“One day when we came back from work, we saw three gallows rearing up in the assembly place, three black crows. Roll call. SS all round us, machine guns trained: the traditional ceremony. Three victims in chains – and one of them, the little servant, the sad eyed angel … All eyes were on the child. He was lividly pale, almost calm, biting his lips. The gallows threw its shadow over him.
The three victims mounted together onto the chairs. The three necks were placed at the same moment within the nooses.
‘Long live liberty’ cried the two adults.
But the child was silent.
‘Where is God? Where is he?’ someone behind me asked.
At a sign from the head of the camp, the three chairs tipped over.
’Bare your heads!’ yelled the head of the camp. His voice was raucous. We were weeping.
Then the march passed began. The two adults were no longer alive… but the third rope was still moving; being so light the child was still alive…
For more than half an hour he stayed there, struggling between life and death, dying in slow agony under our eyes. And we had to look him full in the face. He was still alive when I passed in front of him. Behind me I heard the same man asking:
‘Where is God now?’
And I heard a voice within me answer him
‘Where is he? Here he is – He is hanging here on this gallows...’”
Ellie Wiezel Night (p71-2)
We’ve all asked the question. Often, during some of the harshest experiences of our lives and collectively throughout human history, the cry ‘where is God?’ has been whispered, shouted, accused and lamented. For those of us that utter the question this is no trivial thought. It challenges the very heart of our faith: not asking does God exist, but perhaps more painfully, drawing into doubt the very character and power of the loving, intimate and involved God that we once knew: the God who in former times responded, but now seems devastatingly absent.
The extract above illustrates the destructive and crushing power this question holds. During world war two six million Jews, gypsies, homosexuals, political prisoners and other so defined ‘deviants’ were ‘exterminated’ by the German Nazi party. In historical context, for some the holocaust or shoah (a Hebrew word that literally translates as ‘destruction’) represented the end of the philosophical era known as the enlightenment. The hope that man was becoming more reasonable, scientific and rational was shown to be a false illusion as supposedly rational, scientific and reasonable ideas, processes and policies were uncritically put in place to systematically ‘cleanse’ or ‘eradicate’ certain people groups. In the gas chambers, transport systems and incinerators of Auscwitz, Bergen Belsen and Buchenwald new technology was put to murderous ends, scarring the twentieth century and turning notions of human progress into optimistic, naïve meanderings.
However, perhaps more significantly the story above highlights the plight of a people who understood themselves as ‘God’s chosen’; a designation that has since been brutally challenged by the devastation of the shoah. Where is God when 6 million of his children are harassed, persecuted, beaten and executed? Why didn’t he act? Where is the saving, liberating and involved Yahweh of the exodus?
This isn’t just a specifically Jewish question, or even a question limited to the holocaust. The 1994 Rwandan genocide left 800,000 people massacred - and all in a country that was experiencing a Christian revival. Where was God when churches sheltering hundreds of Hutu’s and Tutsi’s were burnt to the ground?
The same question can be asked by those who remember the killing fields of Cambodia and Kosovo, the victims of racism and oppression in South Africa and even the African American communities of the southern states of the USA.
Even on a personal level we cry ‘where is God?’ in the midst of individual struggles, as family members are diagnosed with terminal illnesses, as debts rise and relationships break apart. Where on earth is God?
The whisper of the prisoner in Ellie Wiesel’s novel Night provides the beginnings of an answer. This isn’t an answer that exposes the riggers of theodicy and explains how a loving God permits evil... Doctrines of free will, human potential and development all have their place, but may be far from helpful to those who have cried unending tears of past memories and experiences.
The image of God painted by the new testament is that of a fundamentally involved, incarnated, ruined and destroyed being. that is a God who cares enough to do something; a God who knows of tears, pain and suffering. But what sense does it make to talk of a God who, as Wiezel imagines, 'is hanging here on this gallows'.
“…a God who cannot suffer is poorer than any man. For a God who is incapable of suffering is a being who cannot be involved. Suffering and injustice do not affect him. And because he is so incompletely insensitive, he cannot be affected or shaken by anything. He cannot weep for he has no tears. But the one who cannot suffer cannot love either. So he is a loveless being”
Jurgen Moltmann The Crucified God p229
Moltmann’s critique of this ‘loveless God’ is explicitly a critique of the philosophical notions of omnipotence, omniscience and constancy, ideas he and others view are Greek additions to the God of Christianity. In short his statement is a reaction to the God who in being all loving and all-powerful seems to contradictorily allow suffering. How can a God who has the power to make a difference watch as the SS execute children, burn the sick alive and experiment on innocents?
