Saturday morning I went car shopping with my daughter Meghan in Aurora. I don’t know that much about cars, but this is something dad’s do. We pretend to possess some level of expertise, while what we’re actually doing is simply providing some support and reassurance. We looked at a number of vehicles and test drove a few. That wasn’t the part that included suffering, though used car salesmen tend to fulfill the stereotypes. In fact it was a very pleasant experience and we had a lot of fun! The suffering part came after we were done looking for vehicles and went for lunch at Red Robin—no, that wasn’t suffering either. In fact the food was very, very good! Gotta love the unlimited salad and fries!

The suffering part came as we sat at our table and noticed a plaque hanging rather prominently on the wall next to us. It had a photo of a young man in a tuxedo named Alex Sullivan. It referred to him as a hero, who had lost his life at a far too early age. Meghan “googled” him and discovered that he was one of the twelve people killed in the Aurora Theatre shooting on July 20, 2012. That was Alex’s 27th birthday. He had gone out that night to celebrate, and did so by going to the midnight premier of the new Batman movie. In the midst of his celebration he was cut down. Senselessly. By a deranged and deeply disturbed individual who stole the lives of eleven other people, wounded 70, and forever radically altered the lives of countless others.
We didn’t talk much about it, so I don’t know how Meghan was processing it or what kind of a context she put it into. I of course attempted to find some kind of meaning to it. I was thinking about God and where He was in the midst of that murderous melee.

Back in the day I would have defaulted to well-worn clichés. But when one is faced with such senseless acts of violence, those simply don’t work. At least not for most of us. And when others resort to them I find it not only unhelpful, but actually offensive.

So I thought about senseless suffering—so much of it. Everything from random shootings to starvation to the political violence that occurs in so many other countries. I thought about the men I met in Sierra Leone and the stories they recounted about the killings and torture during the “Blood Diamond” time. Each had a heart wrenching tale to recount. Perhaps most profound was Bombis, who had both of his arms chopped off and lived to forgive the man who did it. And again, I tried to put it into the context of God. Here’s what I came up with. Not sure if it works for you—hell, I’m not sure if it even works for me—but it’s the best I got.

The crucifixion of Christ is an eternal icon of senseless suffering. A good man. A great man. A kind man. A loving man. Who is murdered. Who is given over not only by His own disciples, His own people, but evidently by His own Father. The traditional take on it—at least the one I was taught—was that it had to happen this way in order for all of the world’s sins to be forgiven. I don’t believe that anymore. I believe that God is big enough and loving enough that He doesn’t have to resort to a seemingly senseless act of violence in order to accomplish something that He could do simply by saying it was so. If He spoke the universe into existence, He certainly could speak our sins away, without resorting to something resembling divine terrorism.

So here’s what I believe: I believe that Christ’s suffering is meant to help put into context every other act of senseless suffering that ever has and ever will occur. To show us love in the midst of hatred, and life in the midst of death, and compassion in the midst of violence. To somehow convey a message spoken in a few small words and one very huge action, that no matter how evil people might be, no matter how hopeless things might appear, no matter how dark the days might be, that in the midst of all the world’s ongoing Good Fridays there is something and someone present. That there is some kind of comfort to be had, and a Promise to hold onto. There is a cross to look at, and a Christ to cling to. And sometimes that’s all we have. And I hope it’s enough.