Making Sense of Destruction

December 31, 2021 | By Justin Ferrugia TD ‘23+1

image description: a cross under an archway within a mountainside

Affliction plays a complicated role in the Christian worldview. We are naturally predisposed to fear it. Pain, suffering, and danger elicit some of the most profound physiological responses in all animals. Human beings, however, are unique in our ability to reason with, deeply understand, and rationally attempt to avoid affliction in our lives. The gift we possess to relate rationally to the world around us magnifies our ability to deeply understand and be impacted by our afflictions. Thus, the magnitude affliction plays in our lives surpasses that of every other earthly creature. Affliction, properly understood, is necessary to the fallen nature of human beings. It comes then as a shock when, as Christians, we arrive at a mandate St. Paul gives in his letter to the Romans: to “…boast of our afflictions.”

In a journal about the beauty and excitement of new creation, affliction, tragedy, and suffering might seem a bit out of place. What I hope to argue is that affliction is not only connected to, but inseparable from, the idea of new creation. With this in mind, I also hope to show Christ’s centrality and necessity in reconciling the pain and justifiable fear of affliction with the Christian conception of suffering rooted in the call to “boast of our afflictions.”

Central to understanding St. Paul’s message are several axioms. Christians believe that suffering is an inherent evil––it is not of God nor was it intended by God. Like death, it is a consequence of human beings’ fall. We are called to end unnecessary suffering in our lives. Seeking suffering is entirely out of the question. But the complexity comes with unavoidable suffering, unendable suffering. How are we to understand the suffering for which we simply seem destined?   

When suffering or affliction strikes, there is a tendency in our culture to proclaim, perhaps something good will come of this. This simple statement has been a rallying cry for the afflicted, and for good reason. It is the promise of new creation. Like the phoenix from the ashes, out of the pain and suffering of loss or evil emerges the rebirth of love, community, and determination. 

The tendency to look for good sprouting out of the evil that afflicts us has a deep theological grounding. Throughout the history of the Christian faith, the single most persistent objection to an omnipotent, omniscient, and omnibenevolent God is that the existence of such a God is incompatible with the existence of suffering. The objection follows the logic that if a God is all good, He would want to prevent suffering; if a God is all knowing, He would know all suffering; if a God is all powerful, He could prevent all suffering. The fact that suffering nevertheless exists causes many to conclude that such a God cannot exist. 

To reconcile what has been called the “problem of evil” with the existence of the Christian God, the theological heavy-hitters of the Middle Ages proclaimed, in their own words, the truth that good comes from evil; some concluded, by extension, that certain good comes only from evil. St. Thomas Aquinas, following Augustine, says that, “If all evil were prevented, much good would be absent from the universe. . . . there would be no patience of martyrs if there were no tyrannical persecution. Thus Augustine says (Enchiridion 2): ‘Almighty God would in no wise permit evil to exist in His works, unless He were so almighty and so good as to produce good even from evil.’” [1] This is merely a fragment of what theologians have to say on this question of evil, but it encapsulates modern conceptions quite neatly.  

This explanation has satiated many throughout the centuries. But is it truly a reconciliation of the central paradox? Our words of encouragement––perhaps something good will come out of this––leave room and indeed necessitate that we also scorn, or denounce, our afflictions themselves. After all, we as rational human beings, and as Christians, should avoid evil at all costs. But in his call to “boast of our afflictions” St. Paul seems to suggest that evil suffered––as opposed to evil perpetuated––can have some value. When viewed in light of St. Thomas’s explanation, it seems that even though good can come from affliction, we should still bemoan our afflictions. This, however, appears to run completely counter to The Apostle’s mandate. There is still a conflict. 

This is where I find myself getting stuck. No matter how much good may come out of it, how can we account for the inherently evil suffering we see every day in our lives and in the lives of others? Furthermore, even if we do believe it is possible for goodness or newness to come from affliction, it would be naive to suggest it always does. How are we then to complete the reconciliation?

In attempting to answer this question, I will turn to the person of St. Pope John Paul II. His was a life of great affliction. His mother died when he was only eight years old. Shortly thereafter, his brother, who worked as a physician, contracted and died from scarlet fever. After the Nazi invasion of Poland, the future pontiff, born Karol Wojtyła, suffered a fractured skull after being hit by a tram. That same year he was struck by a lorry in a quarry which left him permanently hunched. When he turned twenty, Wojtyła’s father died as well, leaving him the only member of his family. Forty years later, he reflected on this, saying, “At twenty, I had already lost all the people I loved.”

During the Second World War, Wojtyła entered an underground seminary to begin studying for the priesthood. During this process of discernment, Wojtyła suffered another severe accident when he was struck by a German truck. He suffered a severe concussion but survived. His accident and unlikely survival cemented his call to the priesthood. After being elected Pope in October of 1978, he was famously wounded by Mehmet Ali Agca who shot him four times in the abdomen and arm.

Human experiences of affliction are as individualized as human beings are themselves, and I do not presume to apply the former pontiff’s experience with affliction to all such experiences. But his combination of theological expertise and lived experience gave John Paul II unique insight  into affliction in our lives, which he discussed and examined in a 1984 apostolic letter entitled “Salvivici Doloris,” or “Redemptive Suffering.” 

