Getting angry with God

Last Friday on BBC Radio 4’s Today programme I caught a snippet of news that upset and angered me. It was about the fear of fresh floods in Pakistan where the monsoon season has just started, after last year’s floods which covered about a fifth of the country, affecting 18 million people. What upset me of course was the personal angle: an interview with Zarseda Bibi, a mother whose two teenage daughters had been swept away and killed by the floods, and whose own life had been utterly devastated as a result. (You can read the whole story on the BBC here).

Hearing Zarseda’s genuine anguish, I felt as furiously angry as I do after reports of human cruelty and abuse – but this time the anger was towards God. I wanted to shout at him, to hit him, to call him a b*stard: “How can you do this – how can you let this happen?!”

Of course I know that not everything that happens in this world is God’s will; that sh*t happens which grieves God far more than it does us. But, I want to yell, for ***’s sake, you’re God! You don’t need to let this happen! What kind of heartless monster are you to stand by and let tragedy, suffering and devastation happen on this scale and not lift a finger to prevent it? For crying out loud, these are people’s lives, people’s livelihoods, people’s children and families! You can’t just sacrifice them to some cosmic principle of free will or whatever it is that stays your hand! For the sake of all that’s good and right – all that you represent – you can’t just let evil reign and rampage unchecked and unchallenged like this!

Of course I know some of the standard answers to all this – I’ve written about them before in posts like Earthquakes and God and Suffering and sovereignty. It’s just that when faced with the full, personal reality of human suffering all the answers feel hollow and inadequate.

As so often, an episode from C.S. Lewis’s Narnia stories comes to mind. In The Magician’s Nephew, Digory is desperate for Aslan to give him something that will heal his dying mother, but is sure that by bringing the witch-queen Jadis into Narnia he has forfeited any chance of Aslan’s help:

Up till then he had been looking at the Lion’s great feet… now, in his despair, he looked up at its face. What he saw surprised him as much as anything in his whole life. For the tawny face was bent down near his own and (wonder of wonders) great shining tears stood in the Lion’s eyes. They were such big, bright tears compared with Digory’s own that for a moment he felt as if the Lion must really be sorrier about his Mother than he was himself.

I know this is the crux of it (appropriately enough, as the word crux comes from the Latin for ‘cross’). God cares infinitely more for people than I do; in love deeper and costlier than I can begin to fathom or express, Christ has entered fully into our hurts and sufferings; he has taken them on himself to redeem them. The suffering of the world become his suffering, and one day his joy will become our joy.

I believe that with all my heart – but still sometimes when I say it, it all sounds dreadfully contrived and clichéd. Perhaps that’s just because I can’t grasp or express it adequately. But perhaps it’s also because at this point, it sometimes just doesn’t feel relevant or true; just doesn’t seem to be enough right here and now. With U2 I want to say, ‘I believe in the kingdom come… but I still haven’t found what I’m looking for’. However much I know that Christ shares it and will redeem it, the present pain and brokenness of the world is still very real and genuinely terrible.

But then it occurs to me that feeling the pain of the world – and doing something about it – may be part of sharing in Christ’s redemptive suffering. I don’t know; it’s just a thought.

And as my rage subsides and my rant fades away, though I don’t exactly hear a still small voice, I do feel a quiet inner conviction. God is real and good, despite the present appearances and circumstances; I’ve experienced enough of his goodness myself to be certain of this. He is love. Death and devastation will not get the final words. His kingdom will come and is coming, when every tear will be wiped away, all injustices be righted and all harms healed. There are reasons why things things have to be as they are for now; I can vaguely glimpse some of them through a glass darkly, even if I don’t yet fully understand by a long chalk.

Meanwhile it’s okay to get angry about the brokenness of the world, and if that anger leads to compassionate action, so much the better. As someone wiser than me has said, at the moment we’re God’s hands and feet on the earth; I can’t really rail at God if I’m not prepared to do whatever I can to alleviate suffering.

And here’s a link to the Disasters Emergency Committee in case you want to do something yourself…

About TheEvangelicalLiberal

Aka Harvey Edser. I'm a web editor, worship leader, wannabe writer, very amateur composer and highly unqualified armchair theologian. My heroes include C.S. Lewis and Homer Simpson.
This entry was posted in Anger at God, Divine intervention, Evil, Love of God, Suffering, Tragedy, Uncategorized, World events. Bookmark the permalink.

