I was paged to a “Rapid Response” on my hospital’s inpatient rehab unit, as Carla, a patient engaged in physical therapy, had suddenly become unresponsive. As usual, I sought out family and was quickly introduced to Carla’s husband, Randy, and his brother. They seemed unusually calm.

“It’s probably just a medication imbalance,” Randy began. “This has happened before. But thank you for coming, Chaplain. We’re Christians and we believe in the power of prayer—Carla’s got an army of prayer warriors pulling for her.” Randy’s brother nodded.

“Can you tell me what brought Carla to our rehab unit?” I asked.

“She was shot two months ago in a robbery at a grocery store in the small town where we live. The bullets did a lot of damage, and after the wounds healed they sent her up here to Portland to regain as much function as she can. She’s been doing well, though there have been setbacks … like this.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. That’s just terrible.”

“The hardest thing …” Randy said, “is that we saw the whole thing on film from the security cameras. I guess she didn’t get down fast enough for the robber. He shot her once and then, when she was lying on the ground, he shot her two more times for no reason at all. I just can’t understand evil like that.”

Just then Randy needed to provide information to the medical team treating Carla, so I told him we’d keep them all in our prayers, then departed.

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The problem of evil has challenged thoughtful people from the beginning of time. We humans have an instinctive impulse to try to understand cause and effect, to find meaning or make sense out of our experiences. When a person dies unexpectedly or has a life-shattering experience, we can’t help but ask why. Often, there are no answers available.

The problem of evil has an extra dimension for people who believe in a god with the power to influence human affairs. This problem has its own term, theodicy, used by philosophers and theologians who wrestle with it. No one gets through seminary without studying different schools of thought on this topic, and no one graduates without having to develop a personal point of view on it.

I was forced to reckon with the flimsiness of my own fledgling theology more than 25 years ago, when the spouse of a work colleague was brutally murdered. I wrote about this experience during my first year of seminary (God Not Feeling Omnipotent), and I have continued to test and refine the point of view expressed in that post ever since.

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A few days later Carla was on a medical unit I was covering, and I looked in on her. During previous visits she’d been surrounded by family and appeared confused, but this evening she was alone and alert.

“Oh, hi, Chaplain. Thank you for coming to see me.”

“Greetings, Carla. It looks like the fog of the past few days has cleared. I’m glad to have a chance to meet you properly.”

“Yes, it was the meds, but they adjusted them and now I can think again. Do you have a few minutes?”

“Absolutely, that’s why I’m here.”

“I’ve been sitting here thinking about why this happened to me. I’m grateful that lots of people are praying for me, but they keep saying things like ‘Everything happens for a reason’ and ‘This must be part of God’s plan.’ Those sayings don’t make any sense to me right now.”

“Can you say a little more?”

“Well, if this is God’s punishment for something I did, I can’t figure out what I did to deserve this. I know I haven’t lived a perfect life, but I’ve tried to follow God’s commandments. I probably won’t ever walk again. How is that fair?”

“I agree, it really doesn’t seem fair.”

“And how is this supposed to be part of God’s plan? Would God purposely do this to me so that I might learn some lesson, or so that other people might benefit from my example?”

I pause, then reply. “The God I believe in doesn’t act that way.”

“The God I thought I believed in wouldn’t act that way, either, which is why this is so confusing.” Carla’s eyes fill with tears, and her voice quivers. “Why did God do this to me? What do you think, Chaplain? Tell me.”

I offer my hand and Carla takes it. We share silence together as I let my own feelings rush in, and then I try to gather my thoughts.

“Carla, I’ve had to change my understanding of God over time in order to make sense of situations like yours. The only God I can believe in is always on the side of love, always working to heal our brokenness. That God would never say ‘Let’s put a couple of bullets in Carla to teach her some humility.’”

Carla laughs through her tears. “Thank you for saying that. I can’t imagine God being that way, either.”

“On the contrary, I believe God was doing everything in their power to stop the robber from shooting you. But I’ve had to conclude that God doesn’t have the power to stop something like that. I’ve had to let go of the idea that God is all powerful in order to hold onto the idea that God is all loving.”

“That’s a lot to take in …” Carla responds uncertainly. “But I do believe that God is all loving.”

“And I believe that God has been with you throughout this ordeal, including tonight, working to heal your body and, especially, your spirit.”

We close with a time of prayer, giving thanks to a God who loves us through our pain and doubts.

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Toxic theology is all around us. It may wear the cloak of religion (“It’s all part of God’s plan”) or it may simply be part of the cultural air we breathe (“Everything happens for a reason”). It often arises as we try to make sense of things that make no sense, as we try to assert control over events or emotions that feel out of control, as we seek safety when we feel vulnerable. While it may at first be benign, we often give it power over domains where it can be destructive without ever realizing what we have done.

Any theology, whether religious or secular, can become toxic when we seek to apply it to other people. Carla’s prayer warriors were no doubt well meaning, but they assumed their theology applied equally to Carla without having any experience of Carla’s suffering. I always have trepidation when a patient asks me about my own theology, especially from a place of vulnerability, as I don’t have their life experience and don’t know what conflicts it may create for them. I can only speak from my own experience and hope they find something of value in my words.

We live in a time when, as much as ever, people are seeking to impose their world view on others without first seeking to understand the experiences of others that shaped their different world view. I am grateful for every opportunity I get to listen deeply to the life experiences of others. I always come away convinced of the power of love to bridge our differences.