WHERE IS GOD IN TIMES OF SUFFERING?

Over the weekend, my wife and I were confronted with some shocking news. My sister-in-law’s aunt and her three daughters were tragically killed in a car accident in Carmel, Indiana. Her uncle, out of town on a business trip, returned home on Sunday to find his entire family dead. Gone. Wiped out. In one, single, dark night.

Here is MSNBC, reporting on the story:

“Witnesses say the van crashed into a pond at the Lincolnshire subdivision at 141st Street and Towne Road around 9:30 pm, trapping a woman and her three daughters inside. Police say the driver, 47-year-old Batul Abbus, called 911 to report they were half-submerged and needed help.

“Carmel Police say help arrived within six minutes, and divers went into the water and removed the victims from the car. They were transported to the hospital where all four, including Abbas' children, 18-year-old Shazreh, 14-year-old Shaail, and 8-year-old Azmeh, eventually died from their injuries. The family was just minutes from home when the accident occurred.”

Not only were they just minutes from their home in Carmel – where they had only recently moved – but they had been out visiting, and comforting, a family friend whose brother had died. Poignant and deeply ironic details like these simply add to the overall and overwhelming sense of tragedy, despair and distress – the kind of heart-breaking human tragedy that we always assume happens only to ‘others’, ‘on the news’, or in fictional TV dramas or movies. For it to happen so close to home is mind-boggling and heart-numbing. I cannot quite begin to understand how my brother-in-law is coping with the sudden loss of three cousins he grew up with – if indeed he is able to cope at all. And I cannot even imagine what it must be like for a man to return home to find the four people at the centre of his world – his wife, and his three young daughters – to have departed from his world, from his life, leaving him all alone. To grieve. To mourn. To try and ‘move on’, if such a thing is at all even possible. My heart breaks and, as I ask God to have mercy on their souls and to strengthen the resolve of the grieving husband and father, I cannot help but also turn to God and ask the inevitable and perhaps unanswerable ‘question of questions’ (to quote the Chief Rabbi, Sir Jonathan Sacks): “Why did this happen? Why did you let this happen? Why did you not prevent this from happening?” Indeed, a cousin of mine emails to add:

“I know we are supposed to always believe that Allah knows best…but, seriously, at this moment, I really wish I could have a one on one [with Him].”

It’s a classic (and recurring) problem within the theology of all religions, but especially the monotheistic, Abrahamic faiths: how can the existence of evil, pain and suffering be reconciled with a God who is supposed to be all-loving, all-knowing and all-powerful? How can Islam (or for that matter Christianity or Judaism) explain, if at all, the deaths of innocent families in totally random, seemingly meaningless and entirely preventable ‘accidents’, such as the car crash in Indiana?

As someone who has always believed in God, has spent years trying to spread the ‘word’ of God and has debated publicly and privately with atheists and agnostics over the existence of God, this particular theological problem has always struck me as the biggest single obstacle in the path from non-belief to belief and the single biggest reason I have ever had – and I say this, in a public forum, with regret and reluctance - for doubting, on occasion, my own belief in (or, at least, my own understanding of) God.

Of course, religious scholars, and religious texts, do offer some explanations for human tragedies and for the suffering and death that we all are confronted with throughout our lives. For example, in Islam, our entire existence on earth is seen as part of one big test, an exam set by the divine examiner, Allah; and dying and death are simply viewed as components of this existential examination. Our patience, our forbearance and, above all, our faith is tested by our reaction to personal tragedies and to immediate suffering. For example, the Quran declares in a famous trio of verses (or ‘ayaat’):

“Be sure we shall test you with something of fear and hunger, some loss in goods or lives or the fruits (of your toil), but give glad tidings to those who patiently persevere, who say, when afflicted with calamity: "To Allah We belong, and to Him is our return". They are those on whom (descend) blessings from Allah, and Mercy, and they are the ones that receive guidance.” (Quran, Surah 2, Verses 155-157)

In other chapters (or ‘surahs’), the Quran makes it clear that it is our patience (or ‘sabr’) that is being tested, strengthened and exhibited in cases of personal tragedy and it is our God-give yet human quality of patience which will enable us to overcome our suffering and pain and find hope and guidance in the long run:

