If God Is Good, Why Does Suffering Exist?

If I were God, I’d end all the pain. That’s the truth. That’s the thought I’ve had more times than I can count. Maybe you’ve had it too. Because if God is good—really good—then how do we explain all the brokenness we see? Why is there so much hurt, pain, and suffering in our world? And why does it so often feel like God isn’t doing anything about it?

This question isn’t just a theological one. It’s deeply personal. It’s not just about wars overseas or headlines on the evening news. It’s the quiet moments—holding the diagnosis in your hands, attending the funeral that came too soon, picking up the pieces of something that should never have fallen apart in the first place. For some of us, this question is what stands between us and faith. For others, it’s what keeps our faith honest.

I’ve had to wrestle with this too. For over two decades, I’ve taught and pastored and tried to make sense of the story of God in light of real life. I’ve sat with people in hospital rooms and across coffee tables and in the middle of deep grief, and I’ve heard some version of the same question: If God is good, then why all of this? And here’s where I’ve landed—not with all the answers, but with a few places we might begin.

One place that’s helped me frame this conversation is a short book by John Dickson called If I Were God, I’d End All the Pain. It’s not an exhaustive theological tome, but it gave me language to start asking better questions. That’s where this idea started forming for me—not about defending God or explaining Him away, but honestly exploring how suffering fits into the story of a God who claims to be good.

To begin, I want to look at how the Bible itself handles this. One of the most honest voices in Scripture comes from the prophet Habakkuk, who begins his writing with a lament. And not a polished, filtered one—he comes out swinging: “How long, Lord, must I cry for help, but you do not listen?” That’s not polite religious talk. That’s the cry of someone who’s drowning and wondering if God has abandoned the shoreline. And I love that the Bible includes this. It gives us permission to be honest, to speak plainly, to say the thing that polite Christian circles might silence. Because if we can’t be real with God, who can we be real with?

Habakkuk continues—“I call out to you, ‘Violence!’ but you do not deliver. Why do you force me to witness injustice? Why do you put up with wrongdoing?” That’s the prophet’s accusation. And it feels familiar. It feels like what so many of us are saying when we watch another tragedy unfold, when we see injustice go unanswered. The thing is, just because someone in the Bible expresses that God is distant doesn’t mean God is. But those cries tell us something true about how it feels. And God doesn’t reject them for saying it. He includes their words in the holy text.

So we don’t have to pretend. And we definitely don’t have to explain it all away. But we can start to understand it more clearly if we name the types of suffering we’re talking about. Not all suffering is the same. Some of it comes from natural disasters—earthquakes, hurricanes, tsunamis—events that seem to strike indiscriminately and leave us asking why. Others are caused by human actions—violence, greed, war, abuse. And then, sometimes, suffering results from how humans have influenced the natural world—how we’ve altered ecosystems, over-farmed land, polluted the earth, or disrupted the balance of things that were once good.

Let’s take natural disasters. Why wouldn’t God just stop them? Why let a hurricane wipe out a coastal city? It’s a fair question. But it also assumes that God should override the natural order every time we’re in danger. What happens if He does? What are the long-term consequences of suspending natural weather patterns? Hurricanes, as destructive as they are, serve a role in the global ecosystem. They bring rainfall that nourishes crops farther inland. They move heat from the equator to cooler regions. In other words, there’s a design to the earth that works a certain way. If we live in high-risk areas, should we really be surprised when nature does what nature does?

That doesn’t make the loss of life any less tragic. But it forces us to ask a different question—not “why didn’t God stop it,” but “what would happen if He did?” What are the ripple effects of messing with the natural systems God created? And maybe—just maybe—it’s not that God is indifferent, but that He lets the world function as He designed it. The same world that produces beauty also carries risk. And sometimes, we’ve moved ourselves into the path of that risk.

Then there’s suffering we bring on ourselves. Take the Dust Bowl as an example. When settlers moved into the Midwest and over-cultivated the land, they created the conditions for disaster. It wasn’t a freak act of nature. It was a human decision that led to suffering. The same can be said for how we process food, how we treat the environment, how we create conditions that result in disease or displacement. We like to blame God for everything, but sometimes the truth is simpler—humans made poor choices, and we’re living with the consequences.

And beyond that, there’s the relational suffering—the way we hurt one another. That’s the story the Bible tells from the very beginning. Cain and Abel. Lamech. Nations rising up against each other. Betrayal. Murder. Oppression. And still, God chooses to partner with us. He doesn’t scrap the plan. He doesn’t eliminate free will. He steps into the mess and works with us to bring healing.

And that brings me to the surprising part of all this. We ask, “God, why don’t you do something?” And I think God’s asking the same question: “Why won’t you?” Because from Genesis to Revelation, the pattern is clear—God doesn’t force His way in. He invites us to partner with Him. That’s how He responds to suffering. Not with control, but with collaboration. Not by forcing perfection, but by walking alongside imperfection.

Jesus is the ultimate example of this. He enters our suffering. He takes it on. He shows us what love looks like in the middle of pain. And then He hands us the mission. He says, go and do likewise. And that’s the piece we miss. We want God to fix everything from a distance. But He’s already chosen how He’s going to fix it—through us.

So what does it mean if God’s answer to suffering is you? What if the reason things aren’t changing is not because God’s absent, but because we haven’t said yes to the invitation to do something with Him?

And yet, even with all of that—there’s still more. There’s hope. The Bible doesn’t end in despair. Revelation gives us this picture of a future where everything broken gets mended. No more death. No more mourning. No more pain. That’s where we’re headed. That’s the promise.

So maybe the question isn’t, “Why doesn’t God end all the suffering?” Maybe it’s, “Will I be part of His plan to end it?” God is good. His story is good. And there’s still a part for you in it. You don’t have to have it all figured out. You just have to be willing to say yes. And if you’ve been wondering where God is in your pain, maybe He’s been closer than you think. Maybe He’s waiting to walk with you—not away from the suffering, but straight through it.

Because that’s the kind of God He is.