The God Edition | Where is God when we suffer?:
Political and economic instability, climate crisis , war, social division. These fracture our world and cause terrible suffering.
From civilians killed and women raped in armed conflict and starving children living in hopeless poverty to the disabled war veteran living in his car on the streets of Los Angeles and the mother mourning her toddler murdered in the war-torn Gaza Strip, the evidence of a broken world lies bare.
Atheists point to the evil and suffering in the world as an argument proving there is no God; if He existed surely He would intervene.
Where is God in our suffering? If God is love, why does he allow such pain?
Many Christians can’t answer these honest questions.
But for Christian Universalists who believe God’s redemptive love extends to all people, these concerns do not point to the absence of God, but to His presence working toward restoration, even in the midst of suffering.
God is a very present help in times of trouble (Psalm 46:1) and has never been absent from human struggle.
Christ’s incarnation is the ultimate example of God partaking in the suffering of humanity. He came into a world of occupation, oppression, poverty and injustice.
The first of several violent attempts made on his life was as a little child. According to the Gospel of Matthew, Herod, the king of Judea, slaughtered the male children of Bethlehem in an attempt to kill the infant Jesus, who he feared would eventually seize his kingdom.
Jesus walked among the poor, the sick, and the outcasts of his day — the greedy tax collectors, drinkers and sinners — and challenged the powerful religious leaders of his time. He was the incarnation of God’s love for everyone, including those rejected by society.
God’s focus is redemption not exclusion. As Universalists we believe in a God who seeks to reconcile all things (Colossians 1:20), that He is present in every war-torn nation, every political conflict and every broken society.
He is not aloof. He actively woos humanity to seek justice, reconciliation and peace.
The tumult in the world today is not God’s design. It’s a symptom of our fallen human nature, our brokenness.
We thirst for power and control. Our mire of lust, covetousness and jealousy propels us to chase a mirage to war. We fail to extend love and mercy to one another as God wants us to.
Humans cause war, corruption, exploitation and division. It’s not God’s fault. But if He is a God of love, why doesn’t He intervene?
Humans have free will, and with this freedom comes responsibility. The suffering in the world is proof of our rejection of divine love and justice. If we instead exercised our free will to follow our conscience and walk in love, the world would be a far better place.
Still, even though we choose to hate, God is not absent. He calls us to repentance; never to condemn, but to transform.
Christian Universalism teaches that God’s love never gives up on us. No matter how far we stray, He draws us back to Himself.
Some Christian traditions focus on a God who punishes those who reject Him, but Universalism, which was the dominant view in the early church from the time of the Apostles until the fourth century, emphasises a God who never gives up on humanity.
If we believe God’s love will ultimately redeem creation, then we must accept that even in our suffering, He is moving us toward redemption.
In today’s political climate, nations are polarised into an “us” and “them”, and even in Christianity, deep theological rifts exist.
Religion is wielded to justify political positions. Scriptures are weaponised to brainwash the populace, support nationalism, exclusion and violence. This is not the way of Christ.
The Gospel of Jesus Christ is not aligned with any political ideology. His Kingdom simply is not of this world (John 18:36).
Christ calls us to love our enemies, to bless those who curse us and to seek justice for the poor and oppressed. His love transcends politics, nationalism and human systems.
Universalists believe every human has been created in the image of God and is destined for reconciliation with Him. Every act of hatred and exclusion and systems that perpetuate suffering are against His will.
As followers of Christ we are called to resist the propaganda of fear, hatred and division and instead pursue love, peace and justice. We must live as peacemakers (Matthew 5:9) and build bridges rather than walls.
Christian Universalism’s greatest hope is, after all, the belief that in the end, love wins.
God’s plan for creation is restoration, not destruction. Revelation 21:4 says one day, God will wipe away every tear, and there will be no more death, mourning or pain.
Darkness may seem to pervade the world in our present turmoil. But the light of God’s love still shines in acts of kindness, movements for justice, by those who care for the vulnerable, and in every heart that refuses to hate.
In these times of global chaos and uncertainty, it’s so easy to become discouraged and depressed.
But God is not distant from our suffering. He is present in us, working through us, to shine His love in the world.
If we believe God’s love is universal we must live as ambassadors of his love, reflecting his mercy, justice and compassion in everything we do.
Where is God in our suffering?
He is here. In the heart of every person seeking peace and love and speaking truth, in the humanitarian housing refugees, in the homeless war veteran and the street outreach worker, in the mourning mother and the peacemaker working to heal divisions in spite of the hatred.
God is here. He is drawing us to himself to one day make all things new.
If we take a quiet moment amid this world’s crazy turmoil we will hear his voice encouraging us: “Be still and know that I am God” (Psalm 36:10).
The God Edition | How faith guides South Africa’s politicians:
Every Easter, there is reason to reflect on the dissonance between a message of salvation and the wars and rights abuses marring the world.
This year is no exception as Ukraine buries those killed by Russian missiles during a Palm Sunday procession and Sudanese and Palestinian refugees starve in wars with no end, while the US unlawfully renders immigrants to foreign prisons.
