Well… it’s what? Week four into my eight or ten week philosophy class (I forgot the specifics, but it’s short). And guess what’s happened? 

“What are all the attributes of God?” Professor Tom asked as he stood at the front of the windowless classroom, armed with a blue dry-erase marker, “C’mon, now. Don’t be shy.”

The student next to me, a young, very conservative/evangelical man, timidly raised his hand. 

“Yes, sir.” the prof called on him. 

“He’s omnipotent?” 

“Yes. He is all-powerful.” our professor agreed as he wrote ‘omnipotent’ on the board, “Okay, what else?”

“He’s omniscient.” A student from the back of the room blurted out. 

“Good! What else?”

Timidly, I raised my hand. 

“Yes!”

“He’s all good.” I mumbled, tasting a tinge of bitterness rise up from my throat. 

“Indeed.” Professor Tom nodded as he wrote ‘omnibenevolent’ on the board. 

Even when I took a swig of my soda, the bitter taste in my mouth refused to go away. Soon, the bitterness moved from my mouth and into my heart. No longer was I paying attention to the lecture. Rather, I was deep in thought, wondering what the hell was going on. Why was I so full of bitterness and resentment towards God? Why did a simple philosophy question about the general attributes of God according to western religion, elicit such a strong reaction from me?

Driving home, I thought back to that bitter taste that came up with the words “all good” when I mentioned one of God’s common (indisputable) attributes. You’d think that after years and years of wrestling with Epicurus’ problem of evil, I would’ve figured it out by now. But, no. I still struggle with it immensely. 

It’s one of, if not my greatest stumbling block when it comes to my faith, and I can’t help but question God’s “omnibenevolence” given everything that is wrong with the world (and universe as a whole). 

I don’t think I’m at risk of losing my belief in God (or some other higher power). Indeed, this world is almost too… complex and unpredictable/miraculous… for atheism (if that makes any sense). But at the same time, this world is almost too… fucked up and imperfect/immoral… to be the creation of an omnibenevolent God. And, I’m nowhere closer to reconciling my faith with this issue than I was in middle school.

Still, I don’t want to believe in a God who isn’t always good, just, and holy. I don’t want to believe in a God who’ll sentence my friends and family to hell forever for their arbitrary sins. In fact, I’d rather burn in hell for eternity than endorse an amoral, quick-to-offend God who takes pleasure in flicking His imperfect creations into the lake of fire for the dumbest shit (like saying shit). 

At the same time, I don’t understand why God allows so much evil, suffering, illness, hatred, and anguish to ravage this earth, and how He can still be called “all good” despite it all. I can’t make sense of how an all-loving, all-powerful, all-knowing God could’ve allowed such a fucked up place as this universe to exist. And, upon reading through Psalms and Lamentations, I don’t think anyone in Scripture understood how such a perfect, moral, all-powerful Being could’ve created this place, either. 

Perhaps, that’s what faith is all about; believing that God must have some damn good reasons for doing and allowing what He does and allows, and that He is still the embodiment of perfection, love, mercy, justice healing, etc. Even though we live in a place that is lightyears closer to Hell than to Heaven. 

Now, I already know what many people will say: “Maya, you’re asking the wrong questions.”

But, am I really? 

Every famous atheist I’ve ever read and learned about, have all pointed to the problem of evil and suffering as the root of their atheism. Ultimately, it wasn’t science that led people like Christopher Hitchens, Sam Harris, and Stephen Hawking to reject God. It was the question of evil and suffering; God is omnibenevolent and all-powerful, yet He couldn’t have made a better world? Bullshit!

Honestly, I lean into the same direction as those people, because Cystic Fibrosis (among many other conditions) forced me to face these “big questions” head-on from the moment I was old enough to ask about God. 

Sure, I still believe in God (the “uncaused cause” that got this whole universe started), but I worry that God isn’t who Scripture says He is. 

Ok, for the record, I don’t believe that the Bible (or any holy book for that matter) is the inerrant Word of God (refer to Dr. Peter Enns and Dr. Michael Heiser for details, as they can explain that matter way better than I ever could). Rather, I think Scripture is the inspired Word of God; an imperfect collection of writings from equally imperfect people, spanning over thousands of years and numerous cultures, inspired by the miracles and revelations they experienced. 

That said, Scripture still consistently claims that God is love, mercy, justice, peace, etc. And it’s full of people wrestling with His perfect love, mercy, justice, etc. 

But, again: What if God isn’t Who Scripture claims He is?

Worse: What if God is what Exodus (and other books) describes Him as?

As someone who came from (or was, at least, very exposed to) hyper-fundamentalist Christian beliefs, I’m no stranger to the argument that God uses illness and suffering to punish people for their sins. There are lots of verses in Scripture to back this up, too (Hebrews 12, Proverbs 3:11-12, basically all of Exodus, also most of Genesis, Job, the list goes on). And, I’ve unfortunately been told that Cystic Fibrosis has been God’s way of punishing me, the most egregious incident being when my 10th grade Bible teacher said, while making direct eye-contact with me, “God still uses illness to punish us for our sins.”

