"When," "Why," and "What then?"

I ended yesterday's blog with a set of questions about suffering, meaning and God: Is there meaning in tragedy? What sense can we make of devastation? Where is God in all this? Is God in total control of everything? If we blame God for these tragedies, what does that say about us and our theologies about God? 
One of the books that I have found most helpful in addressing these issues from a practical standpoint is Rabbi Harold Kushner's book, When Bad Things Happen to Good People. Published in 1981, the book was written out of Kushner's very personal tragedy of losing a child to progeria, a disease that resulted in his son's rapid aging, and death at age 14.  
Someone has pointed out that the wording in the title of his book is significant in itself. The book is entitled "When Bad Things Happen..." not "Why Bad Things Happen...." There is an implicit recognition that it doesn't matter how good a person is or how righteously or morally we may behave, pain, tragedy and heartache are bound to visit us all. 
Kushner begins his book with these words: 

"There is only one question which really matters: why do bad things happen to good people? All other theological conversation is intellectually diverting; somewhat like doing the crossword puzzle in the Sunday paper and feeling very satisfied when you have made the words fit; but ultimately without the capacity to reach people where they really care. Virtually every meaningful conversation I have ever had with people on the subject of God and religion has either started with this question, or gotten around to it before long... - they all have one thing in common. They are all troubled by the unfair distribution of suffering in the world" (p.6).

Obviously, the question of "Why?" enters the conversation as soon as one acknowledges that the reality of suffering is when it happens rather than if it happens. Kushner takes to task those arguments that try to preserve God's honor or integrity by attempting to justify suffering or even claim that suffering can be beneficial to the sufferer. Tell that to a three year-old whose hair has fallen out and who will never run around and play normally with other kids, will never grow up, fall in love and have children. Many of the pat answers or facile theologies bandied about don't address adequately the spiritual angst with which people struggle when faced by the suffering of their loved ones.
In this week's Gospel reading, Luke 13:1-9, Jesus is asked about the suffering of some Galileans who had run afoul of Pilate. Apparently the people posing the question to Jesus were trying to find some sort of justification for their deaths. Jesus' reply seems harsh, and I wouldn't necessarily describe it as particularly "pastoral:" 

"Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them—do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did."

What I sense happening in this reply is a shift in focus. I don't sense Jesus is supporting the idea that people do suffer for their unrighteousness or immorality, but rather that it is not profitable to try and assign blame or find justification for suffering. What is profitable and helpful is for us to focus upon the things that we can control: our own behavior and attitudes. 

Perhaps suffering is simply a given. The world is not perfect. The world is not fair. The world is not just. Perhaps what it comes down to is this: Our task in the world is to take the world as it is, and do what is in our power to make it better and more just, to act with compassion and try to alleviate as much suffering as we can, to offer comfort for those whose lives are touched with tragedy, and to work on our own behavior, attitudes and thinking.

That sounds like work for a lifetime.