Why is there suffering? Who or what causes tragedy and heartache? This Sunday’s Gospel* brings the mystery of suffering front and center and directs us to grapple with it. The “why” of suffering is likely something we all consider at one point or another – or at multiple times in our lives. I kind of think we all have to figure out what suffering means. Coming to some kind of understanding about why God allows suffering is one of the great spiritual tasks that we each have to do. And as we seek to understand it, we can grow closer to God. So, that said, I certainly can’t resolve the mystery of human suffering for anyone else. I will, though, go out on a limb and offer some of the thoughts that have been kicking around in my head. Maybe they’ll resonate with you too.

So, in this story, Jesus is responding to his disciples as they try to figure out the why of suffering for a person who was born blind. “Rabbi,” they ask him, “who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Jesus tells them that, “Neither he nor his parents sinned; it is so that the works of God might be made visible through him.” Jesus assures them (and us) that suffering is not a punishment for sin. Why do we all need this reassurance? I think it’s because, as people wrestle with the mystery of suffering, we tend to look for a reason or a cause. If bad things happen because of people’s sins, then they brought it on themselves, right? There’s almost a comfort in holding a person accountable for their suffering. There’s an element of control in an unpredictable world, isn’t there? If God punishes bad behavior, I can say, “If I follow the rules, I can avoid suffering. Bad things will not happen to me if I am good.”

But what about when bad things do happen to you or someone you know and love? Do you blame yourself? Do you blame God?

I would love to have control over the chaos of life, but by now I know that’s not how it works. Tragedy strikes good people and families. Each of us endures hardships of some kind. Also, the reward-and-punishment God seems mean, and God’s not mean. The God I know is love and freedom, mercy and presence, not punishment.

So, God’s not mean, but sometimes people are.

What I’ve come to understand about suffering is that much of it is a result of human meanness, not God’s. I think of the people throughout the world who are suffering deeply from aggression they did not bring on themselves. Some are fighting against it, others have been forced to flee to safety, and they’re scattered far from their homes and their families. Why are innocent people suffering? Certainly not because of their sin. It’s more the result of human evil caused by those who, rather than working to heal their own brokenness, have projected it onto others.

What about natural disasters, which some label “acts of God”? I don’t think these are God’s acts – or punishments either. As natural disasters get more violent and frequent, it’s clear that they’re a result of human irresponsibility with our earth, a collective sin. God’s not mean, but we’ve done some mean things to our planet. Consequently, we all suffer.

And sometimes misfortunes are not the result of a human action. They just happen. There’s no cause and effect. There’s no apparent reason, and I don’t know why. A side effect of suffering is that it shows me my vulnerability, and the more a tragedy seems to have no cause, the more vulnerable I feel. No cause = no control, right? And that might not feel good, but the truth is that I am vulnerable. I don’t have control over my life. I’m fragile and even weak sometimes, and that’s why I need God. I’m not self-sufficient, and that’s why I need other people.

The season of Lent confronts us with our frailty, our sin, and our suffering as we move closer to the cross over these days. It invites us to wrestle with the question of suffering as we watch Jesus suffer. I don’t think it’s a bad thing to reflect on these realities from time to time. As we struggle with one thing or another, life invites these reflections too, and Lent reminds us to ponder on it all with God through the lens of our faith.

As I grapple with all of this, I notice a few invitations:

God always seeks to draw close to me, and you, particularly in our struggles. God is close to the brokenhearted. God wants us to trust in God’s love and presence. That doesn’t mean God causes our suffering to make us change or teach us a lesson, but that God is with us, deeply present in all the circumstances of our lives.

Also, God is calling me, and us, to move against evil with some actions beyond “sending thoughts and prayers.” Sometimes there’s no obvious action to take to fix a situation, and so we hold it, and people, in love and prayer. But sometimes we can act directly to impact a situation or to work against injustice. Yes, let’s pray, but let’s also act when we can.

In addition, as much as I would like to see those who do mean things get theirs, I also see how any potential for meanness in someone else is also a possibility in me. I need to seek healing for my own pain so I don’t project it onto someone else. In our Gospel, Jesus affirms that the suffering of the person born blind wasn’t due to his sins or his parents sins. In fact, I’m not sure if anyone sins in this story, although the Pharisees are pretty annoying. But is questioning a sin? I don’t think so. We all have room to grow and change, not because God will punish us if we don’t, but because we want to be better. For me as a Christian, Lent is a good time to try and grow. As I reflect on the suffering, broken body of Christ, I reflect on my own brokenness too.

And we know the end of the story. Brokenness is real, but it’s redeemable. As community, we can bring our woundedness together, owning our incompleteness, and drawing near each other. God is present when we come together in our woundedness. God, who has chosen to be vulnerable too, is with us. Therein lies our redemption and our resurrection. Rising is not just an action of an individual. It’s something we can do together.

Sunday’s Gospel ends with a person who has new vision praising Christ. It ends with the possibility of growing and cultivating new life. So, let’s do that. Let’s pray. Let’s work. Let’s heal. Let’s rise.

For Reflection:

• When you think about suffering, your own or other people’s, do you attribute it to a cause? Why do you think people suffer?

• When you reflect on hard times in your own life, how do you make meaning from it?

• From the perspective of hindsight, what do times of struggle and suffering mean to you now? Is there any greater purpose or meaning that you can see now that you couldn’t then?

• Where is God for you in all of this?

* I’m using the Scrutiny Year A Readings for the 4th Week of Lent – it’s technical, I know, but at this point in Lent there are options for our readings if you’re Catholic.

By Sister Leslie Keener, CDP

Sister Leslie Keener, CDP is the director of God Space, a community-building spirituality ministry in Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky. She’s a Sister of Divine Providence with a Masters in Ministry and a Certificate in Spiritual Direction and Retreats from Creighton University. She directs retreats, meets with people for spiritual direction, and serves as the vocation director for her community. She also serves on the Board of Spiritual Directors International. She enjoys music, meaningful conversations, and dancing.