Philip Yancey writes of some of visits that a seriously ill young woman – Claudia – received while in hospital:

The teacher

A deacon from her church solemnly advised her to reflect on what God was trying to teach her. “Surely something in your life must displease God,” he said. “Somewhere, you must have stepped out of his will. These things don’t just happen. God uses circumstances to warn us, and to punish us. What is he telling you?”

The cheerleader

A few days later Claudia was surprised to see a woman from church whom she barely knew. Evidently, this plump, scatterbrained widow had adopted the role of professional cheerleader to the sick. She brought flowers, sang hymns, and stayed long enough to read some happy psalms about brooks running and mountains clapping their hands. Whenever Claudia tried to talk about her illness or prognosis, the woman quickly changed the subject, trying to combat the suffering with cheer and goodwill. But she only visited once, and after a while the flowers faded, the hymns seemed dissonant, and Claudia was left to face a new day of pain.

The faith healer

Another woman dropped by, a faithful follower of television faith healers. Exuding confidence, she assured Claudia that healing was her only escape. When Claudia told her about the deacon’s advice, this woman nearly exploded. “Sickness is never God’s will!” she exclaimed. “Haven’t you read the Bible? The Devil stalks us like a roaring lion, but God will deliver you if you can muster up enough faith to believe you’ll be healed. Remember, Claudia, faith can move mountains, and that includes Hodgkin’s disease. Simply name your promise, in faith, and then claim the victory.”

The next few mornings, as Claudia lay in the sterile cobalt treatment room, she tried to “muster up” faith. She wondered if she even understood the procedure. She did not question God’s supernatural power, but how to go about convincing God of her sincerity? Faith wasn’t like a muscle that could be enlarged through rehabilitation exercises. It was slippery, intangible, impossible to grasp. The whole notion of mustering up faith seemed awfully exhausting, and she could never decide what it really meant.

The thanksgiver

Perhaps the most “spiritual” woman in Claudia’s church brought along some books about praising God for everything that happens. “Claudia, you need to come to the place where you can say, ‘God, I love you for making me suffer like this. It is your will, and you know what’s best for me. And I praise you for loving me enough to allow me to experience this. In all things, including this, I give thanks.’”

As Claudia pondered the words, her mind filled with rather grotesque images of God. She envisioned a figure in the shape of a troll, big as the universe, who took delight in squeezing helpless humans between his fingernails, pulverizing them with his fists, dashing them against sharp stones. The figure would torture these humans until they cried out, “God, I love you for doing this to me!” The idea repulsed Claudia, and she decided she could not worship or love such a God.

The martyr-maker

Yet another visitor, Claudia’s pastor, made her feel she was on a select mission. He said, “Claudia, you have been appointed to suffer for Christ, and he will reward you. God chose you because of your great strength and integrity, just as he chose Job, and he is using you as an example to others. Their faith may increase because of your response. You should feel privileged, not bitter. What we see as adversity, God sees as opportunity.” He told her to think of herself as a track star, and to view adversity as the series of hurdles she would need to leap over on the way to the victory circle.

Sometimes the notion of being a privileged martyr appealed to Claudia, in a self-pitying sort of way. Other times, when the pain crescendoed, when she vomited up food, when her facial features aged, Claudia would call out, “God, why me? There are millions of Christians stronger and more honorable than I—couldn’t you choose one of them instead?” She didn’t feel like a track star at all, and she wondered why God would deliberately place hurdles in the path of someone he loved.

The questioner

I, too, visited Claudia, and found her desperately confused by all these contradictory words. She repeated for me the advice given her by well-meaning Christians, and I listened to her bewildered response. Which of these lessons was she supposed to be learning? How could she have more faith? Who should she listen to? In the midst of much confusion, Claudia had one certainty: her happy world with John was disintegrating. Above all, she didn’t want that to end.

I had little advice for Claudia that day. In fact, I came away with even more questions. Why was she lying in a hospital bed while I stood beside her, healthy? Something inside me recoiled as I heard her repeat the clichéd comments from her visitors. Is Christianity supposed to make a sufferer feel even worse?

Yancey, Philip. Where Is God When It Hurts? (pp. 15-19). Zondervan. Kindle Edition.  (Verbatim, but headings added)