Theodicy Expectations

Our Church is venturing into questions of theodicy over the next few weeks in Sunday worship.  Theodicy is the question of how a loving God can allow suffering to take place in our world.  I am excited about exploring this topic alongside the congregation, but I must admit that there are limits to what we can actually accomplish in our discussion together.

From the outset, I am somewhat opposed to spending a lot of time with theodicy. I side with Stanley Hauerwas when he notes that theodicies are always historically located and presuppose particular, detached definitions of God that often exist outside of Scripture. That is, theodicy starts with a preconceived notion of what power and love is and then assumes that God must meet our expectations.  In starting with a predetermined definition of omnipotence or love, then we make these categories into a god that is higher than the God that we worship.  Plus, when the question is cast this way, we will most likely fail for God will either be ‘not powerful enough’ to overrule evil or ‘not loving enough’ to use his power to overcome evil. Contrarily, the starting point for any discussion must always be God—thus, making our definitions of power and love a reflection of God as revealed in Scripture.  

The second problem might be the abstraction of suffering from personal narratives.  Theodicy tries to create a univocal concept of suffering that can be answered by a univocal concept of God. Suffering is intensely personal and each of our responses to suffering is intensely personal as well.  Our redemption from suffering is going to look different a little different, as well.  This creates numerous problems for the attempt to create a universal theodicy. 

All of this is to say, that I am not going to have any solidified answer of why we suffer by the end of our series. Maybe that is ok, though. God does not give us an answer to our sufferings, but God chooses to share it. Nicholas Wolterstorff says, “God is not only the God of the sufferers but the God who suffers. The pain and falleness of humanity have entered into his heart. Through the prism of my tears I have seen a suffering God...And great mystery: to redeem our brokenness and lovelessness the God who suffers with us did not strike some mighty blow of power but sent his beloved son to suffer like us, through his suffering to redeem us from suffering and evil” (81).  At the end of the day, when you lay on your deathbed you are not going to care about why you are there.  You are going to want someone with you, to hold your hand, share the suffering, and become the face of Jesus Christ in the midst of pain.

In Naming the Silences, Hauerwas writes, "For the early Christians, suffering and evil...did not have to be 'explained'. Rather what was required was the means to go on even if the evil could not be 'explained.' Indeed it was crucial that such suffering or evil not be 'explained'--that is, it was important not to provide a theoretical account of why such evil needed to be in in order that certain good results occur, since such an explanation would undercut the necessity of the community capable of absorbing the suffering ” (49).  As Hauerwas notes, I am hoping that this sermon series will not merely try to be an answer to a problem, but result in a response to a challenge.

 This sermon series will not be successful if it explains suffering, because I can’t do that.  This sermon series will only be successful if it leads people into a deeper relationship with Christ—one in which we might realize that we will never be abandoned, by God or one another, even when we suffer. 

Speaking Carefully

I made a mistake a few Sundays ago.  Walter Brueggemann once advised pastors to never use the phrase “good morning” when greeting parishioners. For some it might not be a good morning, but it might be a bad morning. Worship is a place where we go to meet God even if we are having a bad morning.   It is a space for joy and a space for lament—though we often do not do a very good job in creating a space for lament.

I knew this.  Yet, I was standing in the narthex greeting my parishioners and a “good morning” slipped out of my mouth.  A parishioner replied, “bad morning” and hurried to their car before I could apologize for speaking carelessly. Epic. Fail.

Of course this is one of the reasons why we greet each other by saying, “peace” or “peace of Christ.”  The impact of the passing of the peace is that we have been reconciled to God and we are also reconciled to one another.  Also, the peace can also function like a blessing—may the peace of Christ be with you, whether it is a good morning or a bad morning.   “Peace” is one of the most meaningful phrases we can say to one another, especially when we are at a loss of words.

Careless speaking is endemic in our society and Churches.  But, our words matter. Saint Basil says, “those who are idle in the pursuit of righteousness count theological terminology as secondary.” Consider how important words are to Christianity.  Our faith is grounded in a written book.  Our faith is also handed down through written and oral words. We believe that Jesus speaks each week in the words spoken in the sermon.  Our words matter and they can’t be thrown around carelessly.

Stanley Hauerwas notes that Christians must learn to speak a new language. The sad part is that most Christians will never realize this. We have a language that is deeply formed by Scripture and tradition and we have to start using it.

“Peace” may mean nothing to a non-believer, but there may be nothing more powerful to a Christian immersed in Scripture and tradition.

What other words do we need to reclaim?