Yesterday I heard what was probably the most remarkable sermon on the crucifixion of Christ that I have ever heard or read in my life. I'm not sure the Priest realized the profundity of some of the things he said, perhaps because he never came out and said them, but rather there was a distinct desire to move to them as a logical conclusion of what was said.
The question of theodicy--that is, how an omnipotent, omniscient, omnibenevolent God and evil can co-exist in the world--is the primary objection I hear to religious faith. It is perhaps the most difficult issue I must wrestle with myself, in fact. Many different answers are given, in the Christian context, to explain this.
The Calvinists say that ultimately everything was pre-ordained before time that God might glorify himself. This answer was initially appealing, because if you granted the premise (that the ultimate end of all of history is the glorification of God), then the conclusion followed quite nicely. Yet it doesn't sit quite right, as it makes God into an egotistical, self-absorbed being who pleasures in the pain of his creatures. This kind of masochistic deity is not only unappealing, but unpalatable. Other explanations tend toward limiting God's omnipotence (saying there really are things God is incapable of doing) or his omniscience (that God does not have foreknowledge of future events, the claim of Open Thesists, for example, would mean he isn't morally culpable for letting something occur since he didn't know of its occurrence).
None of these have ever been satisfactory to me, either, and all have seemed to diminish God in some unnecessary way. Baptists from my childhood told me that God is sovereign and everything works together for some sort of good even if we can't see it. This, I think, makes good sense if we are talking about ordinary evil, but not egregious evil, or horrendous evils, like the Holocaust, Nagasaki, etc. It is hard for us to imagine what overall good really came from the slaughter of millions of innocents. (Though the Calvinists and many Baptists would suggest that they weren't innocent because they were born with original sin and thus deserved what was coming to them.)
I finally came to the point of accepting this as one of the great mysteries not only of Christianity but Theism in general. This hasn't changed significantly, but yesterday I had a new insight and realization about the subject that would have sown faith in me were I sitting there as an agnostic or questioning believer. The Crucifixion of Christ, and the symbol of the Cross itself are the evidence of God's solidarity with us in our suffering. Indeed, the Cross is the image of the Suffering God. The Priest delivering yesterday's sermon rightly noted that the very Christ that ought to inspire the most belief is the one who was ridiculed by Nietzche for being weak and inept.
Christ's death on the Cross does not give us great insight into why there is evil in the world, but it does give us a better understanding of why it is ok that evil is present simultaneously with the existence of an omnipotent, omnibenevolent, omniscient God.
I am not sure if the idea I am about to espouse has been espoused before (I'm sure that it has, I just have not read it), but it is the epiphany that I had yesterday that has suddenly caused me reason to love God even more.
Most people, commenting on the Crucifixion, focus upon the justification it provided for sinners--that substitution, or propitiating sacrifice for the sins of the whole world. Certainly this is the central theme of the rest of the New Testament as it reflects on the death of Christ. Yet I think almost equally important, and virtually completely overlooked in the exegesis not only of the Crucifixion accounts in the Gospels but also in the reflections on the Crucifixion by the other New Testament writers, is that the suffering of Christ, and the suffering of God, is equally a vindication of God himself.
It would seem that prior to Christ, there was a legitimate reason to doubt God's love for his creation. Not that he didn't love his creation, but rather the evidentiary record left room for reasonable doubt. Not bearing to look upon his creation and see the great violence committed by it on itself, he flooded the world. Looking upon the violence of ancient cities, he destroyed them. His mercy on his people was manifested, he relented, indeed, but there was no evidence of his giving of himself. After all, the creation of Manna ex nihilo did not cost God anything. Nor did his absolution of the sins of people when they made animal sacrifices at the Temple.
Although, I would contend that the Flood and other examples of God destroying large groups of people is evidence not of wrathful vengeance, but instead of God putting them out of their misery, for violent hateful people are the most miserable and unhappy form of humanity one can find.
When Job asked that eternally human question "why?" God did not respond with an answer. And I do not think we are any closer to such an answer, even after the Crucifixion. God instead responded with over 60 rhetorical questions, "Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?" and so on. A modern day Job asking why might get a different set of questions, or at least a supplementary set.
"Where were you when I was suffering in flesh as you are now? Where were you when they hung me on the cross? Where were you when they pierced my side? Where are you when they mock me now and continue to crucify me today?"
Although no less of a mystery, I believe evil and suffering are softened in light of the Cross. Indeed, Paul recognized this when he so boldly asked "Death where is they sting?" For now we have a new perspective on God's relationship to our suffering, one of co-experience. The greatest act of solidarity, and indeed I believe much of the meaning of the salvation (which comes from the word salve, as in ointment rubbed on a wound to heal it) is wrapped up in this very solidarity. Indeed, his sacrifice was able to cover the sins of the world by veritably annihilating the gap between man and God. God's mercy was ever heightened for his Creation after experiencing humanity, in all of its pains, turmoils, and struggles.
A couple of years ago, I wrote this poem, and it seems to have recognized something that I did not even understand at the time. The last stanza truly expresses and I think sums up the thoughts I have already written today:
But when the pain seems at its worst,
The light of glory will then more brightly shine,
And there walking beside me
Is Christ whose wounds are mine!
Perhaps rather than focusing on the miraculous nature of the Resurrection this Easter we can instead put it into practical use. That is, in place of marveling at the risen Lord, we can instead commiserate with him. Then we can have more than merely an ethereal comprehension of the simple old hymn that says
What a friend we have in Jesus,
All our sins and griefs to bear.
What privilege to carry,
Everything to God in prayer
Oh what peace we often forfeit
Oh what needless pain we bear
All because we do not carry
Everything to God in prayer.
"For it is in dying that we are born again unto eternal life. Amen." -St. Francis of Assisi
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