God agrees with you, Stephen: the world was not meant to be this way

I love Stephen Fry. I went to see QI being filmed recently (the hardest I have laughed in a long time) and what struck me was that not only was he unbelievably funny but also very kind and gentle to the other panellists (except for the obligatory Aussie jokes about Colin Lane). I also have a huge amount of respect for how open he is about his struggles with depression. He is on my top ten list for “lunch and a chat” (not going to happen, I know).

Recently, though, Stephen has been making the news for his controversial comments about God. You can watch the clip here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-suvkwNYSQo

For the record, I am really pleased that Stephen raised these points, even if his vehemence is a little startling at first (the interviewer certainly looks nonplussed). We need to talk about these things. Because there is a problem in our world, and it is a problem for which any worldview needs to have an explanation. It is the problem of suffering.

Now I am not a theologian; far wiser heads than mine will be able to give systematic Biblical answers to Stephen’s points. But I am a Christian, and one who has been through suffering personally, so needless to say I have grappled with these issues. I have been unwell fairly constantly for the last three years, and have experienced the ups and downs of chronic illness with periods of remission for all of my adult life. So Stephen’s comments took me back to the time when I had asked the same questions. It has been a long journey, and has taken an age of grappling, questioning and reading through the Bible for me to satisfy my intellectual and emotional conundrums about the problem of pain. It is something I still struggle with when a fresh set of symptoms appears.

When I was first admitted to hospital, acutely unwell with what was later diagnosed as a reactive arthritis, I felt like it was a slap in the face from a loving Father. I had trusted God since I was a child (deciding to follow Jesus at the age of three is one of my earliest memories). How could he turn round and do this to me? I learnt then that the people who say “your faith must be such a comfort to you in times of suffering” were sadly misguided; faith made it worse. If you believe in a personal God who loves you and is all powerful, what happens when you experience prolonged, intense suffering? Not only was I experiencing physical pain, but I was in the depths of emotional anguish. My worldview had been shaken.

If you are an atheist, there is no rhyme nor reason to suffering. Some people experience it, some people don’t, it’s pot luck. Stephen describes it as a “simpler” and “purer” existence. And lying there in my hospital bed, feeling like God had deserted me, I would have agreed with him.

The thoughts outlined below are the fruit of a long, hard struggle to come to terms with the way this world works and the way that the Bible talks about God. They put forward what I hope is a loving response to some of Stephen’s comments, based on the Bible and my own thoughts and struggles.

We cannot know everything about God.

It seems to me that a lot of Stephen’s frustration comes from the fact that he wants God to be quantifiable and all-knowable as well as all-knowing. This is a common human desire; to be able to tie everything up in a neat little package so that the world makes perfect sense in every minute detail as well as in the bigger picture.

Unfortunately, for God to be God, he has to be higher, bigger, mightier than us (otherwise he wouldn’t be God but would be some god we could keep in our pocket and trot out when it pleases us). In the book of Job, many questions about the purpose of suffering are asked and answered; some are left unanswered, which Job acknowledges at the end of the book: “Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know.” (Job 42:3).

We cannot understand everything about God, otherwise he would no longer be God. He has revealed himself to us in his word, the Bible, and through his Son Jesus coming to earth as a man. But there are still things that we don’t understand. In the same way that a child trusts her father to keep her safe and care for her, even when there are things about life she doesn’t understand, we are called to trust God as his children. And to be clear: when we see suffering in ourselves and others, that is really hard. I am not saying “trust God and suddenly all your questions will go away.” I am saying “there is one mightier in the universe than us, who has revealed himself to us as totally good and loving. When we have unanswered questions, we can hold to this truth and trust him, even when we have no clue about what’s going on.” It took me years to accept this, because it seems to be a cop-out answer. But trust is the key to any loving relationship, and the test of trust comes in hard times.

God did not make the world to be like this.

Stephen says to God “How dare you create a world in which there is such misery that’s not our fault? It’s not right. It’s utterly, utterly evil.”

God agrees with you Stephen: the world was not meant to be this way.

