Where Tears Water Seeds of Glory: Finding God in South African Suffering
My Encounter with the Sacred Wound
The screeching tires echoed like a devil's chorus on the N1 highway near Akasia last winter. My car hydroplaned, spinning in a terrifying dance with gravity before crashing into the barrier. In those suspended seconds between control and chaos, I experienced the strange peace of absolute helplessness. The ambulance arrived, then the concerned faces of strangers, then the long recovery—both physical and spiritual. That crash became my classroom, and in the aching stillness that followed, I discovered a profound truth: God doesn't eliminate our pain; He inhabits it.
This personal trauma intersected with our national pain. Just weeks earlier, the Umtata flooding had devastated the Eastern Cape, claiming nearly a hundred lives and leaving thousands homeless . As I lay watching news reports of washed-away homes and grieving families, my minor suffering paled against their monumental loss. Yet both experiences raised the same ancient cry that has echoed from Job to Johannesburg: Where is God when it hurts?
The Unavoidable Question of Suffering
In my conversations across Pretoria—from coffee shops in Menlyn to township churches in Soshanguve—I've discovered that every South African wrestles with this question. We live in a country of stark contradictions, where stunning natural beauty coexists with brutal poverty, where reconciliation and corruption dance their macabre tango. Our national psyche bears the scars of apartheid, just as our present reality bears the wounds of load-shedding, unemployment, and violence.
Yet this is precisely where Christian truth offers its most radical response. The world offers two inadequate answers to suffering: either dismissal ("Just have more faith!") or despair ("There is no meaning!"). But Scripture presents a third way—the way of sacred solidarity. Romans 5:8 declares, "God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us." Notice the tense: God demonstrates (present action) His love through a historical event (Christ's death). This means His love is not abstract philosophy but embodied action.
Theological Foundation: The God Who Bears Our Scars
Let us define our terms clearly. Sovereignty means God ultimately governs all events—including tragedies—toward His redemptive purposes . Love means God personally participates in our suffering through the Cross. These truths are not contradictory but complementary.
The ancient heresy of deism imagines God as a distant watchmaker who creates then abandons His creation. This view fails because it denies God's ongoing engagement with His world. On the other hand, process theology suggests God is himself evolving and affected by creation—but this denies His omnipotence and transcendence. The biblical view steers between these errors: God is both transcendent (so He can govern all things) and immanent (so He can compassionately enter our pain).
Consider the logical structure:
1. Major Premise: A truly loving God would seek to eliminate suffering
2. Minor Premise: A truly powerful God could eliminate suffering
3. Apparent Conclusion: Therefore, if God exists, suffering should not exist
This trilemma seems persuasive until we recognize its flawed assumptions. It assumes that God's primary purpose is our comfort rather than our character formation. It ignores that human freedom necessitates the possibility of suffering. Most importantly, it overlooks God's personal entry into suffering through Christ.
The African Context: Ubuntu and the Fellowship of Suffering
Here our African philosophy of Ubuntu—"I am because we are"—enriches our theology. Ubuntu recognizes that personhood is formed in community . This resonates powerfully with the biblical concept of the Church as Christ's body—when one member suffers, all suffer together (1 Corinthians 12:26).
In traditional Western individualism, suffering often leads to isolation. But in African understanding, suffering should lead to deeper community. I witnessed this beautifully after the Umtata floods. While some theologians speculated about whether the disaster was God's judgment , local churches practically demonstrated God's compassion by opening their homes, serving meals, and rebuilding communities. They understood that theology must be lived not just debated.
This contrasts sharply with the prosperity gospel that has infected many African churches. This heresy claims that faith guarantees health and wealth—a theology that not only crumbles in suffering but adds shame to those who suffer. If your child drowns in a flood or your business fails during load-shedding, the prosperity gospel whispers: "You didn't have enough faith." This is not just bad theology; it's spiritual abuse.
Against this, we must sound the alarm: Nowhere does Scripture promise believers exemption from suffering. In fact, Jesus guaranteed it (John 16:33). The question isn't whether we suffer, but how we suffer—either alone or with God, either despairing or with hope.
The Scars That Speak: South African Stories of Hope
Consider recent events that reveal both our national pain and glimpses of hope:
The 2024 elections created South Africa's first Government of National Unity . While politicians negotiated power, ordinary Christians faced the practical challenges of service delivery protests and coalition uncertainties. I spoke with a pastor in Alexandra who told me: "We don't need politicians to teach us Ubuntu. While they debate, we share our water and electricity. This is where Jesus is—not in Union Buildings but in shared generators and shared prayers."
The white Christian leaders who refuted former President Trump's false claims about farmer persecutions demonstrated another form of courage . Rather than embracing victimhood, they declared: "Black South Africans continue to be subject to the worst excesses of violence and oppression" . This truthful solidarity reflects Christ's way of cross-bearing rather than power-grasping.
Even our artistic community reflects this theme. Young Pretoria author T'manya Meyer recently published a science fiction novel exploring how God sometimes "strategically allow[s] your reality to rip" to get our attention . This creative approach echoes Jacob wrestling with God—emerging with both a wound and a blessing.
