Listening to the Daily Readings for Mass this morning through my Amen app, these words from John really packed a punch:
“God is love.”
They called to mind a moment I’ll never forget.
It was years ago, and my son asked me a question about God, pain, and suffering. It’s maybe the toughest question any person of faith is ever asked: What kind of God allows so much misery in the world?
I was caught off guard. I wanted to ease his own suffering in this moment, not debate theology. And so I blurted out the only thing that came to mind:
“Because God is Love.”
He scoffed. Then came more questions—cynical ones. Despairing ones. And I was speechless to explain my words. My response brought him no comfort, and that’s stuck with me. I’d blown the opportunity to witness to Christ with the hope that is in me.
I’ve given this question repeated thought over the years. Hearing the words this morning made me realize something: I’ve come a long way in my spiritual journey since then. And I wished I’d been able to give him this explanation in that moment of crisis.
Our world is broken, and none of us is exempt from pain or suffering. But this brokenness is not the desire of God’s heart—it is the cost of the freedom He gave us. Love that is forced is not love at all.
So how did God respond to a broken world?
John gives us the powerful answer in his gospel:
“For God so loved the world that he gave His only Son…” (John 3:16)
God didn’t respond by stepping back.
He responded by stepping in.
Jesus wasn’t an idea meant to comfort us from a distance. He was God made visible—God taking on flesh and entering fully into the mess of humanity. He knew fear, grief, betrayal, pain, and death from the inside.
The Cross shows us that God is not a spectator to our suffering.
The Resurrection tells us it will not have the final word.
Love didn’t avoid the pain—it passed through it and broke its hold.
That’s what I meant when I said, “God is Love.”
Not that everything is okay.
Not that suffering doesn’t hurt.
But that God chose to be with us in it—and to open the door to a life beyond it.
He stays close—inviting us not to turn away in our hour of need, but to turn toward Him, trusting the promise He made on the Cross.
One day, He promises, every tear will be wiped away.
Until then, He remains—still calling us to trust, still offering hope, still loving us through the brokenness.
That’s the answer I was reaching for that day.
I just didn’t yet know how to say it.