However, what we see now is not what was originally created. The beginning of the Bible says that God created everything and it was perfect and good. It was only when people broke their relationship with God that evil came into the world. We caused the pain and suffering that we see around us by believing that we know best and that God is a killjoy who wants to spoil our fun.

To be absolutely clear: I am not saying that individual people are at fault when they suffer in a kind of cosmic karma. I do not believe I am being punished for doing wrong when I experience daily pain; I do not believe that children with bone cancer that Stephen mentions are being punished for something they have done. Jesus makes this very clear in Luke’s account of his life (Luke 13:1-5).

“Now there were some present at that time who told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mixed with their sacrifices. Jesus answered, “Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish. Or those eighteen who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them—do you think they were more guilty than all the others living in Jerusalem? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish.”

These people Jesus mentions are not “more guilty” than anyone else. We are not to think that they have done something especially bad which results in them being punished. But we are to look at these events and realise that there is something wrong with our world, and that we need to examine our own hearts and turn back to God (or repent, as the passage says) in light of these tragedies.

The Bible speaks of God being grieved by the suffering of the world and the evil of people (Genesis 6:5-7), of Jesus having compassion on those who are sick and bereaved (Luke 7: 11-17) and of God promising one day to make all things new, without sorrow or suffering (Revelation 21: 4-5). God agrees with you Stephen: the world was not meant to be like this, and he will one day fix the mess that we have made of it.

You cannot get angry about the suffering of the world without understanding the implications for your own heart.

It is very easy to point the finger at God. As Stephen says: “Yes the world is very splendid, but it also has insects whose whole life cycle is to burrow into the eyes of children and make them blind…why? Why did you do that to us? You could easily have made a creation in which that didn’t exist. It is simply not acceptable.”

When we look at the suffering of the world it is easy to point outside ourselves and say to God “Why don’t you come and sort this out?”

This is a question as old as the hills itself. It is a question I have repeatedly asked of God in the midst of weight loss, dehydration, unbearable pain, being unable to tie my shoelaces due to stiffness, fearing I might go blind, feeling that all my energy has been sapped so I can’t get out of bed in the morning, being unable to speak, unable to move my right arm and ultimately fearing that my body might just give out under all this pressure in the near future. It is no coincidence, then, that the book of Job, which deals almost entirely with the question of suffering, is the oldest book in the Bible. And in other parts of the Old Testament, we see God’s people asking similar questions:

“You have wearied the Lord with your words.

“How have we wearied him?” you ask.

By saying, “All who do evil are good in the eyes of the Lord, and he is pleased with them” or “Where is the God of justice?”” – Malachi 2: 17.

Sound familiar? The people of Malachi’s day were effectively saying “good is evil, evil is good, God doesn’t care and doesn’t do anything about it.” Unlike in the book of Job, their questions were asked out of a mixture of scorn and (perhaps) a small amount of desperation, as opposed to the anguished cry of a follower of God that we see in Job.

What is God’s response to the question “where is the God of justice”?

“"I will send my messenger, who will prepare the way before me. Then suddenly the Lord you are seeking will come to his temple; the messenger of the covenant, whom you desire, will come,” says the Lord Almighty. But who can endure the day of his coming? Who can stand when he appears? For he will be like a refiner’s fire or a launderer’s soap.” Malachi 3: 1-2.

God’s response is: I am coming. The God you are asking for will come and will make things right. But here’s the punchline: none of you can stand before him. No-one is pure, no one is fully right. No one is blameless. So if you are asking for God to come and put things right in this world, that has implications for you too, because none of us is without fault, and God has promised to come and purify his world and his people. The image of fire is not a comfortable one. God is not some cosy granddad – he is a totally pure and just God, and no one can stand before him and claim to be completely blameless.

God has come and done something about the evil and suffering in the world.

Stephen calls God capricious, a selfish maniac, evil, monstrous…the list of negative adjectives is seemingly endless.

Stephen’s description of God is based on his experience of the world around him. He looks at the world and sees all the suffering, and concludes that an all-powerful God who allows this suffering to continue must be evil and monstrous. Stephen’s logic is as follows:

1. The world was created as it is at the moment by God.
2. God claims to be all loving and all powerful.
3. The world as it is contains horrendous suffering.
4. Therefore God must be monstrous and capricious.

