Why Do We Suffer?

The afflictions of this world can be burdensome and heavy. Unfortunately, it's all too easy to respond to adversity by second-guessing God's goodness and faithfulness. Why would a merciful, grace-giving God allow His children to endure such pain? Are we defective or rejected by Him if He doesn't seem to answer our prayer requests?

1 Peter 4:13: “Rejoice as you share in Christ’s sufferings, that you may also rejoice and be glad when His glory is revealed.”

This may be the headlining verse on my site, but believe me... it took me a long time to grasp these words--much less appreciate them. I'm still working on it, and it's okay if you are, too.

The words “rejoice” and “suffering” in the same sentence seems like the ultimate paradox. We rarely equate them with the same season of life or think it’s possible for them to coexist.

The word “joy” actually has the potential to grieve the heart. It can feel like such unattainable standard that’s always out of reach. Take depression, for instance... it can stealthily invade someone's headspace to where they gradually lose interest in passions and hobbies that they once genuinely enjoyed. Ergo, an invisible fight ensues against the forces that robbed them of joy as they struggle to stay fully absorbed in each moment, avoiding the confrontation of lingering grief that never truly dissolves. Many resort to escapism to avoid dealing with these unwanted emotions by assuming a passive state of denial, but avoidance only intensifies the pain later.

About a month ago, I was held captive by this headspace. Unrelenting wedges of apathy, anger, and lament drove themselves between me and everything that I once valued in life. I withdrew from my friends and family. I stopped writing and playing music. I avoided leaving my house at all costs. Some days, I never even left my bed. A stronghold had swept over my mind, letting no cracks of light shine through. I hadn't truly understood the meaning of the word "hopeless" until I found myself in those moments of a contorted reality: a confusing mixture of total fatigue, indifference, anxiety, and despair.

One evening, I felt a stirring in my heart to verbally invite the presence of the Holy Spirit into my living room. I wasn’t sure what would come of it, but worshipful lyrics began running through my head. I told my Alexa device to play the song that God was bringing to mind, and I became flooded with the joy of simply being present with Him.

Was my pain still there? Yes.

Was my heart still heavy? Yes.

Was I still in need of healing? Yes.

None of the plagues in my life magically disappeared. Thorns remained fixed in my sides. Could've God healed me when I cried out to Him? Of course! But the value of rejoicing with Him in the midst of my pain as I worshipped Him and praised Him for His steadfast love allowed for me to experience the fullness of a joy that isn't bound my circumstances.

An irony occurred to me that night, too: my middle name is Joy. A word that has felt so unattainable for so long is literally part of my name. Even though my mourning has been very real, I have access to the powerful weapon of worship that rebukes the enemy’s stronghold with joyful song. Praising when I don’t feel the presence of God--or even when I'm tempted to feel betrayed by God--is tough, don't get me wrong... but that’s what makes it so much more rewarding.

Even the most grieving moments this side of Heaven wield so much potential to channel the genuine joy to which Christ gives us access! Please, I beg of you: don’t let your suffering stop you from praising. Jesus drank from the ultimate cup of suffering. You’re in good company. It’s okay to feel angry, confused, hurt, or grieved, because through Christ, joy isn’t an emotion bound by circumstances… it’s a promise. It’s a fruit of His Spirit.

And how would we be able to appreciate the fullness of joy without suffering?