Our God is not a God of answers, but of tension and mystery. He gives no rationale behind suffering and its continuance. He offers no incontrovertible proof of his existence. If he care about such questions, he would have given us an answer. He offers no real meaning behind frivolous deaths or behind excessive suffering. Nor does he state explicitly that existence has meaning, nor does he give us "meaning" as if it is a holy object. In fact, he says the opposite; you live in a meaningless world, make it meaningful. He does not subscribe to our weighty logic, which we in our pride believe is heavier than his glory, nor is he encumbered by the very questions that that logic asks. The question of suffering is our deepest question, but he is not limited by the weight of this question. Our profound questions are still our own, and his questions are deeper still. Perhaps this is because he knows that we are never satisfied by an answer; that faith is experience, not knowledge. God cannot be "given" nor the experience of him vicariously felt. It must be immediate and individual.

If God had given me the reason for all the suffering in the world, I would probably not believe him, or, found some way to parry; isn't this the nature of reason? If God had shown me the suffering in the world, I would probably have doubted his goodness. If God had incited against me pain, as he did with Job, then I would understand my own wretchedness and look for him, in desperation or in anger.