking you to get honest with God, even if it means getting mad. Because this is real relationship with God.

In the Christian tradition, we have this image of God as the dysfunctional father figure in the sky. Drunk on his own power, we dare not cross him or we will be eternally sorry. But this is not a true relationship, but a form of hell. This is not the God that Jesus witnesses to. The Jewish tradition, however, has a much healthier way of relating to God. Just look at our reading from Micah: "Arise, contend thou before the mountains, and let the hills hear thy voice. My people, what have I done unto thee? And wherein have I wearied thee? Testify against me!"

God does not want us to cower before him, fearful of being struck down for the slightest rebellious thought, or god forbid, even questioning his goodness. Instead, the Jewish scriptures tell us God wants us to stand up to him, to make our case boldly: "Testify against me!" God commands. And why not, why should we be afraid to do so? We are not going to hurt God's feelings. God is a big boy, God can take it. Nor will God punish us for doing so. In fact, quite the opposite is true, for we will be blessed with the gift of honest relationship with our creator, which is something that few of us have ever been encouraged to have.

This is what theologians call a "theodicy of protest." Some call this an anti-theodicy, for instead of trying to find a way to explain the existence of evil in light of Gods power and goodness, a theology of protest simply accepts all the facts at face value. There is evil, God might have stopped it, and didn't, and God still says he loves us; AND we have the right to thrust our fingers in God's face and say, "Why?? How could you let this happen? How can you say you love us and allow us to suffer so? I'm so mad at you! I hate you! I wish I was never born!"

If this sounds familiar, it is. This is precisely what Job says to God when Job's family is killed, his wealth obliterated, and his health taken from him. His wife tells him, "Curse God and die!" But instead, Job stares God down and says, "Why?"

And God responds in kind. Matching Job's bluster, shout for shout, God says, "Hey, where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth? Did you make the sea monsters?" Which is a terrible argument, especially the sea monsters part, but the point is that it is, at least, an argument, and it goes on for DAYS. Chapter after chapter in Job is devoted to this argument, making it the longest domestic dispute on record in the ancient world. In the end, neither side actually wins the argument. Job still says, "How dare you let this happen to me," and God still says, "I have my reasons, but I'm not going to tell you what they are" but the point is, they're still talking, they are still in relationship, they are still family.

This morning three little girls, Jennifer, Jasmine, and Jade will come forward to become members of God's family. Ironically, the water which wiped out the population of the earth in the flood of Noah, the water which took the lives of 145,000 people in Indonesia, this same water will be used to symbolize blessing, life, and renewal. Without paradox, my friends, religion would be little more than light bedtime reading.

So in the mystery of this paradox, we welcome three little girls into God's family. But why would they want to join a family with a Daddy that would allow such pain in the world? The answer, I believe, is in that little word, family. Girls, just as your Mommy is not always right, not always able to protect you, not always perfect, she still loves you and wants the best for you. Having God as your Daddy is very much the same.

So, like Job, most of us can handle being told, "it's all a mystery"-but we don't have to like it. Theologians and philosophers have wrestled with the problem of evil for thousands of years. We are certainly not going to solve it in a sermon, or even in a lifetime. But we can, in spite of uncertainty, confusion, and suffering, enter into a relationship of trust with a God who loves us and wants the best for us, even if we don't always understand why things happen the way they do. Is this a completely satisfactory solution to this vexing theological dilemma? Not at all, but it is better than the alternatives: believing in a universe of random and uncaring happenstance, or worse yet, one with a malevolent deity hell bent on our suffering and servitude.

This, then, is a matter of faith. Of believing that if we are faithful to God, that God will be faithful to us. This is the nature of covenant, which is different from a contract. In a contract, when one party breaks it, the whole thing is null and void. But in a covenant, both parties promise to be faithful, even if the other is not. Thus God remains faithful to us even when we hurt each other and behave in selfish and destructive ways. It also means that we remain faithful to God when his ways prove vexing to us. It's about trust, commitment, faithfulness. In other words, it's about being a family. Girls, this family isn't perfect, not the parents, not the children. But we are learning to love each other, and to do the best we can do. In baptizing you today, we promise to love you and to do the best we can to help you live into your full potential. Not perfectly, not always successfully, because, apparently, not even God can do that. But we do promise to love and help you sincerely, and to do the best we can. And that is the most anyone can ask of you, and the most you can ask of anyone else. Even if that someone is God. Let us pray

God, like our parents you watch over us and protect us, you embrace us and tell us over and over again we are loved. And yet we live in a world filled with pain, suffering, and selfishness. If you have the power to make it stop, we don't understand why you hold back. And if you enjoy the suffering of others, then your faithfulness and love for us make no sense. You are a mystery to us, O God, and yet you call us into relationship with you, and you bid us come near, and crave deep intimacy with us, mere creatures of mud and bone. Who can fathom your ways? You are either a really sick puppy or you are as conflicted, challenged, and pained as we are. Help us to trust that, despite all the evidence to the contrary, that you actually do love and care about human beings, that you love and care for US. Help us to say, "yes" to this love, to seek intimacy with you, to be transformed by your touch, and to touch the world with that love in turn. Help us to participate in the mystery of death and resurrection, even when we don't understand it, walking by faith. Make of us a family, and be family with us, complete with all the messiness that being family involves. Amen.