Last Easter, Deputy President Paul Mashatile wrote in these pages of the central role liberation theology played in the struggle against apartheid and colonialism and the transition to a democracy.
“I cherish the opportunity of fellowship with other believers, and will always acknowledge the role that the church has and continues to play in building our society through prayer and taking care of the vulnerable,” he added.
This year, we asked politicians what role faith plays in their lives. Some, including the leaders of the country’s two biggest political parties, found the question too personal. Others readily spoke of the convictions that sustain and guide them.
Ronald Lamola, minister of international relations and cooperation
I’m a Christian. Christian values drive my family and my personal belief and faith.
Ashor Sarupen, deputy minister of finance
Faith is a quiet compass for many South Africans. The diverse religious beliefs remind me that public service is ultimately about humility, justice and compassion, particularly for people I may never meet, in places I may never see. That sense of purpose sustains me in the work we do at the treasury and in the decisions that shape the lives of all South Africans.
David Masondo, deputy minister of finance
This holiday arrives at a moment when our resilience and unity are significantly challenged, and the ground beneath our feet feels less certain.
It is at such times that we must anchor ourselves in our shared values, both domestically and internationally. For me, the philosophy of solidarity is more than just a concept; it is a guiding principle that shapes my approach to the social dimensions of my life and my responsibilities.
As I take advantage of quiet moments this period offers, I will reflect on the importance of interdependence, community and reconciliation. These are not abstract ideals but practical values that I believe are essential across ethical, environmental and economic spheres.
Mmusi Maimane, leader of Build One South Africa
I have always been inspired by people like Martin Luther King, Beyers Naudé and so many who fought for freedom inspired by faith. It’s the self-evident truth that God made all, man and woman, equal. It’s as such why we cannot have discrimination and the very reason why there was a profound rejection of apartheid, caste systems and practices such as slavery.
My faith has guided in the realisation and actualisation of that vision, economically and from a societal perspective. My faith has kept me open and honest — not prone to cynicism and the unbelief that the world cannot change. It’s my faith that helps me believe that tomorrow can be better. It’s ultimately my faith that has kept me going in politics. I would not be here fighting for the eradication of poverty had it not been for that.
Mmamaloko Kubayi, minister of justice
My faith helps to keep me grounded and enables me to always make decisions in an objective manner, decisions that also ensure that charity and hope is given, especially in an environment where people are vulnerable as it is the case in my department.
Dean Macpherson, minister of public works
God plays an important part in my life and has been since I was a child. I was raised in a Catholic household and attended church every Sunday. My faith and trust in God have carried me through the toughest times, including losing my mother when I was 14, and my faith has kept me grounded over the past nine months since I took office.
This Easter weekend, I look forward to attending church with my partner, as I try to do as often as possible, and to reflect on what the weekend represents: a time of rebirth and second chances.
Bantu Holomisa, leader of the United Democratic Movement
I’m a servant of Bishop Thabo Mokgoba of the Anglican Church. That’s why I was roped in by the Tutu family to prepare for his funeral. In church during my younger days I was a server. At Jongilizwe College during my high school days I was a member of the Student Christian Movement. Believing in God saves one from being embroiled in life’s shenanigans.
Julius Malema, leader of the Economic Freedom Fighters
For us, faith — whatever form it takes — is central to the struggle for the liberation of oppressed people.
There must be a level of faith in any fight for justice. That faith might be in policy, in religion, in God, in Allah — whatever it is, it matters. We believe all religions have something valuable to say about social justice.
As the EFF, we draw inspiration from this. We align ourselves with principles like helping others, uplifting the lives of the poor, being kind and staying humble. These are values found across many religions, and they resonate with our movement.
That’s why we embrace all forms of religious expression within the EFF. They influence our politics — not in a dogmatic way, but in shaping our commitment to justice, compassion, and solidarity.
Pieter Groenewald, minister of correctional services
God holds a pivotal centre role in my life, I go to church and pray every day and that guides me in my work. My favourite quote is: “Put everything in the hands of God.”
Chrispin Phiri, spokesperson for the ministry of international relations
Growing up immersed in the rhythms and rituals of a deeply Christian world, I once viewed faith through the prism of exclusivity — a bordered landscape of dogma and doctrine. The wisdom of voices like Tutu began to unravel a more expansive truth: that the Divine cannot be confined to the walls of a single tradition.
Tutu’s conviction that “God is not Christian” calls us to recognise that sacred values — ubuntu, the interconnectedness of humanity; fidelity to justice; the pursuit of truth — are not artefacts of any race or creed. They are the universal threads woven into the fabric of our shared existence.
To honour such principles is not to abandon one’s roots but to acknowledge a deeper kinship. For if compassion transcends borders and righteousness outlives empires, how could the sacred ever be claimed by a single name? Perhaps true faith lies in the courage to see the holy in the collective breath of humanity — boundless, uncontained and achingly alive.
Siviwe Gwarube, minister of basic education
Having a relationship with God, one that recognises that all that is required of us is to be good, decent people, is the margin that I live by. What I try to do is to be as decent a human being as I can be, as kind as I can be and somebody who people can rely on, who is honourable, fair and always happy to do what is right.
