Just another moment in your eyes
I’ll see you in another life
In Heaven!
Where we never say goodbye!
Now that it’s over
I just want to hold her
I’d give up all the world to see
That little piece of Heaven lookin’ back at me

Suffering does not have the final word

Today is a very special day. It is a day of remembering the person who not only gave me life, but who shaped me into the person I am today. My parent. My teacher. My spiritual support. My best friend. February will mark five years since her untimely passing, and while the pain of her loss never fades, I have come to accept that I will not see her again in this life. While I may not see her, her presence remains with me to this day. I wanted to write a post today in loving memory of my greatest supporter. Happy birthday, Mom.

Mom passed when I was eighteen. She had been diagnosed with stage four liver cancer the previous summer and given, at best, a few weeks to live. I had just become an adult, and thus, there are many stories of hers that I never heard. From what I do know, she had a tumultuous life. Her parents divorced at an early age. She had a physically abusive first husband before marrying my father, a drunk (not a term I use lightly) who neglected her very existence. She loved James, her last husband and my other “parent,” although he tried everything in his power to turn his children against her, for no apparent reason. Like me, she struggled with mental health disorders and substance abuse early in life. And she passed due to a deadly, progressive illness.

These are just some of the highlights I either heard or witnessed firsthand. She was certainly no saint, but she modeled the image of Christ more so than any person I have ever known. You would have never assumed she was the subject of so much travesty. She radiated the love of her savior daily, something very few churchgoers can do. She gave up her profession to homeschool her twelve children. She was actively involved in the community, and everyone who knew her can acknowledge that she touched their life in one way or another. She always wore the brightest smile and illuminated any room she entered with her caring and gentle spirit.

Lucy

Christmas was my mother’s favorite holiday and she truly exhibited the spirit of Christmas each year. When I was ten, she gave me what I still consider to be the greatest Christmas gift I have ever received. It was a copy of Skillet’s album, Awake. I had just discovered Skillet that year and they had quickly become my favorite band. I credit them for my love of rock and metal, and equally my interest in faith. Mom strictly enforced a Christian household and, as such, secular music (with few exceptions) was prohibited. When I learned that Christians could rock, it changed my world. She admired my interest and gave me the album late that Christmas night.

At the beginning of this post, I included lyrics to one of the most important songs in my life. Skillet’s song Lucy, the closing track on Awake, broke my heart the first time I heard it. It is a sad song, and while I did not fully understand its meaning at the time, it stuck with me. Accordingly, the song is about a young couple who were soon to become parents. However, out of fear and financial instability, the couple decided to terminate the pregnancy. Soon afterwards, the couple experienced extreme regret and guilt and were told to treat the procedure as a death in the family. They held a funeral service, purchased a headstone, and named the aborted child Lucy.¹

Little did I know until years later that I was almost a Lucy. My mother had given birth to nine children, she was forty-five when she was pregnant with me, and the doctor told her it was highly unlikely that I would be born without down syndrome. The doctors recommended abortion. However, my mother was one of the staunchest pro-lifers I have ever known, and determined that she would not go through with an abortion. To this day, while my political views may differ, on a personal level, I will always be pro-life for this reason.

But there is more to the story of the impact this song made for my mother and me. While I do not know the full story, I know that my mother struggled with a variety of mental health disorders and substance abuse in her teenage years. She was admitted to a notorious mental health clinic in central Georgia during the late sixties/early seventies. There are horror stories about this particular clinic. When we think of a 1950s American style insane asylum, the hospital my mother was at truly lives up to the stereotype. While she was there, she had one good doctor by the name of Jack, I believe. Jack allegedly wrote an account of his time at this hospital, which included meeting my mother. For purposes of anonymity, he refrained from using her real name. He called her Lucy.

After sharing Skillet’s song with my mother a few weeks after that Christmas, apparently she told one of my older siblings about how much the song touched her heart. I never heard the entire story about what happened in her time at Central State, but the untold story holds a special place in my heart. Having been admitted to a rehabilitation center in 2021 and a crisis unit only a few months ago, the story only becomes more special to me. While it is true that mental health and substance abuse disorders are largely genetic, I do not see this negatively. I see this as hope. I see that my loving mother survived tremendous suffering, and it never broke her. It shaped her into being the loving, caring mother everyone knew.

Of course, when my mother passed, the song took on yet another meaning for me. It was my anthem of hope. It was my reminder that though her body lost life, her spirit lives within me. As painful as it is to hear the song now, it is a bittersweet pain. The tears that fall each time I hear “Lucy” are not bad tears. They are tears of sadness, but they are even more tears of love. They are tears of reassurance that my mother lives on, and the end of her life on earth is not the end of my life with her. And each time I hear it, I am reminded of the strength my mother possessed.

She used her weaknesses to become strong. She rejected the status quo and lived as a true Jesus Freak. She did not sit idly in the church. She did not force dogma down the throats of others. She did not act superior to those who disagreed with her. She embraced the model of Christ in the Gospels: a person characterized by loving the outcasts and stepping on the toes of the self-righteous. She did not live a wonderful life, but she would never admit to this. She was grateful for her life, both the good and the bad. When she received the news that she had cancer, she boldly proclaimed that her savior had never let her down.

