Why Does God Allow Suffering? Walking the Narrow Path from the Cross to Resurrection

A hard question we must ask out loud

Every human heart eventually encounters the question that rattles the bones: Why does God allow suffering? It rises from hospital corridors and quiet bedrooms, from newsfeeds and gravesides, from our own aching chests. We can pretend it is merely a philosophical puzzle, but when pain arrives it becomes deeply personal. The Christian answer does not dismiss tears; it sanctifies them. We begin, not with explanations, but with honesty and prayer.

The Bible makes room for lament. King David dares to say, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? why art thou so far from helping me, and from the words of my roaring?” (Psalm 22:1, KJV). Read the whole verse here: Psalm 22:1 (KJV) — BibleGateway. And Saint Paul reminds us that our understanding is real but incomplete: “For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face” (1 Corinthians 13:12, KJV). See: 1 Corinthians 13:12 (KJV) — BibleGateway.

The Church does not offer a slogan to silence the cry. Instead, she offers a path: the path of the Cross that leads to resurrection. The Christian answer is not a formula but a Person. The One who answers is the Crucified and Risen Lord, who, having entered our suffering, transfigures it.

What God is—and what He is not

God is love—personal, self-emptying, radiant love. He is not the author of evil. Evil is not a competing deity; it is a privation, a tearing of the fabric of goodness and communion. When we ask why God “allows” suffering, we are really asking how divine love relates to human freedom and a creation that is still groaning.

In love, God created us with freedom, the capacity to say yes or no. Love coerced is not love at all. The tragedy is that our misuse of freedom wounds ourselves and others, sometimes for generations. There is also the brokenness of the world itself—disease, disaster, decay—the “bondage of corruption” Saint Paul describes. Yet even here, the Gospel upends easy assumptions. When the disciples saw a man born blind and asked whether his suffering was a punishment, Jesus replied, “Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him” (John 9:3, KJV). Read: John 9:3 (KJV) — BibleGateway.

And when people brought up a recent tragedy—a tower collapse that killed bystanders—Christ refused to tie their deaths to personal guilt. “I tell you, Nay: but, except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish” (Luke 13:3, KJV). See: Luke 13:3 (KJV) — BibleGateway. In other words, suffering is not simply a legal penalty. It is a sorrow woven into life east of Eden, a call to return to the Giver of Life.

The story Scripture tells: from betrayal to blessing

The Bible does not hand us a neat theory; it tells a story of God’s faithful presence in the midst of affliction. Joseph, betrayed by his brothers and sold into slavery, forgave the very men who caused his pain and testified to God’s mysterious providence: “But as for you, ye thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good” (Genesis 50:20, KJV). Read: Genesis 50:20 (KJV) — BibleGateway.

Job’s story goes further: he protests, he argues, he weeps—and God meets him, not with an accountant’s ledger, but with the grandeur of divine presence. Job’s restoration does not erase his scars; it places them within a greater horizon. The Psalms sing this pattern repeatedly: tears in the night, joy in the morning. In Scripture, the righteous suffer; the difference is that God does not abandon them. He acts, He accompanies, He saves.

This reaches its climax in Jesus Christ. The Son of God is not aloof from suffering; He is “a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief” (Isaiah 53:3, KJV). The prophet continues: “Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows… and with his stripes we are healed” (Isaiah 53:4–5, KJV). Read: Isaiah 53:3–5 (KJV) — BibleGateway. At the Last Supper, He speaks to trembling disciples: “These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace… In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33, KJV). See: John 16:33 (KJV) — BibleGateway.

The Cross as the key to the mystery

If we want to know what God does with suffering, we must look at the Cross. There we see love refusing to retaliate, love absorbing the world’s hatred, love stronger than death. Christ does not explain suffering away; He destroys death by dying and rises to make all things new. We are invited to share this pattern: “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me” (Matthew 16:24, KJV). Read: Matthew 16:24 (KJV) — BibleGateway.