God’s answer? Well, God answered by showing up. Whatever else we think about the God of the Bible, we have to understand that the Bible says that God came to earth in the form of a man, suffered the most horrendous death on a cross, and was raised to life again three days later. The reason? As an example? As a political protest? No: he came to rescue us. Because within all of us there is evil which we need rescuing from. No one can stand the test of God’s perfect standards. Our relationship with the one who made everything good in the world is broken. That leaves us in trouble. But God has provided a way out, so that we can enjoy his favour and peace. He sacrificed his own Son to rescue us from the mess we had made for ourselves. As Paul says in Galatians 1: 3-5:

“Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ, who gave himself for our sins to rescue us from the present evil age, according to the will of our God and Father, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.”

Does that sound like a selfish maniac to you? The giving of your only Son to rescue people who are in a mess entirely of their own making? It’s hardly the act of someone who is evil and monstrous. And whatever unanswered questions we have about the suffering in the world, the death of Jesus in our place stands as testament to God’s selfless, unfading love for those who have turned their back on him.

For me, believing in God and trusting in Jesus whilst daily experiencing chronic pain and ill health are not contradictory. The Bible engages with the questions of suffering, but does not give pat answers. I still have questions. But I know enough of God’s character, through the Bible and through my own personal experience of his daily provision, that I can say confidently that God is ultimately good and powerful. He did not intend the world to be like this. He has come to earth and died for us to demonstrate his love for us and to rescue us. He keeps me going through present hardships and uses them to bring about change in my own life and the lives of others. One day he will come back to make everything right. But all of this has implications for our own hearts, because none of us is totally blameless. We all need to think about how our worldview copes with the problem of pain. We all need to think about what we would actually say to a completely perfect and just God if he did come to earth to sort out the suffering and darkness in the world, including the darkness which lives in our own hearts.

And for the avoidance of doubt, I will still watch QI and laugh.

My letter to NHS staff

There has been a lot in the news recently about pressures on the ambulance service, A&E and the NHS generally. In response to these headlines, personal stories have emerged of clinicians under pressure, with low morale and seemingly impossible demands on their already-stretched time.

I have a message for these clinicians, from paramedics to porters, doctors to nurses, cleaners to receptionists, physios to SLTs – what I want to say as a patient applies to all harried NHS workers. It comes out of my recent experience of two admissions to A&E in quick succession this week, which allowed me to see first-hand the pressures that staff are facing. I had outstanding treatment from some and less-than-good treatment from others, and to be honest I am shocked that it wasn’t all in the latter category, given what I observed in A&E; the stories of people waiting in the corridors on trollies and slumped on chairs have not been exaggerated. Here is my personal message for anyone who works in the NHS.

Dear NHS workers,

I think I am finally beginning to understand. I had read the news headlines (http://www.economist.com/news/britain/21638206-britains-national-health-services-accident-and-emergency-departments-are-under-renewed-pressure) and I had read the personal stories (http://www.theguardian.com/society/guardianwitness-blog/2015/jan/08/surviving-night-nhs-hospital-a-and-e-doctors-story). To be honest, none of it particularly surprised me. Having been in and out of hospital for years and witnessed the chronic pressure placed on the NHS, I am more surprised this hasn’t hit the headlines sooner. I am pretty sure that you, working at the sharp end of things, have seen this storm brewing for a while.

This week I have had two episodes of unexplained aphasia with neurological symptoms (muscle rigidity in my right arm). Both triggered the stroke pathway when my friends phoned the ambulance service. What surprised me was the time it took to get me to hospital on both occasions (around two hours from when symptoms first hit). That doesn’t give the clinicians very long to give clot-busting drugs within the four hour window in the event of a stroke. But then it doesn’t surprise me, given that one of the ambulance men said he had been called out to a 70 year old gentleman who complained of heavy, crushing chest pain and breathlessness on the phone. When the paramedics got there (within 7 minutes), it turned out he was fine; he just wanted someone to help him move his TV. If paramedics are being called out to act as removal men, is it any wonder that you guys are overstretched?