A reflection of hope

As the years have passed, I know that there are many areas in which my mother and I would not see eye-to-eye. My political views have become more progressive (though, I align myself dead center and quite simply despise politics). I do not attend church. I do not interpret the Bible as perfect or living. I almost completely dismiss Christianity as yet another organized religion. I still hold many “Christian” beliefs and place my faith in the God of Bible and his son, but I am not the churchgoing Christian I was five years ago. Despite these changes, I know that my mother would still love me the way she did when she walked this earth. And I know that one day, I will see her again.

When I reflect on my mother’s life and the few years I had with her, I am reminded of my destiny. I am reminded that in all things, I should exhibit nothing less than love. I must be bold in my beliefs, and not merely talk about them, but live them out. My mother redefined the churchgoing Christian, I believe. While she was adamant about attending church services, she understood that church is scripturally an activity done outside the walls of the church. It is about making an impact. It is about loving others, regardless of what they believe in or who they are. It is about striving to address the problem, rather than becoming part of the problem.

Since my mother’s diagnosis, now over five years ago, the problem of suffering has been at the heart of everything I believe and do. But what confounds me is the way my mother approached the problem. She did not use her illness, or the pain she experienced in her life, to lose faith. She embraced the pain and used it to further her faith. Her suffering did not discredit her beliefs. While the question of “Why, God?” undoubtedly plagued her mind, she maintained forward momentum towards glory. Even in her darkest days, she knew her calling to love others with every fiber of her being. And it radiated with every person she encountered.

Five long years without her. And while I cannot deny that I miss her each and every day, I know that her spirit lives within me. It lives within each of her children, and the countless lives she touched in 64 years. Those who knew her will never forget her. Her legacy lives on and will continue to do so. And I know that we will meet again someday.

Until that day, I love you mom. Happy birthday. I am signing off now to go celebrate and remember her with a bowl of pistachio ice cream.

1. Nate Carlson and John Cooper, “Music | The meaning behind the song ‘Lucy’ by Skillet,” November 22, 2010, Ramblings of the Village Idiot. Retrieved from https://www.natecarlson.com/2010/11/22/the-meaning-behind-the-song-lucy-by-skillet/.

Faith, hope, and…

Fill in the blank. Paul said in 1 Corinthians 13:13, “And now these three remain: faith, hope and ____. But the greatest of these is ____.” Is the missing word logic? No! Because when we are discussing matters of life and death or good and evil, logic simply has no place. I say this as a polemic towards both militant Christians and offensive opponents of belief. Why is it that there is so much debate on the issue? Is proving or disproving God really this important? That it would require one to take advantage of the hardest part of being human? How can we as a species be so divided on a topic that, one way or another, affects us all?

The problem of suffering is often categorized as a philosophical problem. And while yes, there is a time and place to debate the issue, I believe we should be more concerned about what we are doing to resolve the issue. It is not so much about explaining the reason for suffering as it is seeking to mitigate the prevalent suffering in our world. Of course, this is not an easy task. But nobody ever said it would be easy. Look around at the world. There is suffering everywhere. It’s on the news. It’s on the streets. It’s raging inside each and every one of us.

Love. That’s all it takes. No, love cannot cure a genetic disease. But it can minimize the ill effects of suffering prevalent in the one with the sickness. Explaining how God does or does not exist—what is that going to accomplish? The research I have reviewed for this post answers that question quite simply: nothing. Theodicies do not remove the sting of pain and suffering. Likewise, attacking people’s belief systems and boldly, yet selfishly asserting there is no god is producing nil results. I mentioned in a previous post that to have a purely logical answer to the problem of suffering, one must be a psychopath. I stand by my words.

A problem greater than the problem

Rationalization of suffering, in fact, worsens the effects of suffering. I can reflect on a time in my life when this certainly rang true. During one of my darkest times on this earth, when my mother was battling liver cancer, I struggled to make sense of her suffering and mine. Why did God do this to me? What have I done? I asked. The church gave me logical answers. Granted, I am endowed to note that the church I attended did so in a loving manner. But I was offered logic. In those moments, I did not need logic. The stress of trying to understand “why me?” and “what have I done to deserve this?” only added the stress I was already experiencing.

I came across a literature review of the sociologist Max Weber, who often discussed theodicy and suffering. In this review, the author explains, “The potential for the problem of suffering to shatter and shock people’s lives grows with the advance and force of rationalization.”_¹ The author continues that as intellectual beings, humans are driven by a desire to understand the meaning of suffering.² Believers of any faith, of course, become stressed and anxious to make sense of the apparent inconsistences of their belief systems and the world to which they belong. A world full of rampant suffering.

A biblical response

Now, I am not a sociologist. My purpose in this post is not to explain how societal beliefs and religious beliefs combat each other. My point in raising this issue is to address the word, the logos, we can live by. As I am a student of the Bible, I turn to this source for finding the solution. And the solution to this problem is, of course, love. That is the word I omitted in the aforementioned verse. But I would like to turn the attention to another verse, in which the author makes an important calling. Galatians 6:2 (CJB) states, “Bear one another’s burdens — in this way you will be fulfilling the Torah’s true meaning, which the Messiah upholds.”

