Why Does God Allow It?

When Other People's Choices Become Our Suffering

Because of the wickedness of those who dwell there. 

— Psalm 107:34

Why are you so full of heaviness, O my soul? And why are you so disquieted within me?

— Psalm 43:5

One of the most persistent questions raised about the Christian faith is also one of the most difficult: Why would a loving God permit so much suffering in the world? Today's Old Testament Psalm selections approach that question from two very different directions. Psalm 107 describes God turning fruitful land into a barren waste because of the wickedness of its inhabitants. Psalm 43 gives voice to someone whose soul is burdened with heaviness, who cries out to God for protection from deceitful and wicked people. In the first passage, we contemplate the consequences of wrongdoing. In the second, we encounter someone who may be suffering because of the wrongdoing of others. And between these two experiences lies one of the great mysteries of human existence: why the consequences of evil so often reach far beyond those who commit it.

We sometimes speak of this in terms of natural consequences, or the familiar saying, “What goes around comes around.” We make choices, and those choices produce results. If we behave dishonestly, we may eventually lose the trust of others. If we mistreat people, we may discover that our relationships have deteriorated. If we continually disregard what is right, we may find ourselves living with the consequences of our own decisions. Psalm 107 speaks more directly of God's judgment than this everyday language of cause and effect, but the underlying moral principle is worth considering. Would a world in which wickedness carried no consequences really be a more loving world? Perhaps one expression of God's love is that he has given us the freedom to choose, while allowing our choices to matter. We can learn from the harm we cause, repent, change our ways, and do better. Indeed, Psalm 107 goes on to describe the God who transforms wilderness into pools of water and dry ground into springs. Judgment is not the only word in the story. Restoration is there, too.

But there is a terrible complication. The consequences of wrongdoing do not always fall upon the wrongdoer. A parent's destructive choices may leave a child carrying wounds for decades. A dishonest employer may destroy the livelihood of an innocent family. A corrupt government may bring suffering upon an entire population. And sometimes the person who caused the harm appears to go on living quite comfortably, while someone else bears the burden. This is where Psalm 43 becomes especially meaningful to me. The psalmist pleads with God to defend him against deceitful and wicked people, then turns inward and asks why his soul is so troubled. He is not merely discussing suffering as a theological problem. He is experiencing it. And he does not seem to understand why the heaviness persists.

I know something about that heaviness. I have lived with anxiety for much of my life, and in more recent years I have come to understand that some of it is connected to trauma. There are times when my mind knows perfectly well that I am safe, that I have reasons to be grateful, and that God has not abandoned me. Yet my body seems to have received a different message. Anxiety can make itself known through an uncomfortable sensation in the chest, tension in the muscles, an unsettled stomach, or a nervous system that seems unwilling to rest. Sometimes there is no immediate danger at all. And I have wondered why someone who believes so deeply in God's goodness, who has experienced the comfort of prayer and Scripture throughout his life, should still struggle with these things. Why isn't faith enough to make the discomfort disappear? Psalm 43 offers me something precious: the recognition that a faithful person can be deeply troubled and still turn toward God. The psalmist's distress does not disqualify his faith. It becomes part of his prayer.

And this brings me back to the question with which we began. Why does a loving God allow people to make choices that hurt others? We often ask why God permits wickedness, while insisting upon our own freedom to make decisions whose consequences may harm someone else. We condemn injustice when it is committed against people we identify with, yet sometimes excuse cruelty, violence, persecution, or destruction when the perpetrators claim to represent a cause we support. We demand accountability from our opponents while finding explanations for the wrongdoing of our allies. We may even ask why God does not intervene to protect the innocent, while failing to speak up when innocent people suffer at the hands of those whose politics, religion, or grievances we find sympathetic. This is not an accusation reserved for one political party, one religion, or one segment of society. It is a temptation available to all of us. We sometimes demand from God a moral consistency we are unwilling to practice ourselves. Perhaps the more uncomfortable question is not merely why God permits people to do evil, but why we so often permit ourselves to excuse it.

Yet I would never want someone suffering from anxiety, depression, or trauma to conclude that the answer is simply to have more faith, make better choices, or stop feeling distressed. Scripture does not teach that every hardship is deserved, and the human nervous system does not always heal on command. The psalmist's words are not evidence of spiritual failure. They are evidence of a human being bringing his suffering into the presence of God. And the Psalm ends not with a declaration that every painful feeling has vanished, but with an invitation to hope: “Put your trust in God; for I will yet give thanks to him.” That little word yet means a great deal to me. I may still experience heaviness. I may still carry wounds from things that happened long ago. I may not understand why God allowed them to happen. But I can continue to pray, to seek healing, to resist causing suffering in the lives of others, and to trust that my present distress is not the final word. Faith is not always the absence of heaviness. Sometimes faith is what allows us to carry our heaviness to God.

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