“WHO SINNED?”

The news was stunning and breathtaking. The doctors told my wife and me that the little girl she had been carrying for eight months had a rare chromosomal disorder that would likely cause her to die at birth. We went home completely disoriented and full of tears. The doctors were so matter-of-fact in announcing this bad news that I wanted to grab and shake them and say, “This is our daughter you’re talking about, not some medical malfunction!” Up to that point in my life nothing terrible had happened to me. Now I was faced with one of life’s worst problems—dealing with the coming death of a child. How does a person survive this kind of news? How do you move from painting your child’s nursery to planning her funeral? How does a Christian, one who believes in the goodness of God, respond to something so tragic and heartbreaking?

It turned out the doctor’s prognosis was wrong. She did have a chromosomal disorder, but not one that was immediately fatal. Our little Madeline (ironically, her name means “tower of strength”) survived the birth but weighed only a few pounds, had a heart defect, was deaf and could not keep food down. The medical experts then told us she would not live more than a year or two. During that time both my wife and I felt as if we had been kicked in the stomach—repeatedly. It just would not end. One day a pastor I had known for years took me to lunch in an effort to comfort me. While I was in the middle of eating my salad he asked, “Who sinned, Jim, you or your wife?” I said, “Excuse me . . . what do you mean?” He said, “Well, one or both of you must have sinned at some point to have caused this to happen.”

I began thinking about the bad things I had done in my life, wondering which one of them could have made God angry enough to give us a child born with terminal birth defects. Could this pastor possibly be right? I wondered. I could think of at least a half dozen fairly egregious sins, but nothing illegal or highly immoral and certainly none worth making a baby pay for it. Then I thought, Maybe it was my wife! After all, he said one or both of us! Maybe she did something bad—what could it be? I let my mind wander in this fashion the rest of the afternoon and sank deeper into a mixture of remorse and sadness, anger and suspicion. As my mind wandered down this path, it seemed that Madeline’s birth was the sad sum of a simple cause-and-effect equation: God was balancing accounts or had some reason behind his actions. And to question or judge the rightness of God’s actions would be to add even more sin.

Madeline lived for just over two years, and then her little body finally gave up the fight. Over those two years, and the year after, people said some outrageously ignorant and tactless things to us. During the viewing the night before Madeline’s funeral, a woman said to my wife, “It’s okay honey, you can have another child.” The comments that started to bother me the most were the theological ones explaining what God was up to in all of this. “Well, I am sure the Lord had a reason for this,” several people said. “I guess God just wanted her in heaven more than he wanted her here,” said another. “Sometimes children are too beautiful for this earth,” said yet another. The God they talked about was too mean or too small. They wanted and needed to believe that there was a divine plan, but this plan painted a picture of a God who cared more for himself than he did for me. I was led by these Christian friends to believe that God was cruel, capricious and selfish.

According to his journal, George Fox (1624-1691), the founder of the Quaker movement, sat down by a creek and sensed the Holy Spirit whisper these words to him: “There is one, even Christ Jesus that can speak to thy condition.” I believe that Jesus can and does speak to our condition. My “condition” was obvious. I—along with my wife—had been faithful (though imperfect) followers of Jesus, and we were faced with one of life’s most painful experiences: burying our child. I have learned to ask myself this question when it comes to choosing the right narratives about God: Is this understanding of God consistent with the God Jesus revealed? What would Jesus say about our situation? Would he conclude, as did my pastor friend, that our daughter’s condition was the result of our sin?

AN ANCIENT NARRATIVE: THE ANGRY GOD

The pastor who asked the question “Who sinned?” was operating from a narrative that has been around for several millennia. Nearly all ancient religions were built on a narrative that says we have to do something in order to get the blessings of the gods, and conversely, if we anger the gods we will surely be punished. The narrative can be summed up as, “God is an angry judge. If you do well, you will be blessed; if you sin, you will be punished.”

Not only is this narrative found in most primitive religions, it is also seemingly found in the Hebrew Bible. In Exodus 20:5 we read the following warning about idols: “You shall not bow down to them or worship them; for I the LORD your God am a jealous God, punishing children for the iniquity of parents, to the third and the fourth generation of those who reject me.” The rabbis in Jesus’ day taught this, and it was the dominant narrative among the people Jesus associated with. Bible scholar Raymond Brown notes, “The rabbis spoke of God giving men ‘punishments of love,’1 i.e., chastisements which, if a person suffered them generously, would bring him long life and rewards.”

