If God is perfect and master of the universe, why does He allow human suffering? Many of us have been asked that question and often by people who have encountered great personal sorrow. Whatever answer we give, surely it cannot be a trite or an easy one and perhaps, with humility, we have to admit we can only offer a partial one.
But one thing I do know is that suffering, our own or others, draws either the best or the worse out of us.
My younger brother-in-law has recently died. A tragedy? Yes. He’s left a grieving wife, a twelve year old and two teenagers behind. What is that all about? I’ve asked the question myself.
But his death has resulted in a great outpouring of generosity from friends, family, work colleagues, neighbours and staff in the children’s schools. It’s brought out the best in many, as I said, a river of generosity and drawn people close together. It’s shown up a quality of friendship that is … well, worth its weight in gold.
I don’t understand the reasons for such suffering, the quick onrush of an aggressive and rare cancer no drugs or treatment could temper. But I do know much kindness followed, kindness that would not have shown itself in such a unique way if that tragedy had never occurred.
Perhaps the best way to answer that difficult question is not to try and explain why we think God allows such things but describe what we ourselves have experienced at such times. If one side of the coin is dark, dark, dark the other surely glints brightly, gold in the morning sunshine. What is in our hearts, whether good or bad, is drawn out, we are melted in our shared grief into oneness with our fellows and reminded of the things that really matter.
And perhaps, too, we can add the experience of the suffering God Himself: “The cross is God taking on flesh and blood and saying, "Me too” ― Rob Bell.
Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away. Revelation 21: 1.
Underland: this is a new experience. I mean, you step off the plane (I'm from the UK) and everything is, well, different, a new world. No, let’s rephrase that. You keep seeing things that are ‘like' something you’ve seen before but not like them.
You turn your head and point, ‘Hey, there’s some wagtails’ but they’re bigger than ours and have different markings; and here’s some kookaburras, they're rather like kingfishers but larger and quite another colour … different. The sky, the southern sky – it’s the same but different - above my head a massive canopy, dotted with stars I have never, ever seen before. And the sea, there’s the familiar, rolling waves and roaring drone but .. it’s different: turquoise-blue and clear. And those birds, the Galahs … they’ve got the head of a parrot and the body of a pigeon. Well, I’m blowed. It’s a different world, the same - but different.
You know, it’s going to be a little like this on the New Earth: the same but different – but markedly more so.
And yet, here, in Underland, there are things that are just as different as can be. I mean, I’ve never, ever seen anything similar to that lopping, jumping, comical creature, the kangaroo, who sits on its hind legs endlessly munching - grass, I suppose. They’re fascinating, absolutely. And, I reckon, on the New Earth there’ll be those strange, strange creatures and entities that are quite unlike anything we have ever seen. I mean, think of the living creatures in Revelation, covered with eyes, back and front and with six wings: “The first living creature was like a lion, the second was like an ox, the third had a face like a man, the fourth was like a flying eagle (Revelations 4:7). And what about the sea in front of the throne which looks like a sea of glass, clear as crystal (Revelations 4:6).
I enjoy the word ‘like.’ It doesn’t mean quite the same as ‘identical’. We could talk, too, about Ezekiel’s strange and wonderful, unearthly visions of those burning, celestial beings, the cherubim, with four faces each whose awesome task it to propel the throne of God (Ezekiel 1: 4-27).
The New Earth, that’s something to look forward to. I reckon it will be the same but different, but then we’ll encounter other things, totally unknown, unrecognisable, unheard of. I’m looking forward to it, I really am.