My solution to the problem of suffering is found in this verse. Bear one another’s burdens. As cliché as it may sound, we are all in this together. Whether we identify as Christian, agnostic, atheist, or anything and everything else, we are all on this world together. We all share it. We share the good, we share the bad. We share the suffering, we share the joy. It is not our place to shove dogma down the throats of those who are already walking in darkness.

Galatians is written to “the church of Galatia,” and thus its audience is rather specific. It is the responsibility of Christians to bear the burdens of one another. I would take this a step further in my opinion. It is not the responsibility of Christian’s to only look out for each other, but to serve those in their community. Christian or not. In fact, the call to “bear one another’s burdens” is likely included to echo the sentiments of pagan philosophers Xenophon and Socrates.³ Believers of the Bible are called to serve each other, indeed, but they are also called to serve others.

The church and the temple

All too often the church views itself as some kind of utopian kingdom on the earth, superior to those who do not associate with it. In this way, it has become like the Temple in Jesus’ day. It has become a place for pious individuals to gather and hear about a book that was, in their view, written exclusively for them. Sinners are not allowed. Pastors have become the Pharisees. They assert that if you do not conform to the beliefs of the church, you cannot belong to it. I have seen this happen. It seems the church has accepted the idea that they are only to bear the burdens of its members.

Jesus led a revolution, but he did not do so by sitting in the temple and sharing the burdens of his fellow believers. Much to the Pharisees’ disgust, he communed with sinners. He shared the burdens of the religious outcasts. Why is it that the modern church refuses to follow his lead? Instead of prescribing philosophical defenses to the problem of suffering, the church should be leading the charge to eliminate suffering. And not only within itself, but within the greater community to which it belongs.

A call to change

Rationalizing suffering in the church is not alleviating the burden of human suffering. A pastor telling churchgoers why their perspective on the problem of suffering is superior to that of non-Christians is not ending the suffering. In fact, it is making the problem much harder to reconcile. While I believe that “there is a purpose for the pain” and “everything happens for a reason,” these beliefs accomplish nothing without action. Faith without works is dead. And works is not exclusively confined to missionary trips to other countries. Works out of faith are simply any actions performed for the purpose of showing love.

The love that Christ showed to sinners. No, pastors are not miracle workers and cannot cure blindness. But they can make every effort to love on the members of their church, as well as the members of their community. Instead of sending someone home for wearing dark leather or making one feel alienated for showing up to their facility high, why not make every effort to show them that they are loved? Instead of casually hanging out with church staff, why not show humility and develop relationships with those who do not attend the church?

The problem of suffering is a colossal problem. I feel that in the world, and especially in the church, the problem is overlooked. When it is touched upon, it becomes an opportunity to argue for a particular belief. This only makes the suffering worse, as I have experienced firsthand. We should be making every effort to bear each other’s burdens, regardless of where we come from or what we believe. In the end, three things remain, and rationalization is not one of them. Love is.

1. Wilkinson, Iain. “The Problem of Suffering as a Driving Force of Rationalization and Social Change.” The British Journal of Sociology 64, no. 1 (2013): 128.

2. Ibid., 130.

3. Weidmann, Frederick W. Galatians. First ed. Louisville, Kentucky: Westminster John Knox Press, 2012, 124.

For many years, I have struggled with a few mental health disorders. I have struggled with substance abuse. At least twice, these ailments led to a crisis. Twice, I was hospitalized as a result. In those moments, I could not possibly wrap my mind around the idea that my suffering was temporary. And yet, it was. I am supremely thankful to have the support system I do. I am beyond grateful for the nurses, therapists, counselors, and professionals who pushed me to believe the truth of this message.

I think the idea that pain is only temporary is a universal truth. You do not have to be a Christian to believe it. I will say that in my years as a churchgoer, I always appreciated teachings on verses such as Romans 8:18. They were scarce; more often than not, I was presented with theodicies. The free will theodicy. The original sin theodicy. The heaven theodicy, if you will. Indeed, there is a time and place for discussions on these concepts. But when one is grieving or facing a health crisis, saying people suffer because of sin can only make matters worse.

I am not saying churches should embrace a universalist message. Not that it would matter much, but I believe I would be excommunicated from every denomination if I were to say so. What I can say is that there are moments when logical doctrines cause nothing but harm. In my last post, I mentioned that in the face of grieving, logic is tossed out the window. Suddenly, defenses and offenses become blistering reminders of how polarizing religion can be. And it can certainly make the situation much worse.

Yes, most of the time when faced with hardship we beg the problem of suffering. “Why me?” “What have I done?” “How could God allow this to happen?” Imagine if instead of presenting a logical defense of God’s allowance of suffering, a pastor could change the course of the conversation. Instead of defending their point of view, why not try to help the suffer understand that God never intends suffering to permanent? No one suffers for eternity—unless you accept the Christianized concept of hell, which I do not.