Though it has ancient Jewish roots, this narrative is also held by modern Christians. Shortly after the tragedy of 9/112, two popular Christian televangelists proclaimed that God was punishing the United States, and New York in particular, for its sinfulness. Apparently the God of Jesus was so fed up with gays, lesbians, strippers, gamblers and drug dealers that he inspired a group of non-Christians to fly planes into buildings for him.

This narrative is believed by more than a few people on the fringes of the faith; it is the most prevalent narrative about God among Christians. A study3 conducted at Baylor University concluded that this is the way most conservative Christians think about God. Approximately 37 percent of Christians believe that God is both “judgmental and highly engaged in the affairs of humans.” Like a divine Judge, God is watching us closely, eager to punish us for even minor infractions.

I have to confess that for many years I believed in this narrative. If I did something especially good—prayed for a long time or spent a day in community service—I would wonder, What blessing is God going to give me for my good works? If, on the other hand, I did something bad—lied to a friend or skipped church to play golf—I would secretly speculate when and how God was going to punish me. It was not until I was faced with the situation of dealing with my daughter’s congenital illness that I confronted this narrative. Surely our little Maddie had not sinned and caused this disease? And what possible sin could my wife or I have done that God would force a small child to suffer for it? Our situation drove me to look deeply into what I really thought about God. I went straight to the best God storyteller I could find. I turned my attention to Jesus.

JESUS’ NARRATIVE

Jesus boldly proclaimed that his heavenly Father is good—good like no other: “There is only one who is good” (Matthew 19:17). In all of his stories, Jesus describes a God who seems altogether good and is always out for our good, even if we cannot understand it. And what about the narrative that says God punishes bad people? Jesus was asked about this on two occasions. The first came when he was asked to explain two horrific events, one caused by human cruelty and one caused by a natural disaster.

“RABBI, WHO SINNED?”

The second time Jesus confronts the “God punishes sinners” narrative hits close to home for me. Jesus encounters a man who was born blind, and is asked a question by his disciples: “ ‘Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?’ Jesus answered, ‘Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him’ ” (John 9:2-3).

You can hear the “punishing God” narrative in the question, Did they suffer because they were worse sinners? Jesus unequivocally says no. He shuts down this way of thinking. If there were any correlation between sin and punishment, he could have easily said yes. He used the tragedy not to explain how God punishes people but to remind them that there is a fate worse than death.

The rabbis in Jesus’ day taught that illnesses were caused by the sins of the parents or of the person who was suffering. Because this man’s blindness is congenital—he was born blind—they would assume that the blindness was caused by the parents. But some rabbis taught that a child could actually sin in the womb5, so perhaps the man was at fault after all. Other ancient peoples who believed in reincarnation held that a sin in a previous life was the reason for congenital illness. Blindness, it was believed6, was caused because the person had killed his mother in their previous life.

So how did Jesus respond? Did he affirm the passage in Exodus 20:5 and say that the blindness was caused by the man’s parents? Did he endorse the rabbinic position that perhaps this man committed a sin in the womb? Or did Jesus step outside of the typical Jewish narrative and say that the blind man must have done something bad in a previous life?

Jesus was given an opportunity to affirm the dominant narrative, but he refuses to affirm it. His statement that “neither this man nor his parents sinned” seems odd at first because I know no one who has never sinned. But that is not what Jesus means by this statement; he is making it clear that there is no correlation between someone’s sin and his or her infirmity. He could have said, “Yes, it was his parents’ fault. They ran after other gods, and my Father is taking it out on their child.” He could also have said, “It was his own fault. When he was in his mother’s womb he had some covetous thoughts, and so God made him blind.” Let me emphasize again: Jesus did not say anything like this.

What is more, Jesus heals the man of his blindness. The implications of this are far-reaching. If Jesus believed the man’s blindness was a fair and just punishment for his sins (or his parents’ sins), he would have walked away. Justice would have demanded it. Instead, Jesus healed the blind man, and so revealed the power of God. New Testament scholar Merrill Tenney concludes:7

IT RAINS ON THE RIGHTEOUS, TOO

Jesus clearly abolished the notion that we “get what we deserve.” According to Jesus, God is not in the business of balancing some eternal checkbook. In another place Jesus uses a famous phrase to show that God treats all people the same: “He makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous” (Matthew 5:45).