The letter itself is quite lengthy, and I could not hope to encapsulate the elegance of the former pontiff’s argument. He begins by examining the book of Job to dismantle the concept that suffering and affliction is always just. Job is a just man— a servant of God— who is nevertheless subjected to great affliction and torture by Satan and at the permission of God. Satan has assured God that he could drive Job to such despair that Job would curse God’s name. 

Although readers know that Job is righteous and therefore not to blame for his sufferings, near the beginning of the book, Job’s acquaintances attempt to convince him that he is the cause for the suffering he experiences—that his suffering is just. As John Paul says, “The opinion expressed by Job’s friends manifests a conviction also found in the moral conscience of humanity: the objective moral order demands punishment for transgression, sin and crime. From this point of view, suffering appears as a ‘justified evil.’” [2]  Job and God alike recognize this is not in fact the case. The pontiff describes Job challenging this traditionally-held conception of evil as a quid pro quo punishment for sin. John Paul says, “Job however challenges the truth of the principle that identifies suffering with punishment for sin....For he is aware that he has not deserved such punishment… In the end, God himself reproves Job’s friends for their accusations and recognizes that Job is not guilty. His suffering is the suffering of someone who is innocent and it must be accepted as a mystery…” [2]

Job leads us to the central paradox around which we have been dancing: the mystery of God allowing the afflicted innocent. This paradox cannot be reconciled. That is, it cannot be reconciled without the ultimate reconciler: Christ. 

Christ is the ultimate afflicted innocent. Nowhere is this represented better than by Isaiah in the Old Testament.

Though he was harshly treated, he submitted

and opened not his mouth;

like a lamb led to the slaughter

or a sheep before the shearers,

he was silent and opened not his mouth.

Oppressed and condemned, he was taken away,

and who would have thought any more of his destiny?

When he was cut off from the land of the living,

and smitten for the sin of his people,

a grave was assigned him among the wicked

and a burial place with evildoers,

though he had done no wrong

nor spoken any falsehood.

But the LORD was pleased

to crush him in infirmity.

–– Isaiah 53:7-10 (NAB)

Historically, the Gospels tell us that at his moment of greatest suffering, Christ was abandoned by all of his friends. One of his closest betrayed him, another denied that he had ever known him. Those who had once followed him were now shouting Crucify Him, Crucify Him. Those who still followed him were nowhere to be found. Even his own Father, in his final moments, did not assist him. Worse, Christians believe that Jesus always knew his fate. He knew he would be tortured, scourged, pierced, and ultimately die on the cross. He knew his father would alow all this. Yet, he could tell no one. His whole life, he bore this fear, sadness, and trepidation alone, knowing all along he would die with nothing and no one. 

In the humanity of Christ, we see the pain of affliction. We see Christ in agony, sweating blood in the Garden of Gethsemane. We hear his last words as he cries out in anguish the lamentation of all afflicted, “Eli Eli Lama Sabachthani”––“My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me.” 

Yet we know this is not the end of Christ’s story. Christ descends into hell, and, on the third day, He is resurrected and glorified. Pope John Paul II expresses the truth of Christ’s crucifixion when he says, “One can say that with the Passion of Christ all human suffering has found itself in a new situation…In the Cross of Christ not only is the Redemption accomplished through suffering, but also human suffering itself has been redeemed. Christ––without any fault of his own––took on himself ‘the total evil of sin.’” [2]

Out of the affliction of Christ came not only His new creation—His resurrection to the right hand of the Father—but all people’s new creation—our restored ability to be sharers in the beatific vision that is the everlasting love of God. Not only this, but all suffering is now somewhat different than it was before Christ. Before Christ suffered, we suffered in vain. Affliction was hopeless and useless. After Christ, the ultimate afflicted innocent, when we suffer, we participate in the suffering of Christ. In suffering, we are now doing something Godly. 

This is why, for Christians, the story of humanity’s fall and reconciliation through Christ isn’t just a nice story that we can feel good about. It is more complex and nuanced than that––a story of both anguish and hope––and we desperately need it to persevere through the sufferings that are inevitable in the human condition. If we are to hope in the beauty and excitement of the newness of creation––the Biblical promise––we need Christ, the reconciler. As John Paul explains, “The mystery of the Redemption of the world is in an amazing way rooted in suffering, and this suffering in turn finds in the mystery of the Redemption its supreme and surest point of reference.” [2]

Only with this surest point of reference in the life and death of Christ Himself can Christians obey the Apostle Paul’s commandment to “boast of our afflictions, knowing that affliction produces endurance, endurance, proven character, and proven character, hope” (Romans 5:3-5).

“And hope does not disappoint” (Romans 5:5).

1. Aquinas, Thomas. Summa theologica. Translated by Fathers of the English Dominican Province. New York: Benziger Brothers, 1911-1925.

2. John Paul II. “Salvifici Doloris,” The Holy See, 11 February 1984,  https://www.vatican.va/content/john-paulii/en/apost_letters/1984/documents/hf_jp-ii_apl_11021984_salvifici-doloris.html

---