Moltmann’s answer is that he can’t and doesn’t. What we take from Moltmann is not a God who is powerless, but a God, who through the pages of the bible and history too, is involved in the very fibre of human life; in joy and pain, with laughter and tears.
Jewish theologian Colin Eimer highlights that it isn’t just from the pages of German theology books that we find this God. Using the word ‘shekhinah’ (another Hebrew term used to describe God’s presence with his people), Eimer highlights that biblically God is consistently with his people in and out of their sufferings.
When Ezekiel warns of God’s glory (shekhinah) departing from the temple (Ezekiel ch.10) and the imminent exile of Israel as punishment for their sins he simultaneously affirms his presence with them: ‘yet for a little while I have been a sanctuary for them in the countries where they have gone’ (Ex 11v16). Eimer highlights that even in the exile, the desert, the barren land or whatever name we give it, God, biblically, is with us:
“The Shekhinah, the divine presence, has gone into exile with the people. God will be with them, will not abandon them and will ultimately return them to their land and former glory. To match the tears we weep by the waters of Babylon, God also weeps”
Colin Eimer ‘Suffering: A point of meeting’ p99
When we look to the New Testament and to the doctrine of the incarnation we see a God whose glory is defined by an act that willingly accepts suffering – the cross. In Philippians’ Paul quotes what many think was a hymn from the early church.
The beautiful passage explains how Jesus took on sufferings, relinquishing his glory, making himself nothing and dying on a cross in one of the most brutal and horrific of ways (Phill 2v6ff).
The Nicene Creed (the one we sometimes say in church) highlights that this Jesus was wholly human and wholly God - that he suffered pain and torture and lived through agonizing trials (though the creed seems to miss out the 33 years Jesus spent on earth it’s still pretty thorough given the word restrictions!):
’…For us and for our salvation
he came down from heaven,
was incarnate of the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary
and became truly human.
For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate;
he suffered death and was buried.’
There is no doubt this is our God. A God who suffers, who knows our pain and who loves, forgives and serves despite agony.
One of the things that struck me whilst watching Mel Gibson's interpretation of Jesus' arrest, trial and crucifixion, 'The Passion', wasn't that Jesus' sufferings were unique (obviously Jesus as God incarnate is and what he achieved through suffering is), but that millions of others have experienced similar unjust gross acts of physical suffering.
That our God goes by the name 'Emmanuel', 'God is with us' is no mere honorary title. Our God, whether we use the terms 'shekhinah, incarnation, indwelling or whatever has proven his right to be known as 'the God who is with us'. He sympathises, relates with and even experiences the pain, torture and devastation of the Jewish child hanging on the gallows, or the Tutsi families burned alive in Rwandan churches. our God is involved at the deepest level of our lives. yes in the joy, but yes, as much so in the pain.
See, from his head, his hands, his feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down.
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?
We’ve all sung these words, reflected on them and possibly felt God draw near to us as we recognise the pain he felt on the cross. This God is not triumphant, wallowing in his victorious goodness, celebrating His suffering as a glorious necessity in salvation. God suffered for us and suffers with us as He is a God of love, who through weakness and suffering gave himself entirely for others. This is his glory, his victory and our victory. This love doesn’t endorse suffering but offers a way in which evil and pain is undermined:
“Love, which through suffering absorbs evil and is completely vulnerable, is of it’s very nature indestructible. Such love cannot be defeated by evil and death, whereas enmity eventually exhausts itself…”
Marcus Braybrooke The Power of Suffering Love p85-6
As Marcus Braybrooke emphasises, this love is the ‘key to life’. As with the cross this is a love that creates and sustains by undermining the destructive nature of pain and suffering.
The God that we read about through the pages of our bibles, who reveals himself ultimately through the cross, who draws near to us in our pain and cries with us is a God who knows of suffering. For many of us it is this God that we meet as situations in our lives become insurmountable... it is he who sits with us, understands us and cries with us as he holds us.
For Bonhoeffer, hung in a concentration camp during the closing stages of world war two, it is the God who suffers that is not only biblical, but also the only source of our help and hope.
"The Bible directs man to God's powerlessness and suffering; only the suffering God can help. To that extent we may say that the development towards the world's coming of age… which has done away with a false conception of God, opens up a way of seeing the God of the Bible, who wins power and space in the world by his weakness."
(Letters and Papers from Prison p197).
As Bonhoeffer experienced, God’s power is shown through his weakness, through his self-giving love and his death on a cross (I Cor 1v25). This in no way undermines the victory of the resurrection, but I guess sometimes, in the midst of pain, suffering and confusion, it is the God that suffers who reveals himself to us and makes most sense.