A reasoned defense of God’s goodness and love in the face of suffering and evil is known as a theodicy. Examples of theodicy can be found in the works of philosophers like Leibniz, Hick, and Plantinga. I cannot hope to add substance to their efforts, but I would like to offer an illustration.

Imagine taking a ride with Jesus in a 1966 Cadillac Coupe Deville convertible from New York to Los Angeles. A road trip with Jesus – wouldn’t that be great? You assume you know the way the Lord will take: I-80 to the Colorado line, I-76 to Denver, I-70 into Utah where you will pick up I-15 almost to San Bernardino. There you’ll get on 210 and follow it to 605 and then take Route 10 into L.A.

That makes sense. It is the quickest route. But the Lord knows about a billion things you don’t. He knows there will be traffic jams in Hoboken, Stroudsburg, Youngstown, Chicago, Des Moines, and twelve other spots, so he avoids them. He bypasses the hailstorm in White Haven. He knows there is a wonderful state park just off I-76 near Uniontown, PA, which you are going to love. And there is an ice cream parlor in Wooster, OH that he particularly likes. They have a dark chocolate ice cream with chunks of fudge, which Jesus says is the best in the world.

Jesus also knows that a 74-year-old man and his wife are traveling to visit their son who, unbeknownst to them, will die later this year. They will blow a tire on the south side of Bloomington and the man will have a heart attack while he is trying to get the lug nuts off. So, Jesus takes an alternate route that leads through central Indiana so that you can change a tire. And then, there is a waitress in a diner in St. Joseph, Missouri, a single mom with bills that are piling up, and whose ex is suing for full custody of their only child. She feels like she is losing her mind and really needs someone to give her hope – as well as a big tip – and you are just the person to do that.

Then there is the drunk driver outside Severance, Kansas. Of the thirteen people who notice him weaving, only you call 911. His arrest and brief incarceration are what lead him to sobriety. And there is a poet in a coffee shop in Oklahoma City who overhears one line of your conversation that sets his creativity on fire and someday earns him the title of Poet Laureate of the United States.

If you were to see that route plotted on a map, it would make no sense at all. But that is because you don’t know what the Lord knows. All you know is that I-80 is the most direct route between where you are and where you want to go.

Most people think they know the most direct route between where they are and where they hope to be. But why doesn’t God take that route? One’s whole life seems to have been a series of detours. Forcing one’s way along a chosen route often makes things worse, not better.

God’s ways, St. Paul insists, are impossible to understand. We will never guess them beforehand. We have a better chance of guessing the winning Powerball Lottery numbers, but even that would not make us as happy as we could be if we trusted God’s wisdom and love.

No one qualifies for the role of God’s counselor, though many people have applied for the job. I have often given the Lord recommendations and sometimes, I think, he has worked them into the plan. That’s called grace. But I could not be God’s counselor any more than a preschooler could counsel Albert Einstein on the development of Relativity Theory. I can’t see a trillion things at once, things present, past, and future. But God can.

Evil will always be a problem for a small God. But the God revealed by Jesus is not small. His knowledge and ability – and his goodness – exceed the fancies of our most imaginative writers and the speculations of our greatest philosophers.