This is not masochism. It is participation—communion with the Crucified, whose sufferings heal. Saint Paul longed “that I may know him, and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his sufferings” (Philippians 3:10, KJV). See: Philippians 3:10 (KJV) — BibleGateway. To be united with Christ is to be carried by Him. “I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me” (Galatians 2:20, KJV). Read: Galatians 2:20 (KJV) — BibleGateway.

Healing and deification: what the Church proclaims

In the Church’s living experience, salvation is not only acquittal; it is healing and transfiguration. Humanity is called to become by grace what the Son is by nature—to be “partakers of the divine nature” (2 Peter 1:4, KJV). See: 2 Peter 1:4 (KJV) — BibleGateway. Suffering, in this light, can become a furnace where impurities burn away and love is made pure—not because pain is good, but because God is so good that He can draw gold from ashes.

This transformation involves synergy: God acts first and always; we respond in freedom. The Letter to the Hebrews frames painful seasons as a father’s wise discipline: “For whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth” (Hebrews 12:6, KJV), and admits honestly, “Now no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous: nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness” (Hebrews 12:11, KJV). Read: Hebrews 12:6 (KJV) — BibleGateway and Hebrews 12:11 (KJV) — BibleGateway.

Our liturgical life trains this response. We fast—not to punish the body but to awaken the heart. We confess—not to dwell on shame but to receive forgiveness. We gather at the Eucharist—not to escape the world but to perceive it rightly and receive strength to love it more. Even our hymnody interprets suffering through the Paschal lens: the Cross is called life-giving; the tomb is a doorway. The sign of the Cross traced over a fevered child or a hospital bed is not a charm; it is a prayer that all our nights be lit by the Bright and Morning Star.

This is not theory. Consider the witness of the saints: a surgeon-bishop exiled and yet healing bodies and souls; a nun in the horrors of the camps secretly sharing bread; a monk learning, through long internal battle, the mercy of praying for enemies. Their biographies differ, but one mark unites them: they refused to waste their pain. They offered it to Christ and received back a larger heart.

Why doesn’t God intervene more?

We feel the pressure of this question especially when the innocent suffer. Some griefs tear at the very fabric of trust. The Church does not answer by denying the scandal; she answers by refusing to let injustice be the last word. Human freedom means people can commit real evil. If God were to eliminate every possibility of harm by overriding wills, He would also eliminate the very capacity for love. The divine choice—to create a world where love is possible—means He suffers our refusals and works within history to save without coercion.

But God does intervene, sometimes quietly, sometimes thunderously. He sustains, guides, restrains, and redeems. We are not abandoned to chaos. “And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God” (Romans 8:28, KJV). Read: Romans 8:28 (KJV) — BibleGateway. Saint Paul dares to call our afflictions “light” not because they feel light, but because of the weight of what God is preparing: “For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory” (2 Corinthians 4:17, KJV). See: 2 Corinthians 4:17 (KJV) — BibleGateway.

This is not determinism. God does not desire evil acts so that good may come. Rather, He is so wise and powerful that nothing—not even sin and death—can finally thwart His purpose. Joseph’s testimony remains the pattern: what others intend for harm, God can bend toward healing without endorsing the harm itself.

What God does in our suffering

First, He draws near. “The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit” (Psalm 34:18, KJV). Read: Psalm 34:18 (KJV) — BibleGateway. God’s nearness is not a sentiment; it is a Presence that sustains breath by breath. He comforts us in order to make us vessels of comfort: “Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble” (2 Corinthians 1:3–4, KJV). See: 2 Corinthians 1:3–4 (KJV) — BibleGateway.

Second, He works within the soul, refining faith, expanding hope, and deepening love: “We glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience; And patience, experience; and experience, hope… because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost” (Romans 5:3–5, KJV). Read: Romans 5:3–5 (KJV) — BibleGateway.

