Sandy Hook and the Suffering of Children

I am thinking of our fellow citizens at Sandy Hook Elementary school in Newtown, Connecticut. I am not thinking politics. I am thinking of God, of people, and the suffering of children.

One of the temptations among pastors and Christians generally is to over-explain such things. I am not even going to try. You see, I think we can come across as if we just do not get it when it comes to the suffering and pain that we find in our world. In particular, of course, is the suffering of children. I do not minimize for a moment the death of the adults. Yet, something about the suffering and death of children tugs at us, I think. We do not get it. Frankly, I would be concerned if we did. If we were not shocked at such events, what would it say?

For many people, suffering is a deal breaker when it comes to God. Any God worthy of worship would not allow a world of so much evil and suffering to exist. Yet, the suffering of children seems to heighten the struggle.

In the X-Files, one of the recurring story lines, probably becoming tiresome, was the search for the sister of Mulder. The search ends in Season 7, Episode 11, called closure. Mulder is standing at the site of a mass grave, in which a mass murderer has buried his victims. Other FBI agents are taking out the little bodies of his victims, children, from their graves. Among the twenty-four victims is the sister of Mulder, Samantha. In the opening voice-over monologue, Mulder says the following.

 

"They said the birds refused to sing and the thermometer fell suddenly, as if God himself had his breath stolen away. No one there dared speak aloud, as much in shame as in sorrow. They uncovered the bodies one by one. The eyes of the dead were closed, as if waiting for permission to open. Were they still dreaming of ice cream and monkey bars, of birthday cake, and no future but the afternoon? Or had their innocence been taken along with their lives, buried in the cold earth so long ago? These fates seemed too cruel even for God to allow. Or are the tragic young born again when the world's not looking? I wanna believe so badly in a truth beyond our own, hidden and obscured 'from all but the most sensitive eyes. In the endless procession of souls, in what cannot and will not be destroyed'. I want to believe we are unaware of God's eternal recompense and sadness. That we cannot see his truth. That that which is born still lives and cannot be buried in the cold earth, but only waits to be born again at God's behest, where in ancient starlight we lay in repose."

 

What can anyone say to the place of the horrible suffering of children and its place in the grand scheme of things?

F. M. Dostoyevsky, Brothers Karamazov (1880) in a Chapter with the title “Rebellion,” expresses the horror of the suffering of children. He remarks that while it may be difficult to love adults at close quarters, one can love children up close. They are still innocent of all the adult struggles with good and evil. Yet, they suffer horribly on this earth, often for the sins of their parents. People talk of animal cruelty, but it pales in comparison to the cruelty of humanity to children. He refers to Turks in a war in Bulgaria who disemboweled children from the womb. According to another story, the Turks put a gun in the face of a baby. The baby giggled and played with the barrel of the gun, and then the Turk pulled the trigger, blowing off the head of the baby. “Artistic, wasn’t it,” Ivan says. He refers to some adults who love to torture children. It may well be that a sign of evil is that the weakness and innocence of children attracts some to inflict this cruelty. He refers to the torture of one child by parents. Why does God permit such infamy? He refers to a Russian general whose favorite dog developed a limp because an eight-year-old boy threw a stone in its direction. He gathered all his hounds together the next day and had them pursue the boy. They caught up with him and tore him to pieces, in the presence of his mother.

The Plague (1947) by Albert Camus has a priest who has lost his faith ponder the mystery of suffering, but especially the suffering of children.  

I raise these examples for a simple reason. Sometimes, people of faith are far too quick to speak, at a time when listening to the pain may well be what God calls us to do.

Of course, times like this may help us feel the fragility of life, which is always there, even when we are not aware of it. We may hold life more preciously for at least a while. We might even make it a habit.

If we have children, grandchildren, or great-grandchildren, we might embrace them with greater feeling and warmth than before. 

In times of darkness, it can be difficult to remember the story God is telling of humanity. During Advent and Christmas, the church reminds itself of the grand story of redemption, salvation, healing, and liberation that began long ago in Israel and the prophets, but reached its fulfillment in Jesus Christ. Even a time such as this, the church reminds itself and the world that our weak and feeble individual stories are not all there is. Our story is part of a much larger story into which we need to live, and of which we do not know the course or the end. One of the beautiful things about being part of a community like that of the church is that you can “remember,” not just your own history, but also the history of what God is doing with humanity. You get to become part of a much larger story than the story of your life. The climax of that story is counter-intuitive, for we too often may feel the absence of God. Yet, in spite of that, the Christian story culminates in Emmanuel, God with us.

Let it be so.