What is the place of theodicy in making sense of suffering? Can any philosophical argument that attempts to reconcile God’s goodness with the reality of suffering and evil accomplish the task of bringing comfort, resolution, or absolution to those who suffer? It seems likely that our attempts to rationalize complex and emotional issues can exacerbate the pain and discomfort we seek to alleviate. It’s true that theodicies can curb our own distress, but they can do so at the cost of further harm to those we know who are suffering. I want to particularly hone in on how rational theodicies land on traumatized people. The pervasive nature of traumatic memory means that the suffering might never be resolved or, indeed, "over." How do we hold space for this kind of suffering? As I have considered different approaches to making meaning from pain, I have come to believe that practices of communal resistance are perhaps the most effective response for trauma survivors, especially when these practices push us towards embodied communal experiences of hope and healing. 

 Where did rational theodicy as we know it come from? Well, as with most things rational, it is primarily a post-Enlightenment exercise.¹ Classical theodicists offer a vindication of God’s goodness and providence in the face of evil and suffering in the world, seeking to logically demonstrate that suffering is somehow compatible with God’s perfection and moral order. They offer an apologetic. I wonder, though, does God want or need a theologian to speak on his behalf and defend his cause in this way, particularly when the response inflicts further pain? It seems pretty clear what God thought about Job’s friends (cf. Job 13:7-8). The eminent theologian Stanley Hauerwas is skeptical about our compulsion to explain or rationalize suffering. He states: “I do not think any explanation that removes the surdness of certain forms of suffering can be right. Much in our lives should not be made ‘good’ or explained.”² In his reflection, Hauerwas alludes to what Bethany Sollereder makes explicit: “Classical theodicy is not written for those who suffer . . . most theodicy books begin with the caveat that they are not practical books, not meant to be handed to people who suffer.”³ What, then, is the purpose of this form of theodicy? It is an intellectual exercise that seeks to assuage our doubts about God, with the benefit of distance and emotional indifference. It reveals our underlying fears and anxieties: the absence of neat solutions to pain and suffering makes us profoundly uncomfortable. Yet, the insufficiency of such argumentation reveals itself even to ardent theodicists when faced with their own trials. Ethicist John S. Feinberg realized the limitations of rational knowledge when his wife was diagnosed with Huntington’s disease: “His meticulous answers and well-researched publications offered no real comfort to him in the face of this news and the difficult life they began to face. . . . The theories could not plumb the depths of human sorrow.”⁴ In his profound suffering and grief, Feinberg discovered that personal encounters with the presence of God, and the care of the Christian community, were more crucial and powerful than any (lack of) comfort provided to him by rational knowledge. 

For theologians working in the area of trauma studies, there is a shared understanding that traumatic residue pervasively lives on in the minds and bodies of those who have suffered. There can be no “neatly defined borders within which experience can be abstracted and explained.”⁵ In post-traumatic memory, the past is never in the past—it remains and re-emerges, often in the most unexpected and unwanted moments. Thus, trauma theology is a theology of remaining with the unresolved and the unintegrated,⁶ incompatible with the neat finality of most theodicies. Swinton agrees with many in the field of trauma theology by stating that classical theodicy is, to a large extent, 1) meaningless and 2) “a potential source of evil in and of itself.”⁷ He also identifies and exposes “casual theodicies”⁸: the well-meaning comments proffered in post-church coffee hours, which have a harmful potency in their thoughtlessness: 

“The Lord won’t give you more than you can handle.” 

“God must have faith in you to test you in this way.”

“Is there unconfessed sin / a lack of faith / <insert other explanation here> that you need to deal with?”

In my experience, casual theodicies, like their intellectual variant, also reveal an innate discomfort with unresolved suffering: we deny, explain away, or recast suffering in a more hopeful light. We say anything to escape the uncomfortable reality of another person’s distress, or the tyranny of the unfixable. Such thoughtless, though well-intentioned, statements can be debilitating, causing trauma survivors to avoid Christian communities when they most need friends to simply bear witness to their pain. Given the issues identified with classic and casual theodicies, the question of a generative alternative for the vulnerable sufferer is a pressing pastoral need.

In her book Why Is There Suffering?, Bethany Sollereder advocates for a compassionate theodicy. Imitating a choose-your-own-adventure format, she gives the reader autonomy to pick what they believe about God at each turn, which shapes their next step on the journey.⁹ Sollereder makes the sufferer the expert in their own experience. She provides theological reflection and insight for the various paths the reader will take.¹⁰ However, when I read her book, I wondered whether a person suffering from intrusive traumatic memories would have the capacity or inclination to engage with a resource that raises more existential questions than it answers. Sollereder’s format, while inventive, remains an intellectual exercise in its content and scope.¹¹ This is counterproductive for trauma survivors, as rationalizing is a trauma response that provides us an escape from our lived, embodied reality. We can escape to our mind palace, cutting ourselves off, at least temporarily, from feeling and experiencing the pain and grief we carry. I know this to be true, because I have a very well-constructed mind palace where I have taken refuge in many difficult moments. Moving beyond the confines of our individual minds is also essential to processing suffering in God's presence; in this regard, Sollereder’s approach seems inadequate. Considering emerging findings in interpersonal neurobiology, such as the role of mirror neurons in facilitating co-regulation,¹² embodied practices that encourage relational connections between God, ourselves, and our communities, are powerful alternatives that can reintegrate the fragmentation and isolation caused by trauma.

