Making Sense of Suffering

When I went to Jerusalem I learned with my senses about the life of Christ. The spices and dust, the greens of the sea, the browns of the city.

I walked where He walked, cried where He cried, and felt afraid where He felt afraid. As I experienced Him it occurred to me anew that He could have come and died so many different ways and we could have still been redeemed. But God wanted us to see this. God wanted us to see the full story of his life, the extent of His devotion. Jesus healing and inviting and accepting and rebuking and not backing down and ultimately laying Himself on a cross. 


This is the Garden of Gethsemane. It’s about the size of a large backyard or a small school playground. Inside there are approximately five huge olive trees from which I stole leaves by the handfuls. The trees look one million years old. 


I have spent two decades imagining taking care of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. I picture him on his knees, his head on the ground, and me flat on my belly beside him, getting the hair out of his face, whispering soothing words, maybe singing his favorite hymn, asking him if he wants water, mostly just laying there silent. I have spent many moments with Jesus in Gethsemane. And I wanted so badly to wrap myself around the base of one of those trees while in Jerusalem. When that wasn’t possible, I stole some leaves instead. 


I got a text earlier this week expressing pride in our church for not skirting the gory details of Jesus’ birth, life, death, and resurrection. I agreed.  Because doesn’t it make it easier to come to grips with the gory details of our own births, lives, deaths, and resurrections? 


Suffering is an unavoidable part of life. After all, the Lord of all creation suffered. As human beings it is our nature to seek to reconcile our understanding of an all-powerful, loving God with the seemingly endless suffering around us. What gives?!


As a Christian, maybe you have made peace with a God who grieves with us over our broken hearts instead of preventing them. As a nonbeliever, maybe you are shaking your fists over your broken heart. 


Whatever camp you lie in— Christian or nonbeliever, understander or fist shaker— as a HUMAN, before we present any apologetic on pain, it’s important to remember that people who are actually suffering need love, not logic. 


Our call is to use our gifts to study the life of Christ, and sit and weep with others, not to deliver a well crafted monologue on why God allows evil even though maybe we could. 


Sunday is coming, friends. Love you all.