Thursday, September 23, 2010

Where pain and theology meet

I was at a staff retreat at Gimli last week. (Two days of adult conversation - yippee!) Our first exercise was to share with each other a time line drawing of all the major ups and downs of our lives. Happy things above the line; painful things below.

Because most people were in pairs, and we were the odd group of three, there was less time to give each other feedback on our stories, but what I did get from the man and woman in my group was this reaction:

"Whoa, we haven't lived through nearly as many things as you have."

She was middle-aged. He was in his 70s. I'm a fresh 37.

Here are a few of the alternating lows and highs of my short little life: my brothers' Fragile X Syndrome, discovering the clarinet, being the target of school bullies, the spiritual high of my baptism, my Dad's illness which peaked when I was 14, working at summer Bible camp, an utterly lonely summmer mission trip to Bavaria, marriage, miscarriage, seminary, multiple periods of unemployment, motherhood, the autism and ADHD diagnoses, the start of my writing career, overwhelming teaching stress, my wonderful church, my grandparents' deaths. And that's just the stuff I'm willing to talk about.

One of my partners in the staff exercise said, "So much has been out of your control." That's why I've become a fan of the sovereignty of God - I find the idea that all the messy details of my life, like those of the man born blind in John 9 - fit snugly into the big picture of God's glory - contrary to most Mennonites who focus on the randomness of pain as caused by fallen humans exercising free will. I resonate with a God who's in control, because I know without a doubt that I'm not. Life throws stuff, and I barely have enough time decide which way to roll with it.

I find it interesting that some people facing hardship swing toward thinking God had nothing to do with it. The idea that God may have a purpose in their pain is offensive to them. The thought that God sends angels to steer some careening cars and not others to them smacks of divine favoritism. They would affirm that "God is present in this, but he sure didn't send it."

Others, like Russ Toews whose son committed suicide say,

"God is sovereign. Nothing happens that is outside his control or that he does not allow.

"I find when I talk this way, particularly in light of my son’s death, many people become uncomfortable. They quickly point out that God is not the author of illness, death, or bad things. I’m not arguing with their point, but you may be surprised to hear I don’t find comfort in the thought that God did not cause my son’s death....

"I do find comfort in knowing that someone is in control, that life is not just a series of random events, some good, some bad. I find comfort in knowing that even though bad things happen, there is someone who has seen ahead everything that will happen and allows it. Brad’s death did not catch God by surprise, as it did us."

(From http://www.mbconf.ca/home/products_and_services/resources/publications/mb_herald/mb_herald_june_2009/features/are_you_sure_god_is_good/)


I resonate with Russ' words. I too find no comfort in someone saying that God didn't choose or cause my children's disabilities. Autism and ADHD are so intertwined with little personalities, it begs the question: then who did God plan to send our family anyway? And where did that person go? If God didn't intend to bring glory through their unique struggles, triumphs, perspectives, and gifts, then what's the point?

It's interesting how our emotions, particularly grief, can shape our theology so profoundly, and yet take us in such different directions. It has implications for how we choose words of comfort - with our ears screwed on tight. And it has implications for how we discuss theology - with sensitivity; any debate on divine sovereignty might mask a cry for a lost son. May my words fall softly.

Two things I know for sure: no matter which side we emphasize - the human choice or the divine - we all need to hold both in tension; both are evident in Scripture (See Exodus 7:3 - God hardened Pharaoh's heart, 8:14 - yet Pharaoh hardened his own heart, 11:9 - purpose: God's glory) and our experience. And secondly, as long as we're talking to him and each other in our grief, the glory and comfort will flow, whether we call him "present" or "sovereign."

He is.

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