Jesus is telling us an obvious truth: just as sunshine and rain are given equally to saints and sinners with no distinction, so God gives blessings to all without regard to their behavior. Terrible things happen to wonderful people. Wonderful things happen to awful people. We cannot look around the world we live in and build a case that sinners are punished and righteous people are blessed. Reality simply does not bear this out.

THERE IS NO JUSTICE IN THIS LIFE

I think I know why the narrative of the “punishing-blessing god” is so prevalent and popular. We like control. This narrative allows us to live in the illusion that we can control our world, which is very appealing in our chaotic existence. This, though, is a form of superstition—don’t walk under a ladder, break a mirror or let a black cat cross your path. We know deep down that superstitions are silly, but that does not prevent us from believing in them.

The belief that God punishes and blesses us for our actions is not only superstitious, there is no evidence to support it. Augustine of Hippo, living in the fourth century, points out an obvious problem. He wrote:

I love Augustine’s honesty—we do not know why God allows this to happen. And he also points out that good things do happen to the good, and bad things also happen to those who are bad.

Take infertility, for example. I know some really fine, faithful couples who cannot conceive a child, and it brings them pain and shame. Today I read in my local newspaper about a mother who prostituted her little girl for drug money. Why was that woman blessed with the ability to conceive, while my friends were not? So should we conclude that good people always suffer and bad people never do? Of course not. Bad people also suffer, and good people prosper. Clearly there is no way to make sense of it all, no system to explain the whys.

THE GOOD ONLY THE GOOD KNOW

Even so, Augustine still continues to believe that God possesses the “highest virtue and . . . wisdom and . . . justice,” and that God is neither weak nor rash nor unfair. He concludes by saying that it is not “beneficial” to spend our time worrying about why good or bad things happen. It is not worthwhile because we simply cannot know. And more importantly, it will keep us from focusing on the right things. Augustine concludes, “Rather we must seek out9 the good things peculiar to the good, and give the widest berth to the evils peculiar to evil men.”

We should focus our attention on “the good things peculiar to the good.” What does that mean? It refers to the blessings that are given only to those who strive to do good. That is the only justice, in a sense, we can count on.

For example, as I am writing this I am in Brazil working with two pastors. For years both have been serving, preaching to and offering love to the people in Rio de Janeiro and Campinas. Though I do not speak fluent Portuguese and cannot understand what people are saying to them, I have watched throughout the day as dozens of men and women who have been blessed by their ministries come forward to hug and thank them. Pastor Eduardo’s and Pastor Ricardo’s faces radiated with joy.

This is something unknown to those who do wrong. Those who are selfish and spiteful and mean will never know the feeling those two pastors know. It is something peculiar to those who do good.

Conversely, Augustine says that we should also “give the widest berth to the evils peculiar to evil men.” Those who are selfish and spiteful and mean are intimately acquainted with guilt, loneliness, remorse and self-hatred. They know what it feels like to have darkness surround and overtake them. This does not solve the problem entirely, but it gives us a glimpse into the goodness of God. God promises that those who love and serve, and are honest and faithful, will know a kind of joy and peace that those who are evil never will.

STILL, GOD IS JUST

We never know, in this life, why anything happens to any of us. If we are honest and objective we will have to admit that there is little justice in this life. Augustine offers one last word of wisdom about suffering. He tells us that one day we will understand:

If Augustine were my pastor he would say, “We cannot know these things here and now—they are beyond our grasp. But I believe that one day it will all become clear. One day you will fully understand why God allowed your daughter to be born with a birth defect and why she died young, and I believe that when you understand why, you will see that God was not only just, but good.”

JESUS BELIEVES WHEN I CANNOT

I want to state clearly that it is not just the narratives of Jesus that have helped me, but Jesus himself has carried me along through my grief and doubt. Jesus not only explains suffering, he experienced suffering. He endured the worst kind of alienation possible as he hung on the cross, feeling that his Father had forsaken him. When we received the news about our daughter Madeline’s condition, I too felt forsaken by God. Jesus understands.

In his letter to the Galatians Paul wrote this moving narrative: “I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me” (Galatians 2:19-20).

If you look closely at your Bible when you read this verse, you will probably notice a footnote after the phrase “faith in the Son of God.” The footnote in most modern translations reads, “or can be translated ‘the faith of the Son of God.’ ” This is because it seems to be a more accurate translation, and your Bible translators want to be honest. So why do most translations not read that way? I think it is because we tend to emphasize our faith in Jesus, and are not used to thinking about Jesus’ faith for us.

