Why do Bad things Happen?

Part 1 – A Theology of the Cross

Rabbi Kushner authored the book Why Do Bad Things Happen to Good People? The inverse is a legitimate question, "why do good things happen to bad people?" The short answer is that life is not fair. But exploring this question is worth a deeper dive, perhaps even another book. 

In this issue of Notebooks and the next, I explore this question. I recognize that I return to this theme regularly in my writings. I think I do that because I’m trying to find a satisfying answer to one of religion's vexing problems. If religion is supposed to be about peace, love, and understanding, why does it yield war, hatred, and confusion?

We are challenged in the Western religions of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam because we tend to think in either/or categories. This dualistic approach leaves us with only two options: good or evil, right or wrong. In Eastern religions, there is often a more intertwined approach, as is captured in the Taoist symbol of the Yin/Yang. Good is within evil, and evil is within good. But in the West, we don’t see it that way. At least not until recently, when theologians, philosophers, and psychologists have expanded their models to be more nuanced.

This question of what to do with evil is particularly challenging because we live in a society that prefers clean succinct answers. Nevertheless, it's worth exploring. The challenge is in doing this concisely. Since I am trying to make these essays brief, I will divide this issue into two parts.

Part one will tackle a theological response. Next week in part two, I’ll look at the question from a Depth Psychology perspective.

Why Do Bad Things Happen? Toward a more thoughtful Christian Response.

We’ve all heard the banal attempts to respond to this question, from TV preachers to ordinary people trying to explain something so confounding. As a minister, I’ve seen and heard it all. The worst was likely in a funeral home in Brooklyn, New York, where I served a small parish for six years. An older couple had lost their 44-year-old son to an early cancer death. As people entered the greeting line for the wake, I overheard someone say to the deceased's mother, “Well, at least you still have two other children to treasure.” In the classic stoicism of that community, the comment seemed to hang out in the ether, lacking any response. I was horrified at such an insensitive statement and sought to assuage whatever wound may have been received by the aging parent. As years have passed, I realize the source of such a cruel and inept attempt at comfort is rooted in a culture that is incompetent at death and grief.

But is there a thoughtful response to suffering, death, and evil from the point of view of gritty Christian mysticism? I continue to turn to theologia crucis, or the theology of the cross, as one helpful response. Some credit the reformer Martin Luther with first articulating it.

At the heart of the Christian religion is a first-century itinerant rabbi who became prominent in and around Capernaum along the Sea of Galilee. His teachings included claiming he was God and, channeling the language of ancient prophets and Jewish apocalyptic literature, embracing the term ‘Son of God.’ His travels took him to Jerusalem, where he confronted the occupying Roman army, its governance, and the religious leaders in the temple. This confrontation resulted in his trial, conviction, and capital punishment using a brutal method of execution involving crucifixion. In the subsequent days, his followers witnessed his presence in multiple manifestations, which the church came to call resurrection. While many expressions of Christianity emphasize various aspects of Jesus' life, death, and resurrection, Luther and others have drawn our attention to The Crucified God.

The Crucified God argues that the cross is not just a historical event but an ongoing reality transforming our understanding of God and the world. Jurgen Moltmann, the author, argues that the cross reveals a God who suffers with us and for us and that this suffering is not a sign of weakness but of love and solidarity. Moltmann's argument challenges traditional ideas about divine justice and human salvation, which often emphasize the need for God to punish sinners and exact retribution for wrongdoing. Instead, he argues that the cross represents a radical new understanding of justice. God takes upon themselves the consequences of human sin and offers a path to redemption through suffering and death.

This perspective has important implications for our understanding of human suffering. Rather than view suffering as a punishment or a test of faith, Moltmann argues that living in a broken world is a natural consequence.

When a young person is diagnosed and dies because of cancer, as in the story above, it can be an extremely difficult and painful experience for the individual and their loved ones. Rather than viewing the cancer diagnosis as a punishment or a test of faith, a theology of the cross emphasizes that God suffers with us and for us. In this context, we can see God's love and solidarity with the patient and their loved ones. God is not distant or indifferent to their pain but is present with them in their suffering. As one parent shared with me following the death of their infant child, “I can converse with God because they know what it’s like to lose a child.”

Furthermore, a theology of the cross encourages us to act with compassion and love toward those who are suffering. We can offer comfort, support, and care to people with cancer and their loved ones, recognizing that in doing so, we are sharing in God's love and solidarity with them.

One of the arguments against this idea of a God who suffers with us is that the classic view of God in Western religion emphasizes an all-powerful, all-loving, and all-knowing deity. If God is all three, how and why does God allow human suffering?

In my view, this traditional understanding of God as all-powerful and distant from human suffering is a limited and inadequate view of God. While the idea of an omnipotent God may be comforting to some, it does not consider the reality of human suffering and the complex nature of our world.

Instead, I would argue that the cross of Christ reveals a God who does not exercise power over humanity but instead enters human suffering and takes it upon themselves. This God works alongside us to bring about a world in which suffering is overcome and all things are made new.

In this view, we've redefined God's power as expressed through love and solidarity rather than domination and control. This is a more nuanced and complex understanding of God that can accommodate the reality of our world.

Furthermore, the idea of an all-powerful God hinders our understanding of God's relationship with humanity. If we view God as entirely in control of everything that happens, it can be difficult to reconcile this with evil and suffering in the world. By redefining God's power as expressed through love and solidarity, we can come to a deeper and more meaningful understanding of God's relationship with humanity and our world.

This theologia crucis, or theology of the cross, is rarely talked about in Christian circles. It can be referred to as a thin tradition, meaning it lacks dominance. But it is a way of grappling with the question, Why Do Bad Things Happen? At its core is a shift from an all-powerful and distant God to an immanent or very present deity living, suffering, and dying with humans, nature, and all of life. This God is also described as being in, with, and under all we know. Because God is so intimately woven into all of life, they cannot help but suffer along with us.

Next week, I’ll bring this together with a Psychology of the Cross when we look at the shadow side of life and religion from Carl Jung’s depth psychology perspective.

James Hazelwood, author, bishop, and spiritual companion, is the author of Weird Wisdom for the Second Half of Life and Everyday Spirituality: Discover a Life of Hope, Peace, and Meaning. His website is www.jameshazelwood.net