I want to say to you: I understand that you are short staffed, overworked, underpaid, tired and stressed out and permanently a little hypoglycaemic. That my condition (whatever it is) is not an open and shut case, and that therefore it’s harder to be sympathetic because it takes time to think about the right diagnostic tests and treatment. That it would be easy to label me as faker number 11 when you’ve already had to deal with 10 such people today. But I am not faking. I am frightened. When the episode strikes, I can’t speak. It’s not that I don’t want to. More than anything else, I want to communicate and tell you what’s wrong. I know what I want to say, but the words won’t come out. To those who have dismissed it as anxiety and told me so to my face, I want to say: I get why you are saying this. It’s totally understandable that you would want to make less work for yourself when you are already hanging by your fingernails. But it doesn’t help: it adds fear and anxiety to an already terrifying situation.

To those who have not dismissed me, I want to say: you are heroes. To the doctor who came to take a case history when I could only say nouns, and who allowed me the time to speak: wow. You probably had 30 other patients clamouring for your attention, yet you gave me space and time without jumping in and finishing my (very disjointed) sentences. And then when my speech returned, you sat down with me for a good ten minutes and chatted with me about the Vikings. I couldn’t work out what you were doing at first: were the reports of overstretched staff greatly over-exaggerated, that you had ten whole minutes to sit down and talk with me about something seemingly irrelevant? No, I realised half-way through: you were doing a language sample, to check if my language had indeed returned. You were making doubly sure I was recovered before you moved on.

To the nurse who took me down to CT and kept me chatting whilst waiting for the scan; you were awesome company. I know I was a little hyper after regaining my speech, and to be honest I can’t really remember everything I said. I hope I didn’t embarrass you or say anything inappropriate, but to be honest you were so kind that you would have taken it all in your stride.  

To the paramedic called out on the weekend who initially thought I was just overly anxious, then realised that there was probably more to it than that and repeatedly apologised that the ambulance hadn’t come sooner (and eventually took me to hospital in his fast response car): thank you for changing your mind about me. I enjoyed your amusing stories about call-outs you’d been on; they kept me calm and distracted from my fears. 

To the nurse who confided in me about her long battle to get a diagnosis for her endometriosis, and how she felt vindicated once she had finally been told she wasn’t a morphine-seeker: thank you for confiding in me. It made me feel that I wasn’t alone. Thank you for being blunt with me and telling me “you are not crazy”. Thank you for telling me that you think it could be migraines, and that this kind of migraine is becoming more common. I felt so reassured that I wasn’t the only one experiencing this. 

To the doctor who cleared up the blood I had spilt on the floor after not putting pressure on my venepuncture site for long enough, and for doing it with a wry smile – you didn’t have to do that. But thank you for mucking in and helping, and not just leaving someone else to do it. 

To the A&E junior doctor who spent a good half an hour doing a thorough neurological exam: you did an excellent job. I know you had to fight for that side room in which to do it, and that you had to turn porter for a bit and find a bed to put me on, and wheel it down the corridor (I could tell you weren’t very practiced at wheeling trolleys): that was beyond the call of duty. Thank you for being humble and explaining that there are some things we don’t understand about the brain and that we may not get the answer as to why this is happening, but that this doesn’t mean what I am experiencing is not real. Thank you for having the humility to admit you don’t know what’s going on, and going off to chat to someone who knows more than you. Believe me, I think more of you as a doctor for doing this, not less. Thank you for telling me what to do next time this happens, and for ordering me to come in every time I have an episode, even if I don’t want to bother the overburdened staff.

And to all the other staff who I didn’t interact with but who made my stay in hospital marginally less stressful: the porters, cleaners, receptionists, emergency department practitioners, CT scanner operators (are you radiographers or radiologists? I can never remember): you are awesome. I know you are tired, I know you are fed up with cumbersome targets. I don’t mind if you don’t get me out of A&E within four hours (although you did: well done!). I don’t mind if you bump me for someone who’s had a cardiac arrest, or a child with suspected meningitis, or an elderly gentleman who has definitely had a stroke / heart attack / fall; I can wait, their need is definitely greater than mine. Just keep talking to me, keep listening to me, keep remembering that this is a scary time for me, and that I wouldn’t be here unless I needed your help. And once again: thank you.