To this day, the idea that God uses illness and tragedy to punish the unrepentant, haunts me daily. 

It forces me to question my own faith, my own salvation, my own morality as a human. It makes me wonder if I’m actually a Christian, or just one of those lukewarm posers who apparently get spit out into the fiery pit in Revelation. But, more than that, it fills me with rage and resentment, not just towards the people who perpetuated the idea that God uses illness to curse the dirtiest of sinners. But especially toward God Himself.

After all, all of my health issues happened by pure chance. For whatever reason, I won a series of really shitty lotteries, none of which could’ve been prevented by anything or anyone. Well… except God. 

God could’ve made me normal. But, instead, I was born so incompatible with life that had I been born just five years earlier, medical science wouldn’t have been advanced enough to keep me alive. To this day, there are many, many, many genetic anomalies, including Cystic Fibrosis, that are incompatible with life, and those babies die within a few years, or months, or days, or hours, or mere minutes of being born. 

Why would an omnibenevolent, omniscient, all-powerful God, capable of creating a literally perfect-in-every-way world, allow such horrific things to happen every hour of every day on this earth?

I. Do. Not. Know. 

“Now as Jesus was passing by, he saw a man who had been blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who committed the sin that caused him to be born blind, this man or his parents?” Jesus answered, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned, but he was born blind so that the acts of God may be revealed through what happens to him. We must perform the deeds of the one who sent me as long as it is daytime. Night is coming when no one can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” Having said this, he spat on the ground and made some mud with the saliva. He smeared the mud on the blind man’s eyes and said to him, “Go wash in the pool of Siloam.” So the blind man went away and washed, and came back seeing.”

John 9:1-7.

I, too, have had my “biblical blind man” moments, none of which my doctors have been able to fully (or even partially) explain. The most remarkable and inexplicable miracle I’ve experienced (thus far) was when my heart, afflicted with Pulmonary Atresia, suddenly grew back a fully functional Pulmonary valve when I was five years old. 

When I was born, the valve was severely deformed, and I underwent emergency open heart surgery when I was three days old to get it removed (apparently, it was okay for me to live with blood freely flowing back and fourth through the hole where the valve had been). Then, when I was a toddler, doctors put in a temporary shunt with a rubber valve attached to it, which they’d have to replace when I outgrew it as a ten-year-old. More permanent valve options wouldn’t be available to me till I was a fully grown adult. 

However, for whatever reason, my heart valve literally grew back when I was five years old. It absorbed the shunt and rubber valve, practically overnight (I was going to the hospital at least once every two months for regular, comprehensive checkups, and they didn’t detect the valve until it was already fully back), saving me from ever needing another surgery to replace the shunt. 

To this day, I don’t know what to really think of that miracle (or any other miracle I’ve experienced for that matter). Of course, I’m grateful for these moments of Divine Intervention. But, there are so many other emotions that accompany my gratefulness for life; anxiety, fear, survivor’s guilt, uncertainty, bewilderment. To be honest, talking about these miracles makes me uncomfortable, because I almost feel like I’m bullshitting. Except… I’m not. I have the scars, pictures, and the paperwork to prove it. 

In this world, heart valves don’t just grow back after being removed and replaced with a shunt for years. I’m the only known case of one’s body just curing Pulmonary Atresia by itself for no apparent reason. Dr. David Miller (my cardiologist) still can’t explain what really happened to me, or why. 

“You’re just a freak-of-nature!” he always says whenever I ask why my heart valve just grew back, “And a miracle of God. Don’t forget that!” 

But, why? Why me? Why only me? Evidently, God can grow body parts back overnight whenever He wants to. Yet, for some weird reason, I’m the only known person born with Pulmonary Atresia who has grown a fully functional Pulmonary valve out of thin air. Again, why? Why, why, why? Why me? What the hell was God up to when He decided to cure Pulmonary Atresia for the first (and only) time, so far, using my heart for it? 

I’m not any more important or special than anyone else born with Pulmonary Atresia (or anyone born without it for that matter). In my mind, everyone with Pulmonary Atresia ought to experience the same thing I did. Except… to my knowledge, I’m the only one who has ever experienced a miracle like that. And, it fills me with shitloads of survivor’s guilt. And the worry that I’m not living up to whatever expectations God had for me when He cured my heart. 

Needless to say, my relationship with God has been (and still is) very complicated. I have so many stumbling blocks; unanswerable questions that have been burning holes in my soul ever since I started to come up with these questions. Questions I don’t know what to do with. Questions I almost never ask aloud. 

So, I just let them… exist… for lack of better words. I sit with the questions. I turn to writing, meditation, and prayer to sort out the emotions they evoke. And, as the hymn goes, just a little talk with Jesus makes things right. 

Well… kind of.