Lament as Spiritual Warfare
In our African context, we understand that spiritual warfare involves both confrontation and compassion. The same God who commands us to "resist the devil" (James 4:7) also calls us to "weep with those who weep" (Romans 12:15). Our worship should include both declaration and lament.
The book of Psalms provides our model. Nearly a third of psalms are laments—raw, honest prayers that complain to God about suffering while simultaneously trusting His character. This is the both/and of biblical faith: I can both grieve my pain and trust God's goodness; I can both weep over my cancer diagnosis and believe God heals; I can both anger over corruption and work for justice.
This isn't contradiction; it's dialectical faith—holding two truths in tension. South Africans understand this intuitively. We know that our country is both breathtakingly beautiful and heartbreakingly broken. We know that our people are both incredibly resilient and deeply wounded. We embrace the "and" because we've experienced both Good Fridays and Easter Sundays.
The Community as Christ's Wounded Body
The Church is not a refuge from suffering but a fellowship of the wounded. We are those who show our scars as proof that wounds are not final. I think of my friend Pastor Sibiya in Hammanskraal, who started a support group for unemployed men. They meet under a tree each week, sharing job leads and praying together. Their fellowship doesn't eliminate their suffering, but it redeems it by creating community where isolation once ruled.
This is why Paul could say: "I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am filling up what is lacking in Christ's afflictions" (Colossians 1:24). This doesn't mean Christ's sacrifice was insufficient for salvation, but that Christ's suffering continues through His Church as we serve a hurting world. When we feed the hungry, visit prisoners, or advocate for justice, we become the hands that bear Christ's scars.
Answering the Objections
A common objection arises: "If God is sovereign over suffering, isn't He responsible for evil?" This challenge fails to distinguish between permission and commission. God permits suffering in a fallen world, but He never commits evil. He allows what He hates to accomplish what He loves—just as a surgeon cuts to heal.
Another objection claims: "Suffering disproves God's goodness." But this argument assumes we know what "goodness" means without God. Where do we get our standard of goodness if not from God Himself? As C.S. Lewis noted, the very outrage we feel about suffering presupposes a moral law that points to God.
The empirical evidence also challenges pure naturalism. Studies consistently show that religious faith provides resilience in suffering. From cancer patients to trauma victims, those with spiritual resources fare better psychologically than those without. This doesn't "prove" God, but it demonstrates that faith is existentially meaningful when suffering strikes.
Our Hope: The Scarred God Who Returns
Christian hope is not wishful thinking but assured expectation based on Christ's resurrection. The same God who entered our suffering in the Incarnation will ultimately end our suffering at the Consummation. Revelation 21:4 promises: "He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore."
This future hope empowers present obedience. Because we know the final chapter, we can endure the difficult paragraphs in between. We can protest injustice without despairing, knowing that righteousness will ultimately exalt our nation . We can serve the poor without burning out, knowing that Christ will finally renew all things. We can forgive our oppressors without trivializing their evil, knowing that God will execute perfect justice.
Practical Response: From Tears to Action
So how do we respond? First, we must lament honestly—both personally and corporately. Create space in your prayers to complain to God. Write your own psalms of anguish. Join prayer vigils for victims of gender-based violence or load-shedding casualties.
Second, leverage your pain for others' gain. Start a support group for those sharing your struggle. Turn your addiction recovery into mentorship. Transform your grief into compassion for the bereaved.
Third, labor for justice while trusting God's sovereignty. Advocate for policy changes that alleviate suffering. Support businesses that create jobs. Volunteer with organizations that feed the hungry. As the ancient proverb says: "Pray as if everything depends on God; work as if everything depends on you."
Finally, long for heaven without abandoning earth. The hope of eternity doesn't make us irrelevant but makes us courageous. We invest in this world because we know it will be renewed, not abandoned. We plant trees whose shade we may never enjoy, trusting that God gives the growth.
Conclusion: The Fellowship of His Sufferings
I still feel my car accident some rainy days. The scars remain—both physical and emotional. But I've discovered that these scars become sacred when I allow them to connect me to Christ's suffering and others' pain. My wound became a window where God's presence became more tangible than ever before.
This is the great paradox: We meet God more intimately in our suffering than in our success. We discover His strength in our weakness, His wisdom in our confusion, His life in our death. The cross transforms our questions from "Why, God?" to "How, God? How will you redeem this? How will you use this? How can I participate in your healing?"
So I challenge you: Stop begging God to eliminate your pain, and start asking Him to inhabit it. Stop seeking a pain-free life, and start pursuing the fellowship of His sufferings (Philippians 3:10). Your brokenness is not your disqualification; it's your platform for ministry. Your scars don't testify to God's absence but to His faithful presence amid life's storms.
For true hope isn't the absence of pain, but the forging of faith within it. And the God who allowed nails in His hands will not waste your wounds. He will enter them, transform them, and use them to water seeds of glory that will bloom for eternity.
Amen.
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