I do not believe that we go to heaven when we die. This simply is not biblical. I likewise do not believe that “bad people burn in hell.” Hell is never even mentioned in the Bible! This is all clearly up for debate, and I hope to write on the topic one day. My point in raising this issue is to correct the idea often sucked out of this verse. Paul is not saying that “going to heaven” is the primary purpose of our suffering. “The glory that will be revealed” is Paul’s way of acknowledging that one day, whether in heaven, on earth, in purgatory, or wherever, God’s purpose will be revealed.

In this life, it is impossible to understand why we suffer. In this life, the purpose of hardship is for us to endure for the hope of what is to come. While researching this verse, I came across an old research article which explains of Paul’s intentions,

“[Paul] looked at the world and the human struggle with wide open eyes. The hope he finally came to was reached through despair. His hope respects an ultimate glory: this alone prevents his despair from being complete.”¹

Hope. That was Paul’s solution to the problem of suffering. That was his drive to endure his despair. It was my mother’s drive to endure the harshness of her cancer. It was my drive to process the grief of losing her. The pain is only temporary; but hope is eternal.

If it is hope that you will be in heaven someday, then I encourage you to cling to such hope. But heaven itself is not necessarily the glory we anticipate in suffering. The glory that will be revealed to believers of the Bible is one day understanding that there was a purpose for the pain God allowed. Taking it a step further, as Mr. Lewis has argued, humanity’s destiny is to one day be united with their god (or gods).² This union is, indeed, the ultimate essence of glory.

I mentioned earlier that I loved hearing verses such as Romans 8:18 exegeted in church when I still attended. I believe the ultimate aspect that I enjoyed the most is the encouragement to have hope. It was often distorted to a very specific hope, the hope that when we die, we enter paradise. But that is a very Western way of thinking. It centers solely on the self as it implies that we deserve to enter heaven. Do we? Have not all sinned and fallen short? Many modern scholars argue that the glory Paul speaks of is the “hope of redemption.”

Redemption from what, though? Sin? Possibly. But the following verses in Romans suggest it is redemption from the frailty of human life (e.g., 8:21, 23). One of my favorite scholars, Craig Keener, writes that humanity has been subjugated to perishability; we acknowledge that our bodies, our material life, is mere vanity, and we long to escape this.³ He states, “‘Redemption’ refers to the freeing of slaves; the goal of freedom here was liberation from death (7:24).”⁴ Don’t we all anticipate the end of suffering?

Human life is only temporary. And as such, suffering is only temporary. In regards to the problem of pain, I think we can draw this from Romans 8:18: every soul anticipates the end of suffering. We all question why we suffer. But as Paul acknowledges, we may not know why we suffered in this lifetime. That is to be revealed at another time. What we should focus on, and what we should encourage those struggling to know, is that we can hope in the future. We must certainly acknowledge the pain and devastation, but we can rest in knowing that it will not last forever.

Whether you are a theist, polytheist, atheist, or anything else, I believe we all possess a desire to see the pain end. It is a universal truth and a path I have walked many times. We may not all agree with the Bible or Paul (I, for one, think Paul is a bit overrated… but that’s just me) but we can agree that there is always hope. Sometimes, we have to realize the pain is only temporary. It may get worse before it gets better. And it may very well be that the trials do not compare to the glory that is yet to come.

1. Lewis, Edwin. “A Christian Theodicy: An Exposition of Romans 8:18–39.” Interpretation (Richmond) 11, no. 4 (1957): 405.

2. Ibid., 411

3. Keener, 106.

4. Ibid.

Meet Dusty. That’s the name of the cat in the picture at the beginning of this entry. Our family, particularly my mother and older brother Josh, adopted Dusty in January of 2016. He was a gift to my younger brother, Cameron. I can recall the day Cameron received his gift. I remember finding Elvis Presley’s song “Rock-a-Hula Baby” to be one of my all-time favorite songs. I remember, at the time, not knowing the value pets have and the impact they can make on a person. 

I have never owned a pet. When I began studying theology and found my focus in the problem of suffering, I read C.S. Lewis’ classic work The Problem of Pain. There is a section in the book dedicated to the problem of animal suffering. Admittedly, I skipped this portion of the book. I admit, I discarded the problem of animal suffering because it did not seem to be as important as the problem of human suffering. And while I would certainly strive to prevent the suffering of a child over that of an animal, this problem has resurfaced in my mind in recent weeks.

Josh and I, along with his four cats (taking proper ownership of Dusty), moved into an apartment three years ago this month. That summer, a year after losing my mother to liver cancer, I had begun to develop an appreciation for pets. This only continued to develop after moving. I would like to take a moment to write on each of these cats. Majesty, the oldest, was gifted to Josh when he was about 13. I remember going to pick her up from the shelter. Lucky, a petite black cat, I found while camping at my childhood friend and neighbor’s home at the age of nine. Dusty came into the picture seven years later. Lastly, Sporty was a rescue and taken in by Josh and my mother, just a year before she passed.

