Is God Cruel?

Richard Dawkins, Oxford Professor of the Public Understanding of Science, isn’t merely irritated that widespread belief in God continues to persist in the twenty-first century. He genuinely has it in for this Deity whom he is sure does not exist. In The God Delusion, Dawkins launches a broadside at the God portrayed in the Old Testament:

Arguably the most unpleasant character in all fiction: jealous and proud of it, a petty, unjust, unforgiving control freak; a vindictive, bloodthirsty ethnic cleanser; a misogynist, homophobic, racist, infanticidal, genocidal, filicidal, pestilential, megalomaniacal, sadomasochistic, capriciously malevolent bully.

Dawkins has argued that from an evolutionary point of view, religious faith is a form of mental illness, and that trusting God comes down to “believing not only without evidence, but in the teeth of the evidence.”

And we haven’t even gotten to what Richard Dawkins says before he gets his coffee on a really bad day.

The question of God’s existence has puzzled humanity from day one. What makes the question so edgy is that it cannot remain an abstract discussion item in a college classroom. This world reels with pain. How can human beings sustain belief in a good and gracious God in the face of the tragedy of Darfur, religiously motivated radicals flying jets into buildings, unjust courtrooms, epidemics, birth defects, and children abandoned by their parents? If God is there, how can he bear all the pain and suffering in the world? Because everyone alive has known some measure of loss, this question speaks directly to our deepest fears and frustrations.

The French poet Baudelaire mused darkly, “If there is a God, he is the devil.” Virtually everyone who has prayed fervently at one time or another, yet seen no immediate change in difficult circumstances, has had to ponder the possibility that God might be very real indeed – but embodies a character that inspires exasperation and anger instead of hope and trust amongst his followers.

The problem of pain is classically described by the word theodicy. That’s a term one is not likely to hear in conversation at the Friendly Tavern. As to how a pastor might know what is being discussed at the Friendly Tavern, well, that will require another column.

Theodicy derives from two Greek roots: Theos, which means God, and dikaios, which speaks of what is right or just. To put it simply, how can God be thought just in a world like ours? The task of theodicy is essentially to get God off the hook. Over the centuries, answers have been wide-ranging: from a denial of the reality of pain itself (Christian Science); to the assurance that God wants to help, but cannot intervene (Harold Kushner’s book When Bad Things Happen to Good People); to assertions that God is too busy running the universe to care about your minor league problems (the Deism of Thomas Jefferson and friends); and, in a case where the theological answers are almost certainly worse than the problems they are trying to solve, various preachers proclaim that you are hurting because it’s your own rotten fault for not trying harder or trusting God with sufficient faith.

The Bible, for its part, clearly makes four propositions: This is God’s world, not an accident or by-product of evolutionary trial and error. The world is essentially good; an Artist of mind-boggling skill crafted it with an eye for both beauty and function. The world however is broken; human disobedience, in a way we cannot fully understand, has corrupted and compromised God’s intentions for our history. But the world can be redeemed and made new. The promise of Scripture is that that has been God’s plan from the beginning, and it is being slowly worked out, even in the conversations, appointments, and decisions that await each of us today.

The mission of ancient Israel, and the ongoing mission of those who throw in their lot with Jesus of Nazareth (who sums up all of Israel’s deepest hopes and dreams), is to help bring about the redemption of God’s broken world, right here and right now. If this is a valid way to understand reality, why does God still allow so much hurt?

Dr. James Dobson once received a letter in which a young woman blurted out, “I’m pregnant and not married. How could God allow this to happen?” The answer to that is fairly straightforward: God pays us the courtesy of letting our decisions actually mean something. We remember the words that Jesus prayed on the night before his execution: “Thy will be done.” God returns the compliment to us. He says to those who are convinced that their ways are superior to his, “Thy will be done.” There is nothing in the Bible to suggest that God miraculously intervenes every time we make selfish, bone-headed, or misguided decisions.

But an Indian Ocean tsunami cannot be laid at the feet of its 300,000 victims. The Bible frankly does not tell us why a great deal of suffering takes place. What we learn is that God never wastes pain. God doesn’t comfort us by “beaming us up” to heaven so we don’t have to endure a fallen world, but rather extends his gift of unbroken care in the midst of the worst the world can possibly throw at us.

Is God cruel? David Seamands remembers the grueling daily ritual of twisting one of his son’s legs, which had been severely injured in an accident. His son screamed and begged for him to stop. But Seamands and his wife, despite aching hearts, remained committed to this doctor-ordered physical therapy – knowing that one day their son would eventually walk and play and run with a straight gait. The Bible is not bashful in saying that pain is one of God’s primary means to accomplish something far more important than our short-range comfort: that we would come to see every circumstance as an opportunity for us to strengthen our reliance on God – and conversely, to allow God to strengthen his grip on us.

Richard Dawkins finds it impossible to believe simultaneously in God and cancer. How can this so-called God bear all the pain that exists in the world? Ironically, that is precisely what Jesus did on the cross. God put himself on the hook on a hill just outside Jerusalem. The ultimate mystery is that what many would say was unbearably cruel – the death of God’s own Son – wound up becoming the assurance that our suffering isn’t random or meaningless. It connects us with the One who truly understands our pain.