I look at God as a friend, a companion, a partner, as someone who walks before me. When I look at it like that it becomes less of a punishing God who is angry with this world because we are so impure, but more a friend who encourages us to do better.
All that I really live by when it comes to my Christianity is “love one another” and when I unpack what that means, it gives me all that I need to be guided about how I interact with people. So love one another, be kind to one another, be considerate to one another, be empathetic to one another. So yes, I pray, I pray a lot.
The God Edition | God lives in public hospitals:
There are years when you walk with a quiet hope that your body will not betray you. You take the long route — avoid sugar, drink your water, stretch your back, breathe through the stress.
You take your vitamins, pray, meditate, journal your gratitude into the margins of difficult days. You do it not because you enjoy routine — but because you can’t afford to get sick.
Last year, I didn’t have medical aid. Not by choice. By circumstance.
So, I did everything in my power to stay out of hospitals. Especially a public one. If you’ve ever spent a night in a state facility, you’ll know what I mean when I say — do your best to avoid it. Not because there are no good people in them. But because there aren’t enough of them to hold the weight of so much suffering.
Still, there are moments when the body will not negotiate.
One Saturday afternoon, a sharp pain woke me from my nap. At first, I dismissed it. Took a few painkillers. Curled into myself and hoped for relief. The pain mimicked a period — so I named it one. We name things we hope to control. But this pain refused to be tamed.
By nightfall, I was on all fours, crawling in my bedroom, bargaining with a body I thought I understood. There was no more delaying. No more pretending. I needed help.
I made my way to Ethafeni Clinic in Tembisa — close enough to home to feel familiar, far enough to still feel uncertain.
A file was opened quickly, which gave me a flicker of hope. But the pain didn’t care about efficiency. It pressed harder. By the time I reached the casualty area, I was curled up again — this time on the clinic floor.
There is a strange sort of humility that comes with sharing space with pain. Around me were others — a woman with bruises from home, a man stitched up from a tavern brawl, a child screaming with a fever.
Their suffering made mine feel smaller. Not less painful, just less urgent. So I waited. Because sometimes we measure our pain against the visible wounds of others and convince ourselves we can endure more.
A nurse eventually found me on the floor of the toilet — sweating, shaking, barely coherent. She didn’t speak much. She helped me up. She carried me to a room where two doctors were trying to stretch themselves thin enough to be everywhere at once.
Even in my pain, I asked, “Is it just the two of you?”
The doctor sighed, “Yes. We don’t have enough nurses. Weekends are the hardest.”
She examined me, then paused: “I think you’re experiencing a missed miscarriage,” she said. “We need to refer you to the hospital. This is beyond our scope.”
The words landed somewhere far away. I didn’t react. I couldn’t. I was in too much pain to grieve. Too afraid to understand what my body was losing.
As I left, the doctor caught up with me.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“You’re doing a great job,” I replied.
She blinked. I think I saw tears — but mine were closer to the surface, so I turned away.
By the time I arrived at Tembisa Hospital, it was 8pm. The air was thick with urgency. The kind of chaos that makes you feel invisible.
Shouting. Crying. Security guards herding desperate families away from closed doors. Nurses yelling to keep the lines moving.
Patients crying out from corridors.
The gynaecology section is close to casualty and paediatrics, if memory serves. It was a space of shared sorrow. Women bleeding, wincing, whispering to themselves. No one made eye contact. We were all surviving.
A student doctor — also named Lesego — approached the woman next to me. They couldn’t understand each other — language got in the way. She spoke Tsonga. Lesego spoke Sotho. Despite the pain, I offered myself as a bridge. Translation became a kind of service. It gave me something to do. And it got her the help she needed, faster.
Lesego eventually came back to help me.
She moved with compassion that felt rare in such a pressured environment. She was soft-spoken but efficient. In between checking my vitals and adjusting the sonar, she said: “I love my job. But these conditions … they’re hard. I lost a patient recently.”
The room went still.
“You’re doing a good job,” I told her.
She paused. Took a breath. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Later, I watched the team move through the ward like dancers. It wasn’t just duty — it was a rhythm. A kind of grace.
I saw nurses carry mothers like midwives of hope. I saw doctors whisper soft words into hardened hearts. I saw cleaners scrub blood from floors as though they were clearing altars.
I saw God.
I saw God in the sweat on a nurse’s brow.
I saw God in Lesego’s tired hands.
I saw God in the chaos and in the care.
Because where else would God be, if not among the broken?
I was admitted for the night. I watched the rush fade with the changing of shifts.
Lesego stayed until I was discharged. She didn’t have to. But she did. Some angels wear name tags and sneakers.
Yes, public hospitals are messy. Underfunded. Understaffed. Sometimes even frightening.
But in those walls live miracles. Tiny ones. Loud ones. Ordinary ones dressed in scrubs.
And that’s how I know — God lives in public hospitals.
Submit and get free exposure here: Showcase Your Business | Advertise Your Special Offers.
