Only On the Cross

Crucifix in the north transept of Grace Cathedral, San Francisco.

There is no getting around it, life—with all its beauty, wonder, and joy—is also really hard. Give it enough time, and I can say this with some level of certainty: terrible things will happen.

They will happen in the wide world and they will happen to you, your family, your community. And when that happens, Christians, as much as anyone else, are after The Answer. “Why?” We want to know the reason the bad things happen, and we want to figure out what God might have to do with any of it.

In trying to make sense of it all, most Christian thinkers line up somewhere along a spectrum of belief.

On one end is what I think of as “God the puppetmaster.” On this end of the spectrum, God is pulling every string there is, orchestrating every incident of the universe to bring about his ultimate end. At their best, those espousing this view are trying to maintain a high view of God’s sovereignty, power, and freedom.

But there are pitfalls, here, too. This view can make God the author of the world’s evils. It can also lead to platitudes that are incredibly unhelpful when we walk through times of agony and grief: ”God knows what he’s doing, and he’s in control.” “God must have something better in mind.”

Well, sure, fine. But that is really cold comfort in the face of the tragedies of life.

Then there’s the other side of the spectrum, which I think of as “God the helpless observer.” On this end of the spectrum, God isn’t in charge of the bad things that happen. In fact he doesn’t have anything to do with the tragedies of this life. He can use them, but they are definitely not his intention. And I get the impulse of this view. It’s beyond belief that God would ever design the terrible things that happen to us.

The trouble is, this view makes God as helpless in the face of tragedy as I am. I don’t know what to do with a God who is just as surprised by the awful things that happen in this world as I am. What good, exactly, is that kind of God? I mean, the Christian faith says that every atom of the universe is being created—at every moment of its existence—by the God who holds it all in unending love.

So if the reaction of God in the face of the tragic death, the return of the cancer, or the sudden firing from the job we love is something like, “Wow! Who could’ve seen that coming? I guess I need to figure out a plan b,” I’m honestly not sure what to do with a God like that.

So that’s the spectrum: God is the puppetmaster of the universe, pulling all the strings of every evil and every blessing we encounter or God is the helpless observer, giving us pats on the back when some awful thing happens and figuring out how to make it (maybe, a little bit) better.

And that spectrum is the problem. It’s a problem because it leaves no real room for mystery—the ways that God is endlessly beautiful that none of our seeking, thinking, talking, or explaining will ever exhaust. Spectrums are a tool of science, not poetry—and all good theology is poetry.

When suffering happens, God is not to be found sliced and diced on either side of the spectrum. Rather, when suffering happens we find the God made known in Jesus Christ on the cross. When the pain and bitterness of the terrible parts of this life hit us, God isn’t found somewhere on our spectrum of control and surprise. He isn't trying to explain away the fear, the hurt, the anger, the grief. He is with you in it.

So let go of the spectrum this Good Friday. You won’t find God there. You’ll find him only on the cross.