Living with these cats and seeing them each day, I quickly came to love each of them. Lucky was always my buddy, since I found her years prior. I was not mature enough at the time, nor was I years later, to care for and protect her. Josh welcomed her with Majesty and took wonderful care of them both. Even after moving, when the other three cats were, frankly, hesitant of me, Lucky demonstrated a love for me that I could never understand. Lucky and Majesty crossed the rainbow bridge in 2021, only months after I initially recovered from alcoholism. Even then, I did not know how important these cats were to my life and how much they shaped me and showed me a love comparable to the love of my mother.

Dusty. Dusty passed away on August 20th, 2023. The cat in the picture above has, like Majesty and Lucky, crossed the rainbow bridge. Seeing this loving cat suffer, and Josh as a result, I began to reevaluate the problem of animal suffering I had skipped over a few years ago. I have come to the conclusion that, regardless of identification as a species, all living beings suffer. And it is our responsibility to care for them, to love them, and to cherish them for the value they serve in our lives. 

Suffering is inevitable. Suffering is a problem. And suffering cannot be avoided, but it can be mitigated. I have wrote extensively on the church’s belief that all suffering is caused by human evil. But while human evil plays a role in the problem of suffering, it cannot explain everything. BioLogos is a controversial organization for supporting the concept of theistic evolution. I learned about the organization while studying at the fundamentalist, evangelical school Liberty University, where I earned my Bachelor’s. Regarding the problem of animal suffering, I came across a post that says this: 

Some of the suffering and evil in the world is clearly the result of human sin: genocide, rape, and countless other acts of evil. These are sometimes called “moral evils” because they are caused by our intentional actions. As such we have moral responsibility for them. Such evils are very difficult for us to experience, but are not as problematic to reconcile with a good Creator, since they are caused by us, not by God.¹

The problem is, the church views this as the only answer to the problem of suffering. However, Dusty was loved and cared for, tremendously, by Josh. I learned to love this cat. Human evil played no role, whatsoever, in what came to be. Cancer is a disease; it is one that I absolutely despise and wish to eradicate completely. And while there are trashy humans who mistreat animals, there is more to the story. Animals suffer; humans suffer; every living being, created in God’s image or not, suffers. To say this is all the result of sin simply aggravates me. Or, to say that suffering is meaningless because we are all “dust in the wind” is heartless. The church is wrong. There is evil in this world that exists beyond the confounds of sin and human nature.

I cannot say why animals suffer. I cannot say why humans suffer. There are many debatable reasons, each contingent upon specific circumstances. Circumstances that you and I may never even know. What I have learned in my experience with suffering is that suffering cannot simply be rationalized. To have a purely logical, Platonic explanation for the problem of suffering, one must be a psychopath. There are many Christians who “know” how to solve the problem of suffering. There are many opponents to Christianity who “know” the problem cannot be solved. 

But how can a loving Christian tell a parent who has lost their child in a vehicle accident that they are suffering because of their choices? How can an atheist tell a passionate theist that there is no point as to why their best friend died of cancer and God’s will thus will not prevail? In the face of such extreme losses, logic is tossed out the window. It is forgotten. And it should be.

In my earnest belief, life is about finding beauty in the rage, as I have discussed before. The loss of Dusty was tremendous and I would do anything to reverse it. But I see the beauty that lies in my brother’s hope. It lies in the constant care he provided, that he gave this cat a wonderful life, and in the midst of his suffering, drove to another state twice in one day to give him the best care possible. This beauty does not remove the tragedy, but it makes the burden much more bearable.

Yes, sometimes we suffer because we have made bad decisions. Sometimes we suffer because people are just inherently evil. Sometimes our pets suffer, and we suffer as a result. Sometimes we suffer for no reason at all. And sometimes we suffer so that we can learn to better appreciate and cherish life. There are countless other “sometimes.” No living creature is “dust in the wind” because each soul contributes to the beauty of life. And each soul has value that is magnified by the love and care shown to them, as I have seen with Dusty. What matters most is that we have faith in what we cannot see, hope in what could come, and love for who and what is important to us.

Rest in peace, Dusty Bear. You will not be forgotten.

1. BioLogos, “Is Animal Suffering Part of God’s Good Creation?” Retrieved from https://biologos.org/common-questions/is-animal-suffering-part-of-gods-good-creation.

In and of itself, the idea that God punishes people because they sin is not a misconception. The problem is that, all too often, the church interprets this as the only solution to the problem of suffering. Surely, you are familiar with the free will theodicy. If everybody lived perfect, Christ-like lives, there would be no suffering. But, we would all be programmed robots. With free will, we have the choice to do good deeds or sin incessantly. In truth, I can understand why the church focuses so heavily on this singular topic. It’s the “easy way” to explain how an all-loving, all-powerful God can allow so much depravity in this earthly life.

In my last post, I discussed a topic very close to my heart. That topic is the loss of my mother to liver cancer. When she was suffering such excruciating suffering to this awful disease, I knew the free will defense completely. I knew that God punishes sin with suffering. But what I did not know is how God can allow the righteous to suffer. While I can admit that no person is perfect, my mother did not deserve this horrendous level of suffering.