“O you who believe! Persevere in patience and constancy; vie in such perseverance; strengthen each other; and fear Allah; [so] that you may prosper.” (Surah 3, Verse 200)

“And be steadfast in patience; for verily Allah will not suffer the reward of the righteous to perish.” (Surah 11, Verse 115)

Islam, like Christianity, also teaches that suffering – in the form of, say, a personal tragedy – can be deeply, if painfully, instructive for the individual, reminding each of us that life is not easy, and good (and bad) times do come and go, but nonetheless we have to hold on to what we know to be true and genuine: Allah and the mercy of Allah. The Quran points out,

“So, verily, with every difficulty, there is relief. Verily, with every difficulty there is relief.” (Surah 94, Verses 5-6)

Yet these stock answers – and the associated self-confident assertions of scholars, preachers and clerics regarding God’s role (or lack of) in our personal tragedies – only go so far. As the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr. Rowan Williams, pointed out in the wake of the Asian tsunami, “every single random, accidental death is something that should upset a faith bound up with comfort and ready answers.” He went on to rather astutely note, “If some religious genius did come up with an explanation of exactly why all these deaths made sense, would we feel happier or safer or more confident in God?”

In fact, despite having spent years proudly proclaiming to atheists and agnostics (as well as Christians and Jews) that my Islamic faith is built on reason and logic and science, I have in recent months come to accept and acknowledge that perhaps there is no rational and all-embracing ‘explanation’ for the existence of evil and suffering in a world created and sustained by a just, merciful and compassionate God. And, despite my own rationalist proclivities, I cannot now help but sympathize with the argument advanced by Ruqaiyyah Waris Maqsood, who has perhaps done more than any other Muslim writer to honestly and frankly confront issues of evil, suffering and death in Islam:

“It is not wrong to ask questions. Human beings are creatures with minds and rational faculties. If God had wanted automatons with no minds, He would have created us that way. It is all right for us to ask for the reasons; but we cannot demand an answer. Sometimes we get an answer, if God deems it necessary for us to know. At other times we simply have to accept that although there is an answer, God has not given it, and since His dealings with us are always loving and for our ultimate good, we can leave the matter there. This is where faith comes in.

“How does Islam affect Muslims? A life free from guilt? Possibly, if they try hard. A life free from the fear of death? Possibly, if they have enough faith. A life that can be lived differently from that of non-believers? True, with God’s help. A life free from sorrow, problems and difficulties? Sadly, no.

“Being a Muslim does not protect anyone from the reality of suffering. Belief is not some kind of spiritual inoculation which will provide immunity from all that is difficult and painful. We love Allah—but doesn’t He care when we suffer? In times of crisis, it is so easy to feel that He is far away and cannot hear our cries-but this is not so. He is closer than our own neck vein; or, as the Messenger (peace and blessings be upon him) touchingly put it, closer than the neck of our own camel. His love will never desert us or let us down, even in our darkest hour.”

This is almost exactly where my own intellectual and theological journey has brought me to, in recent months. I accept Allah is, in some sense, present in every action, every event, every tragedy (as well as every euphoria), yet I also now accept, reluctantly and belatedly, that nowhere does Allah say that I will go through life without experiencing tragedies, without experiencing disasters, without experiencing suffering and pain and hardship. Yet at the same time, I also acknowledge that I will always have my hope, my patience, my faith to fall back on and I continue to accept and to believe that Allah will never forsake me, and never stop guiding and supporting me in every step, especially in times of adversity and when the outcome – as in Indiana - seems unbearably and irredeemably bleak.

I hope that such an approach, such an outlook, may help us begin to cope in tragic times like this, and may help us continue to maintain our faith in Allah. I hope we never give up faith in Him, no matter how much pain we may be in, no matter how confused or depressed we may become.

So, I welcome especially your comments on this particular post. Your views and your insights – and, above all, your prayers. May Allah have mercy on the souls of Batul Abbas, Shazreh Abbas, Shaail Abbas and Azmeh Abbas and may Allah strengthen the patience, forbearance and faith of Hadi Abbas.

"Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un."

"To Allah we belong, and to Him is our return.” (Surah 2, Verse 156)