The problem of evil arises, not surprisingly, from the persistence of suffering, wickedness and wretchedness in the world. According to Old Testament scholars, scripture’s oldest book—that is, the first biblical book to be written—is the book of Job. Job, of course, concerns himself with making sense of the extraordinary suffering he experiences in a world created and governed by an almighty, all-good God. Its central question is, “Why, O Lord?”
Why does the omnibenevolent, omnipotent and omniscient Creator of all things—who providently reigns over all creation—allow His creatures to suffer extraordinary physical and psychological pain? Job’s concern isn’t so much philosophical as pastoral. His problem is that, on the one hand, he knows himself to be innocent (as the book itself says at its outset, he is “blameless and upright”) and yet he nonetheless suffers incredibly despite his devotion to the sovereign Ruler of the universe.
That the first book of scripture to be written deals with this problem speaks to its universal nature. No human who has ever lived—not even Jesus Himself—has been immune to suffering. In short, to live is to suffer. As an intellectual issue, the question arises, Can the evil of this world be reconciled with the existence of a providential Creator? If so, how? As an existential issue, the question becomes, How can we trust a heavenly Father who allows us—or those we love—to suffer beyond what any merely earthly father would allow his children to endure?
Of course, the history of Christian thought provides rich and compelling answers to these and related questions. Before turning to those answers, however, it’s important to appreciate the questions, to recognize the depth of the problem, to feel the complexity of the issues it raises. We can’t truly appreciate the intellectual heritage we inherit from previous generations of believers if we don’t first grasp the genuine complexities of the issues with which they grappled or the apparent intractability of the problems they faced.
Some Christians respond cavalierly to the problem of evil and suffering, unwilling—or, perhaps, unable—to admit that faith in a fallen world is a difficult commodity to gain, let alone maintain. In reality, none of us can conjure faith for ourselves; without the Holy Spirit’s ministrations, we can’t see past the shadowland in which we live to the glory of a distant shore, a land we will not enter until the King (and thus His kingdom) returns in all His (and its) glory.
“We believe; help our unbelief!”
Other Christians respond to the obvious wretchedness of the human condition with despair. The Lord, they confess, is good. But His goodness isn’t easy to see in a world gone horribly wrong. God surely loves His children! Even so, His ways are inscrutable and His love unfathomable. What difference does it make to the beloved if her lover allows—or, worse still, orchestrates—her suffering? Would she not just as soon be unloved?
“We believe; help our unbelief!”
Our task, then, is to avoid these extremes; to take the ever-present suffering of this life seriously without being undone by it; to face the problem honestly, not trying to minimize it; to stand firm in our faith even as Job himself does in the early chapters of his book (1:20-22; 2:10), not allowing ourselves to be overcome by this present darkness.
If you don’t think you’re up to such a task, you’re right. Neither am I. In fact, none of us—left to him or herself—is. But thanks be to God who doesn’t leave His children to themselves! For He answers the prayers of those who cry out, “We believe; help our unbelief!”
Blountly Stated 