She birthed ten children. She homeschooled all twelve of us. Unless she was sick, she never missed a church service. She was actively involved in the community. She understood her role as a churchgoer; not to sit and listen to a pastor once or twice a week, but to go out and help those who struggle. She was faithful to her husband, even when he treated her worse than the dust on his feet. She lived to serve; and for that, she was punished? Needless to say, I had many questions. A lifetime of questions. Was she perfect? Absolutely not. But I cannot think of one thing she would have done to deserve God’s punitive wrath.

The word “innocent” is a Latin word, literally meaning “not harming.” Yet, all too often, we see that the innocent are dealt more harm than the vilest of humans. Will it be made right in the afterlife? Maybe. I do not believe in hell because it is an invention of Western theology. Argue as you will, there is no biblical basis for a fiery pit of demons torturing the wicked for eternity. None. There is a certain level of suffering that troubles me, and that is the suffering of the innocent. A child dying of starvation when there is enough food in the world to feed everyone? A family torn apart by the loss of life in a natural disaster? A person tormented in war because of their religious preference or ethnic origins? How can free will explain any of this?

In the simplest response, it cannot. The free will theodicy can explain the bulk of suffering prevalent in the world, but it is not capable of explaining all suffering. In his book God’s Problem (and one of my favorite books on the subject), biblical scholar Bart D. Ehrman notes, “The Bible contains many and varied answers to the problem of why there is suffering in the world.”[1] Some of these answers, he contends, are at odds with one another. The response of Ecclesiastes, that everything in life is “meaningless” or “vanity” may be the surest answer as to why the innocent suffer.

Space does not allow a full treatment of this issue, but in a very personal sense, I am not satisfied with the view of Ecclesiastes. Like the free will defense, Ecclesiastes can explain a great deal of the suffering we see in the world. But as one who has walked through the dark path of grief and loss, I find it exceptionally hard to accept that my innocent mother suffered tremendously for no apparent reason. As one who earnestly believes that “everything happens for a reason,” I have a difficult time believing that my mother suffered in vain.

That is my rant on the issue. Coming back to the point of this entry, free will is not the only definite answer to the problem of suffering. This is a monumental problem that tugs at the heartstrings of each and every individual. It is not solved as simply as 2+2=4. As the Bible makes clear, the solution is as confusing as polynomials. There is not always an absolute answer. I recall struggling to understand how some equations in algebra can result in a positive or negative number. Either answer is correct, although the answers are opposites. I am no math genius, and I hate algebra with a burning passion, but as I learned from the subject, there can be multiple “right” answers to any problem.

The same goes for the problem of suffering. Free will may explain one facet of the problem, while responses from Ecclesiastes or the Prophets may explain another. As one who lived and breathed the church for the majority of my life, I know that the church believes in one absolute answer. You sinned, you failed, and because of that, God is making you suffer. It is ironic to me that this is the same answer Job’s friends gave, and they were condemned by God.

I do not think I will ever understand how God can allow, or even make, the innocent suffer. It is an eternal mystery to me. What I do know is that there is no “one size fits all” solution to the problem of suffering. This idea of divine retribution that the church proclaims certainly has its grounding in the biblical texts, but so do the multiple other solutions offered throughout. I can tell you that whatever you are going through, it is not only because you are a bad person and God is punishing you. There certainly is a reason, but frankly, it is one that you and I may never know.

[1] Bart D. Ehrman, God’s Problem: How the Bible Fails to Answer Our Most Important Question – Why We Suffer, (New York: Harper Collins, 2009), 15.

Five years ago, my mother was diagnosed with stage 4 liver cancer. In the weeks leading up to the diagnosis, I was sure that I was about to experience my best days. I had just graduated high school, after dual-enrolling at my dream school and receiving my diploma and Associate of Arts. I was hired as a coach for the swim team I had been on for several years. I was doing excellent with my full-time job. I was accepted to the same school’s political science program (I was extremely passionate about politics at the time—gross!). I met a girl at my job who I was certain was “the one” for me. Things were going marvelous, and then my best friend, my mentor, my rock was given just a few weeks to live.

I will never forget the night I received the news. My mother called me to her room, closed the door, and explained the diagnosis to me. She recited Job 14:5, which speaks of God knowing the number of our days. She explained that she remained faithful to him and his will for her. She told me that she loved me and gave me a hug that I can still feel to this day. I did not know how to process this news. I remained calm, then went to my bedroom and stood still for a moment. Shortly thereafter, I collapsed on the floor, bawling my eyes out.

Depression entered me, and it has not yet decided to leave. The most obvious signs were the loss of weight and hair. I started drinking heavily. I lost the girl. My family started to fall apart. The only thing going well for me was my job at a grocery store. After the summer semester of studying political science, I quickly learned that I passionately despise American politics and wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. I was ready to drop out and pursue a career with my company, following the footsteps of many of my siblings. But my terminally ill mother would not let that happen.

I told her my plan to drop out of school. She did not want to hear it. She had homeschooled all twelve of her children, but I was the only one she taught from kindergarten to high school. She worked extremely hard to instill a passion for research and writing in me. And of course, I realized I could not let that go to waste.