Third, He promises an end to suffering—not by minimizing it, but by promising to wipe it away forever. “And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying” (Revelation 21:4, KJV). See: Revelation 21:4 (KJV) — BibleGateway. Christian hope is not wishful thinking; it is anchored in the historical resurrection of Christ. The future has already broken into the present, and the Spirit makes us firstfruits of that coming kingdom.

How to walk through suffering: a pastoral guide

Scripture gives a rhythm for daily endurance: “Rejoice evermore. Pray without ceasing. In every thing give thanks” (1 Thessalonians 5:16–18, KJV). Read: 1 Thessalonians 5:16–18 (KJV) — BibleGateway. Joy, prayer, gratitude: not naive optimism, but stubborn faith that Christ stands in the boat even when the storm roars.

What about innocent suffering—and our anger?

We must say this plainly: some sufferings are not the result of personal failure, and many griefs are unspeakably unjust. The Church’s response begins with shared tears and ends with a thirst for righteousness that refuses to be quenched by vengeance. The Cross reveals that God takes injustice so seriously that He Himself undergoes it and overcomes it without inflicting it back upon the world. On Golgotha, Jesus takes up our cry of abandonment so that no one ever suffers alone: “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” (Psalm 22:1, KJV). And in the light of Easter morning, He shows that the Father has heard—and that love is stronger than the grave.

This does not erase our questions. “For now we see through a glass, darkly,” and sometimes very darkly indeed. The tradition invites us to entrust the unanswered parts to the One who has proven His heart on the Cross. Meanwhile, we refuse cynicism. We become, by grace, part of God’s answer to suffering—comforters, healers, peacemakers.

The fellowship of His sufferings: from theory to communion

It is possible to spend a lifetime discussing the problem of evil and never decide to love. The Gospel summons us beyond debate to communion. Suffering can make us bitter or it can make us like Christ. To “know him… and the fellowship of his sufferings” is not to chase pain, but to discover, even there, the nearness of the One who bears us. The more deeply we enter this fellowship, the more we discover a paradox: while nothing justifies evil, everything surrendered to Christ can be transfigured.

Saint Peter, speaking to believers under pressure, wrote: “Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you… But rejoice, inasmuch as ye are partakers of Christ’s sufferings” (1 Peter 4:12–13, KJV). Read: 1 Peter 4:12–13 (KJV) — BibleGateway. This is not cheerfulness pasted over grief; it is the deep joy of being united to the Lord who descends into the lowest place and lifts us with Him.

A word to the one who suffers now

If you are reading this through tears, know this: your pain is not invisible to God. He is not calculating your worthiness. He is drawing near. He is weeping with you even as He works beyond your immediate sight. His hands bear scars; He is not embarrassed by yours.

Let the Church carry you for a while. Call someone. Whisper the Jesus Prayer when you wake and when you lie down. Open the Psalms like a window. Receive the blessing and oil of the sick. Ask for help without apology. Let others love you; it is one way God will.

If anger burns, tell God honestly. He is not fragile. The Scriptures are full of people who brought their whole hearts—raw, unedited—into the sanctuary. In time, anger may melt into the fire of holy longing for justice and mercy together. And when you are ready, take one small step toward loving someone else in pain. You will discover a secret: comfort multiplied as it is shared.

The last word belongs to love

Why does God allow suffering? The Church’s answer is steady and cruciform. God does not delight in pain; He enters it, bears it, breaks it, and transforms it. He respects our freedom even when it wounds, yet never abandons us to our wounds. He turns graves into gardens. He promises not an escape from the world as it is, but a resurrection of the world as it shall be.

So we hold to Christ, who tells the truth without flinching: “In the world ye shall have tribulation.” And we cling to the final clause: “Be of good cheer; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33, KJV). The narrow path of the Cross opens onto a widening meadow of life. Until the day when He wipes every tear, we walk together, praying, forgiving, breaking bread, carrying one another’s burdens. Along the way, suffering becomes—mysteriously, mercifully—not a dead end, but a doorway into love.