Jesus said his Father was good. Jesus also refused to affirm the idea that external rewards and punishments are given by God on the basis of our good or bad works. Rain falls on the good and the bad. Sometimes we pray for rain (for our crops), and sometimes we pray that it will not rain (for our picnics). Both good and bad people get rained on, whether they want it or not. Jesus faced suffering, rejection and alienation, and the people jeered at him as he hung on the cross, questioning whether God was really with him. And Jesus believed. And he believes for me. He believes even when we cannot. He prays even when we cannot. We participate in his faith.

I affirm with Paul that I have been crucified with Christ. I do not understand that mystery, but I know that Jesus is closer to me than I am to myself. Christ lives in me, and I live by his faith. I am not alone. This is something more than simply getting my narratives right. It is allowing Jesus to live in and through and for me. The love of the Father, the redemption of Jesus and the communion I have with the Spirit are not based on anything I do. It is a gift from the Holy Spirit to believe in a God who is good even when things look bleak.

A REASON FOR HOPE

A few years after Madeline died I was in the middle of a day of solitude. My mind went over the last few years, thinking about the pain of hearing the news from the doctors, the countless sleepless nights on hospital floors, and the dark and rainy day we placed her body in the earth. I turned to God and said, without thinking, “Maybe it would have been better if she had never been born.”

That was when I received one of the clearest experiences of God responding to me that I’ve ever had in my life. On this day, at that moment, a little voice penetrated my mind, the voice of a little girl, a voice I had never heard but immediately recognized as Madeline’s. “Daddy, you should never say that. If I had never been born, I would not be here now. I am so happy here in heaven, and one day you and Mom and Jacob will come and see me, and we will live forever together. And there is more good that has happened because of me that you can’t see now but will one day understand.”

I immediately repented of my despicable thoughts and crumpled to the ground in tears. I was thankful to hear such words. Another narrative had entered my mind—the story about the promise of heaven. I was beginning to see how a person could face tragedy and still say “God is good to me,” to understand how Job could say, “Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him” (Job 13:15 KJV), and to know how Jesus could tremble in a garden and still call his Father “Abba.”

Two years after Madeline’s death my wife, Meghan, became pregnant. For eight months we lived with a lot of anxiety, mixed with a little faith. When it came time to have that final sonogram, our hearts were in our throats, bracing for bad news. The technician, who did not know our story, kept saying things we loved to hear: “Perfect hands . . . perfect heart . . . your baby looks just perfect. Do you want to know the gender?” We said yes. “It’s a little girl.” We both smiled. “What are you going to name her?” she asked.

At the very same moment we said, “Hope.”

IN THIS WORLD YOU WILL HAVE TROUBLE

It has now been a decade since Madeline died. So much now seems clear to me in regard to the nature of God. God’s goodness is not something I get to decide upon. I am a human being with limited understanding, and as I grow and mature in my walk of faith I increasingly see how little I understand. In the end, I have the testimony of Jesus to stand on. My own experiences of disappointment with God say more about me and my expectations than they do about God. The goodness of God, I now see with greater clarity, is vast and consuming. Jesus never promises that our lives will be free of struggle. In fact, he said quite the opposite: “In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33 KJV).

We should expect to go through heartache and pain, suffering and loss, because they are part of what it means to be human, and they can be useful in our development. As James said, “My brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of any kind, consider it nothing but joy, because you know that the testing of your faith produces endurance; and let endurance have its full effect, so that you may be mature and complete, lacking in nothing” (James 1:2-4).

I have grown much more through my trials than I have through my successes. I do not ask for trials, and I am not as deep in God’s kingdom as was James, so I don’t consider trials “nothing but joy,” but I am learning to trust God in the midst of them.

To be sure, I have been through a lot of trials over the past few years. I have not been asked back to preach at the “call and response” church, but I do not need a pulpit to proclaim that God is good. I know with certainty that God did not punish my daughter with a congenital illness because of the sins of my wife, me or my daughter. And I know that God is just. And I also hold fast to the hope of heaven, a place where wrongs are made right and where I will understand fully. I believe all of this because of the faith of the Son of God who loved me and gave himself for me. No matter where I am I can say with confidence, “God is good all the time, and all the time God is good!”