As we all know, when we suffer, we learn to heavily rely on faith. Whether that is faith in God, in the people closest to us, or even just the faith in knowing that the darkness is only temporary. I had started attending a small Methodist church just months before mom was diagnosed. The church played a special place in my life and I eagerly became involved. In all honesty, I was a bit of a “Jesus Freak” at the time. My beliefs were of vital importance to me at the time, and religion was the other subject I always excelled at in school. After about a week of deep thought, I decided to pursue a degree in theology.

Central to this decision was the question I now deal with in every post on Living by the Logos: why do we suffer? How is it that a loving, merciful God could allow his obedient follower to suffer a terminal illness? How is it that the same God could allow an entire family to collapse at such devastation? How could he allow me to suffer when I was earnestly trying to follow the faith my mother possessed? How is it that he could create an entire species and subject them to endless suffering, from birth to death? Why does God allow suffering?

In this post, I have included a picture of a painting I started around the time I decided to study theology. Art and music have always played a tremendous role in my life. When my mom was sick, I found a new meaning in one of my favorite albums. The Christian rock band Red was and is one of my favorite groups. They released an album when I was going through a hard time in high school titled “of Beauty and Rage.” When mom was sick, I returned to this album and appreciated the deep insight conveyed on the record. There is beauty and rage in every aspect of life. There is good, there is evil. There is suffering, there is hope. There is hate, there is love.

This post is a bit of a mess. I am trying to explain the heart of who I am as a person, where I come from, and where I am headed in just a couple hundred words. There is so much more to expound upon, from this dark chapter in my life to the one I am seeking to close. As I have crawled from the pit of despair once more, I have found myself reflecting on the summer of 2018. At the time, I knew the road ahead was going to be dark and rocky. But I maintained hope that the good always overcomes the bad.

I mentioned in the previous post that I attempted suicide in April. It was not the first time. This time, it has been especially difficult to recover and find myself again. But take this as a word of hope in whatever you are going through right now: darkness is only temporary. You may only see the rage, but always seek to find the beauty in life. Whether that beauty is in God, in others, in nature, or anything else, always seek it out. It may not be apparent, but I can promise you that it is there.

It has been a great several weeks since I last posted. I have more than appreciated the support of those closest to me. I have seen a marvelous difference in the things I have struggled with. I have been able to appreciate my life. I have learned to appreciate the good times as well as the bad. I have been able to reconnect with old friends. I have learned to appreciate the past and embrace the future. Most importantly, I have been able to cling to the words that concluded my last post: there is hope. There is always hope.

I am still fighting my way back. That being said, my posts will likely remain infrequent for a bit longer. But I appreciate your support and the time that you have taken out of your day to read this blog and understand who I am. I hope to write to you soon. Until then, I will remain focused on the fact that my life is certainly a life worth living.

Hello dear friends,

I have been absent from this site for quite a while. I wish to use this newsletter to clarify some things for you and provide some updates.

I recently found myself in the woes of a serious mental health crisis. A number of factors contributed to this event: I tried coming off antidepressants well before I was ready, I was dealing with serious and unmerited stress at my job, finding myself unaware of what I believe and who I am, reexperiencing the grief of losing my mother and childhood trauma, recovering from a relapse in February after 19 months of sobriety, and struggling to maintain relationships with my loved ones due to my own insanity. I lost the job. I lost my closest friends (one to death) and a relationship with the only person who seemed to understand me. Most painful of them all, I lost myself.

On April 23^rd of this year, I attempted suicide. That is truly hard to admit. I have struggled with suicidal thoughts for over half my life, attempting on several occasions, yet this one was the most extreme and consequential. The last times I had attempted, now over two years ago, I felt a sense of relief and contentment to be alive afterward. This time, the thoughts, the plans, the ideas only continued to get worse. I finally made a call that potentially saved my life. I called 988.

I had always been hesitant about calling this number. I feared the police would come and lock me up. It was not so. I was connected with a professional counselor who dispatched a team to come to my home and perform a mental health assessment. I spent over a week in a crisis center. It was coming; I sought therapy after my attempt in April, but that was not enough. My therapist essentially forced me to call the number. Either I would, or she would have me involuntarily committed. Obviously, I took the first choice.

Writing has always been an excellent coping strategy of mine, yet recently I have found it rather burdensome. Especially to dedicate to writing on the problem of suffering and Christianity, which plays a traumatic role in my life alone. That being said, I do not know when or if I will return to posting regularly. Right now, my focus lies in repairing what I can of the damage I caused myself physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. It lies in repairing the bonds I have broken, the few that I can salvage. And it lies in ensuring that I do not repeat these mistakes again.

I am in therapy. I am on new medications that have worked better than the ones I was on previously. I have a new job. I have a desire to live and take things one day at a time. And most importantly, I have hope. Part of this recovery process requires me to confess my shortcomings to you, the readers who have supported my efforts. It has required me to be honest with the few friends and family remaining, after causing them extreme worry. Of course, it has required me to be honest with myself. That, my friends, is recovery. It’s a work in progress, but it is one I am wholeheartedly committed to.