7 Responses to Getting angry with God

  1. Terry says:

    Thing is, saying that Christ identifies with us because of the cross, however true that is, there’s still the problem that God could have done something. But this has been the case throughout history, and God’s own people Israel, as you know, queried God’s goodness and willingness to act on many occasions. I’m convinced that this is why we have psalms of lament, of confusion, of anger, of pain: it’s God’s community’s way of asking where the hell God is and why isn’t God doing anything about it. See for more detail, if you’re interested.


  2. johnm55 says:

    I don’t know if this answers the questions or questions the answers, but I like it
    Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal


    • James Pruitt says:

      Good discussion. Here are some thoughts.

      Amos chapter 1 promises punishment in the form of military defeat to some of Israel’s neighbors for their sins. Amos chapter 2 promises the same for Israel. Amos chapter 4 asserts that God sent Israel natural disasters in an effort to turn them from sin. Hosea and the other prophets also saw suffering as punishment. Proverbs 3:33; 10:3; 11:8, 11:19; 12:21; 13:21 all show suffering is the result of personal wickedness:

      The memorable story of Joseph shows a purpose of suffering. In Genesis 50:19-20 he forgave his brothers for selling him into slavery with this famous quote: “you meant it for evil bit God meant it for good.” Here are New Testament echoes: In John 11:4 Jesus said about Lazarus that his illness “is for God’s glory.” In Romans 3:24-25 Paul writes of redemption through Christ’s sacrifice and in II Corinthians 1:3-7 he talks of redemptive suffering.

      Back to the Old Testament. Job and Ecclesiastics teach that there is no answer as to why there is suffering in the world.

      •Job 38 and 39 – God speaks out of a whirlwind: “Have you comprehended the expanse of the earth?”
      •Ecclesiastics 1:1-6, 8-11 (“all is vanity”)

      I have suffered very little or not at all. But the story you share is one of those that hits the heart and convinces me that the teaching of Ecclesiastes is closest to where I am on the question.


  3. Terry says:

    Now, more than ever, I think about this a lot. Here in the US, we have an unfit President, hurricanes, fires, division, and the rest of the world is suffering as usual… and I just lost a sweet, beloved brother who suffered from illness, and did no harm to anyone. My rage at God, politiics, heartless corporations… and even my own mind has had me in its grip way too much. I guess rage feels better than helplessness, but still doesn’t satisfy. Writings like yours help me to forgive myself, and to remember to re-focus my attention on all that remains good, and amazing, and hopeful. Thank you.


    • Hi Terry, thank you for your comment and I’m so sorry for not replying before – I went through a really hard time last year and this is the first time I’ve looked at my blog for many months.

      I’m very sorry to hear the horrible situations you and your family have been through, and from my own recent experiences I can share some of those feelings both of rage and helplessness, and being in the grip of my own mind with all its fears and negative thoughts. I’m torn between feeling furious with God and desperately in need of him; between blaming him for all that’s wrong, and needing his presence and peace to make those things right.

      I don’t have any easy answers, but I’m honoured to be sharing this journey with people like you and I wish you the very best.


  4. Terry G says:

    Thanks so much for your reply, and no worries about the delay. Six months later and I still have moments of rage, but softened. Two days after I wrote that, I went for a ride on a sunny day after we had a long stretch of dreary weather and I was feeling that the world didn’t make any sense.
    On the way home, I passed the church where my congregation currently holds its services. Out front is a message board, and on the board was the message “One day it will all make sense”. I felt I needed to remember that, so I stopped to take a picture with my iphone. As I held the phone up to take the picture, it decided to ask me to choose a network, and displayed only one, and its name was David40-5. David was the name of my brother who passed in September. Now, Dave was not only my brother, but also my network guru, so to have that pop up at that moment, with that message, just seemed too significant to be mere coincidence. I choose to take it as a literal and figurative sign.
    Then, later, as if that wasn’t enough, I asked for a sign, something that was unmistakably Dave and that I was unlikely to come across often. I chose a guitar pick, since playing the guitar was so much of who Dave was. I didn’t come across one until I went to California a couple of weeks later, for his Celebration of Life. His son handed me a guitar pick and said to me that they had them made in his memory; a photo of him playing the guitar on one side, and his years of life on the other. Then, when we were decorating for the celebration, we scattered dozens of colorful picks on the tables, along with some with him on them.
    I can’t ask for more than that, but I still have to remind myself, when life seems to be less than joyous, to hold onto the belief that One Day, It Will all Make Sense.


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