If we pan out for a moment from the personal to the global, there is evidently no shortage of evil and suffering in the world. The images and stories in our news media overwhelm us, tempting us to further despair or total disengagement from external suffering. We can barely carry what is going on inside and in our immediate vicinity, and the temptation to shut down and isolate is evident. We are paralyzed by information that makes us feel powerless. In this context, whole-person, whole-community responses to suffering are necessary. In order to restore agency, a crucial feature of trauma recovery, we need to do something in response to evil and suffering. In the first Christian centuries, suffering was pervasive and expected; yet people continued to faithfully love God and others. Inspired by their example, Swinton proposes a practical theodicy that moves beyond words to incorporate practices of resistance: a lived theodicy, if you will. He suggests several practices, including listening to silence, lamenting, forgiveness, thoughtfulness, and hospitality. As such, he invites us to participate with our whole selves, especially when we want to run and hide from God, others, and those thorny parts of ourselves.¹³ 

We need sensitivity to the Spirit to discern the practices most helpful to us and those around us. For example, being urged to forgive too quickly may be more harmful than helpful in the long run for those who have long silenced abuse. Building a capacity to trust a church community enough to receive hospitality and care from others could be much more challenging and formative for some people than throwing themselves into serving roles. Perhaps trauma survivors need to see receiving care as a spiritual discipline, which enables openness to God and his presence mediated through another person. In healthy communities, we do not have to go it alone or be self-sufficient in order to be safe. Receiving care retrains us, but it requires slowness and consent. If listening to silence triggers experiences of abandonment, being in the presence of others who can safely and securely co-regulate our emotions may mitigate some of the tension we feel. Thoughtful hospitality that is empowering, rather than paternalistic, can also be transformative. Yes, trauma survivors need care, but they also need people to see and celebrate their strengths, resilience, and capacities. They are more than the pain they express in lament, both personal and corporate. For a practical, trauma-informed theodicy to be realized, it takes a willing community of disciples to discern together how to create a space where everyone is seen, soothed, safe, and secure. No doubt there will be ruptures that need to be repaired on the journey. 

Before I close, I acknowledge and appreciate that many people take comfort in classical and casual theodicies; cognitively reframing suffering to create meaning can be an act of resistance, which carries us through the crisis moments. Yet, the caution comes with imposing the meanings we make onto other people’s stories. We cannot simply settle for a one-size-fits-all approach, resolving traumatic suffering with scriptural proof texts (e.g., Romans 8:28) or throwaway comments. It is dangerously easy for each of us to offer our coping mechanisms to others, spiritually bypassing the griefs and pains that live on in bodies, minds, and communities.¹⁴ Often, classical/casual theodicies end conversations, resolve questions, and silence laments. They seek certainty, rather than curiosity. By contrast, a practical theodicy, grounded in habits of relational resistance, provides an apt and timely invitation to slow down and be with ourselves, God, and others as we walk in the valley of the shadow of death, or dine in the presence of our enemies (Ps. 23:4-5). Precisely because evil and suffering will persist with us until the eschaton, we need practices to help us navigate these realities. A trauma-informed church community will embody God’s presence and bear witness to suffering that remains. We need to commit to being with and for one another for the long haul, especially when pain does not quickly resolve or cease. Remember, love is patient. It always protects, trusts, hopes, and perseveres. May we love well the survivors in our midst.

Bibliography

Galbraith, Eilidh. “Doing practical theology ‘from the place where it hurts’: the significance of trauma theology in renewing a practical theology of suffering.” Practical Theology, 17, no. 1 (2024): 69-81.

Hauerwas, Stanley. “Should Suffering Be Eliminated? What the Retarded Have to Teach Us.” In The Hauerwas Reader, edited by John Berkman and Michael Cartwright, 556-576. New York, USA: Duke University Press, 2001.

Kapic, Kelly M. Embodied Hope: A Theological Meditation on Pain and Suffering. Downers Grove, IL: Intervarsity Press, 2017.

McBride, Hillary. Holy Hurt: Understanding Spiritual Trauma and the Process of Healing. Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos Press, 2025.

Rambo, Shelly. Spirit and Trauma: A Theology of Remaining. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010.

Siegel, Daniel J. Mindsight: The New Science of Personal Transformation. New York: Bantam Books, 2011.

Sollereder, Bethany. “Compassionate theodicy: A suggested truce between intellectual and practical theodicy.” Modern Theology, 37, no. 2 (2021): 382-395.

Sollereder, Bethany. Why Is There Suffering? Pick Your Own Theological Expedition. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2021.

Swinton, John. Raging with Compassion: Pastoral Responses to the Problem of Evil. Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2007. 

Swinton, John. Finding Jesus in the Storm: The Spiritual Lives of Christians with Mental Health Challenges. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2020.