Confessions of an Addict

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

For thirty years I almost single-handedly kept Mountain Dew in business. At the beginning of this year, however, I took a long look in the mirror and faced the truth: I am a caffeine addict. Or at least I was. In January I went “cold turkey” and decided to give up my dependence on the world’s most celebrated stimulant. It wasn’t easy. After a stretch of days with some Grade A headaches – my body’s way of begging for that old familiar jolt – I finally experienced freedom from caffeine. If only I could leave behind as easily the numerous other addictions that have become part of my life.

Addict is a rather alarming word to apply to oneself. But as Gerald May points out in his classic book Addiction and Grace, “the psychological, neurological, and spiritual dynamics of full-fledged addiction are actively at work within every human being. The same processes that are responsible for addiction to alcohol and narcotics are also responsible for addictions to ideas, work, relationships, power, moods, fantasies, and an endless variety of other things.”

What do we mean by addiction? It is a “state of compulsion, obsession, or preoccupation that enslaves a person’s will or desires.” In other words, I feel a strong, ongoing urge to give time and energy to things that aren’t my true desires. The power of addiction is easier to grasp if we look at some real-life examples. So here’s a sampling of my long-term compulsive behaviors – the ones that I feel free to admit publicly – in ascending order of the dangers I believe they exert on my emotional, physical, and spiritual health.

I am addicted to counting license plates. I’m not kidding. I don’t even know when this habit began. Years ago I started paying attention to license plates whenever I hit the road. Recently, when I picked up my son at college for the beginning of his spring break, I proudly reported, “Hey, I just saw an Idaho.” He sighed deeply and said, “That’s great, Dad.” It’s mildly annoying to be the family member of a license plate addict.

I am addicted to adrenaline. No, I’m not (as author John Ortberg would put it), a hang-gliding, day-trading, tornado-chasing Pinto driver. Once every week, when my alarm goes off at approximately 4:00 a.m. Sunday, I welcome the rush of adrenaline that always accompanies my need to finish my sermon for that morning. There’s something about the prospect of looking foolish in front of a large group of people that provides an undeniable sense of creative focus.

Could I write my sermons on Thursday, like other garden variety, responsible pastors? This is actually a question that my wife has asked many times. I’ve tried doing that (but probably not very hard). There’s something intoxicating about that last-minute surge of adrenaline that I find hard to kick. I admit that this is not a particularly healthy habit – especially if I ever get that emergency phone call at, say, 5:00 a.m. on Sunday.

I am addicted to making lists. I’m not talking merely about grocery lists and your standard need-to-get-this-done-someday lists. I make lists for every day, every week, every month, every quarter, and every year. I even make lists to keep track of my lists. Usually my first entry is “make this list.” That way I can always begin with the victory of crossing something off.

From one standpoint, my existence is well organized. That’s the optimistic perspective. But it can just as easily be said that my existence is over-regimented and even fossilized. Usually I come to the end of a day with a few items still on my list – which leaves me with the vague sensation of having failed somehow. Then there are those days when surprises come: unexpected opportunities, dramatic crises, and wonderful opportunities simply to sit and enjoy the presence of another human being. I may respond very well to such happenings. But I sometimes find myself thinking: Uh-oh, this wasn’t on my list. And that is a clear sign of danger. I am in danger of missing my own life, even as my life is happening right before my eyes, all because I have allowed a list to define the meaning of success and happiness. List-making addicts know exactly what I am talking about.

I am addicted to approval. I yearn to be liked. I want someone to say that what I just did, or the presentation I just made, or the words that I just wrote (hint, hint) made a difference for somebody else. Why do I care about this? Because I want my life to mean something. So I anxiously wait for another person’s atta-boy to assure me that I’m not making a total mess of my one shot at being alive. But just like someone addicted to chocolate, or crack, or pornography, enough is never enough. Yesterday’s words of approval quickly fade away. How am I doing right now?

This is an exceedingly dangerous addiction. The craving for approval puts me at odds with God, who has made it patently clear that he has already given to me, for free, life’s two greatest treasures: security (I am unconditionally loved, and God will never change his mind about that) and significance (my life is unique and important because God has given me a unique and important role to play in his ongoing drama called history).

In truth, addiction is always about finding substitutes for what God gives for free. Do I really need to control things when God says that he is in control of the universe? Do I really need to pleasure myself with food when God says that knowing him is the key to a sustained experience of joy? Do I really need to stand on the scale compulsively, or perpetually adjust my hair, or worry about the shape of my nose, when God says that he is completely nuts about me, just as I am?

I’m not saying that beating an addiction of any kind is easy. We have to acknowledge our dependence. We must welcome accountability to other strugglers. We must depend on the power of God’s indwelling Spirit. Gerald May indicates, in his work with hardcore drug addicts and alcoholics, that the only men and women whom he has seen truly break free to a new life are not those who try really, really hard, but those who helplessly open their hands and hearts to receive God’s grace.

I don’t know if there’s a Twelve Step group for caffeine addicts, but I’ll make this affirmation nonetheless: My name is Glenn. I still crave the taste of a real, live Mountain Dew first thing in the morning. But I have come to appreciate my caffeine-free existence even more. And by God’s grace, I hope to make progress in my other addictions as well.