There is a certain stigma about mental health, especially where I am in the southeastern US. But it is very real and very concerning. If you or someone you love is struggling, help is available. I was not aware of this help when I needed it most. The danger is real. As someone who struggles with a variety of mental health disorders, I can attest that it is no laughing matter… Despite what your pastor tells you.

Please continue to share Living by the Logos. It is my mission to provide hope to others who struggle. And I hope to return to it soon. But I cannot give hope if I do not have hope to give; the current mission is to rekindle such hope. I am confident that there is hope. There is always hope.

Your thoughts, concerns, and prayers are much appreciated during this time.

I hope to write to you soon,

Luke.

If I fall again, will it be the end?

I know it’s wrong, you think I’m strong, but I just pretend

Is it takin’ over, will it bury me?

Or will clarity become the cure for my disease?

(Beartooth, “Disease” from Disease, 2018 Red Bull Records)

Fallen Again

My purpose in this post is not to exegete any Scripture. My purpose is to share with you, my beloved audience, where I am currently at. I do this with the goal of providing hope to you, in whatever you are facing, as well as for myself as I struggle to find who I am. It has been a tough couple of weeks. I have lost my closest friends, my job, and have found myself at the lowest depths imaginable.

It’s all too familiar. I have been here before, but this time it’s different. I stand before the shadow of death and cannot decide whether to accept or reject it. The scars, the broken relationships, the shattered bottles and broken records, spinning on repeat. What have I done this time? How have I fallen so low—again? I have forsaken God—has he forsaken me, too?

Jacob’s Ladder

At the back of my mind, the 1990 film Jacob’s Ladder plays over and over again. In this film, we meet Jacob Singer, an infantryman in the Vietnam War who struggles to cope with reality as he returns from war. Or at least, that’s what it seems from the beginning. Singer is a sufferer—he has lost his friends in war, his child in a devastating car accident, and the love of his life. Throughout the movie, these losses haunt him. Literally.

Near the end of the movie, we learn what has been going on with Singer. He was part of a military experiment in the Vietnam War. He and his allies were given a drug that turns them into monsters of war, literal killing machines. That was the goal of this drug. But instead of killing the enemy, they kill each other. By the end, you know that Singer is not struggling with reality; he is struggling to cope with the fact that he is already dead.

In the present, as we may call it, Singer is infatuated with the concepts of death and hell. Dante’s Inferno certainly plays a major influence in the movie. Our hero is seeing demons, having visions that the people close to him are, in actuality, out to destroy him. He cannot find hope. Until the end of the movie, when he accepts that his existence is no longer and he ascends the stairwell of his former home with his deceased son. In the last scene, we see singer laid up in an infirmary in Vietnam. His dog tag is taken, and he is pronounced dead, and at peace.

A Biblical Metaphor

The film’s title comes from the Old Testament. The source of inspiration is found in Genesis 28:10-22, where the patriarch has a vision of a mediator between heaven and earth. Verse 12 summarizes: “He had a dream in which he saw a stairway resting on the earth, with its top reaching to heaven, and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it.” This story is open to interpretation, with many contemporary Christian scholars believing the ladder to represent Jesus, the mediator between God and earth.

My purpose here is not to focus on the symbolism, however. As I have struggled to recoup and regain myself, I have found myself examining the promises of God in the Bible. I try not to make too much of these in my content on Living by the Logos. My reason being, I seek to avoid the self-centered process of eisegesis; the method of looking at Scripture and asking “What does this mean for me?” Exegesis asks what Scripture means in its original context, and generally that is where my focus lies.

In Genesis 28:15, God tells Jacob, “I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.” To my knowledge, God has not made any promises to me. But should that stop me from trusting in him?

My last post focused on Jeremiah 29:11, the most overrated (and misinterpreted) passage in Scripture, I believe. When I wrote this post, I was in a dark place. I was in a state of utter hopelessness. I needed hope, and I found it. God is not speaking to me in Jeremiah 29:11, and he certainly isn’t in Genesis 28:15. But these are words of hope. These are the words of a God who saves and redeems.

Whether we are the direct recipients or not, I believe we can find practical use in the Bible. Even at my worst, I cannot deny that there is a God out there. A being greater than me, and certainly stronger than my weaknesses and shortcomings. I do not expect him to work miracles in my favor every time I mess up, and neither should you. But if you believe that he is out there, you can rest in knowing that there is hope. There is always hope.

I messed up—again. I found myself at the bottom—again. And that feeling that has overtaken me so many times overtook me once more. That feeling is hopelessness. And try as I might to fight it on my own, I will fail. The result is always death. Whether mental, spiritual, or physical, I know that I alone cannot fight it.

When I picked a domain for this website, I wanted a title that could provide hope. It may come across as prideful, but I think it is unique, especially in the modern world. When we think of faith, we think of the church. We think of dogma. We think of legalism. I am not a Christian, by definition. What am I, then? I am a follower of the Word, the Logos.

The Bible does not answer all of life’s questions and problems. It does provide something indispensable, however. That is hope. A hope that the troubles we face are not permanent. A hope that our suffering will end. A hope that there is a God, who understands our heartache and works to better us and the world around us.

If he was willing to watch over Jacob, what should make us believe he will not watch over us?