Why Evil Exists

Framing the Issue — Setting the Table with Their Silverware

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I. “If God is good, why is the world a dumpster fire?”

Let’s not kid ourselves—you didn’t click on this blog because everything’s going great in your life. Maybe you just read another headline about a school shooting. Or watched another politician get away with toss the opposition out of their plane never to be seen again. Or maybe life just gut-punched you out of nowhere, and you’re sitting in the wreckage, staring up at the sky, and daring God to show Himself.

And in that moment, the question bubbles up like acid reflux from the soul:

"If God is good, why is the world such a dumpster fire?"

It’s the go-to line in the arsenal of skeptics, cynics, deconstructionists, armchair philosophers, and edgy teenagers who just discovered YouTube debates and think they’re the second coming of Bertrand Russell. It’s an emotional torpedo, loaded with assumptions and aimed straight at the heart of Christian faith. And let’s be honest—it feels like a zinger. It hits you where it hurts. Because this world? Yeah, it’s a mess. Evil is real. Suffering is undeniable. And even believers sometimes choke on the question.

But here’s the thing: emotional appeal ≠ intellectual argument. Just because something hits you in the gut doesn’t mean it holds up under scrutiny. And this question—as gripping as it is emotionally—has the logical integrity of a wet napkin at a four-alarm fire.

Let’s do a little thought experiment. Suppose you wake up tomorrow, and the news is still awful. Another war. Another overdose. Another abuse scandal. And you think, “There can’t be a good God. Not with this much evil in the world.”

Fine. Let’s run with that.

Premise: Evil exists.
Conclusion (according to the skeptic): Therefore, a good God doesn’t.

But wait a second. That premise assumes something massive: that evil is a real, objective category. Not just "things I personally don't like" but actual wrongness. Real injustice. Genuine moral outrage. Torturing children. Sex trafficking. Racism. Genocide. It assumes those things are not just unfortunate but evil.

So here's my question: Where are you getting that definition from?

Because in a godless universe—one governed by blind chance, pitiless indifference, and evolutionary biology—"evil" is just a category you invented to cope with stuff you don’t like. If we’re just cosmic accidents with no inherent purpose, why do you care what another collection of atoms does to another bag of meat and bone?

You don’t get moral outrage from atoms and molecules.

See, evil presupposes a moral standard. It assumes there’s a straight line. And that straight line can’t come from culture, consensus, or chromosomes. Cultures clash. Consensus shifts. DNA doesn’t vote. So unless you want to argue that Nazis were just doing what was "natural" in their context, you need a transcendent, unchanging moral standard. And that means you need a Lawgiver.

This is where the whole argument faceplants. You can’t use evil to argue against God unless you have some objective standard of what evil is. And without God, you don’t get that standard.

Enter C.S. Lewis, who walked this road before you. He said:

“A man does not call a line crooked unless he has some idea of a straight line.”

Exactly. You can’t call anything evil unless you already know what good is. And you don’t get "good" from survival instincts or evolutionary pressure. You get it from the character of God.

Psalm 119:68 says plainly, "You are good and do good; teach me your statutes." That’s not a Hallmark card sentiment. That’s the foundation of moral reality. God doesn’t conform to good; He is the definition of it.

So when someone throws out the question, "If God is good, why is the world a dumpster fire?" they’re doing something ironic. They’re using the existence of evil—which only makes sense in a theistic framework—as an argument against the very God who makes evil intelligible.

That’s not a mic drop. That’s moral embezzlement.

James 1:17 hits this with steel-toed boots: "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change." The standard doesn’t wobble. He is not like you. He doesn’t evolve or adjust to trends. He doesn’t need PR management. He is good. Always. Period.

Now, Romans 2:15 takes it further and obliterates the idea that people just happen to know right from wrong. It says that God’s law is written on our hearts. That moral outrage you feel when you hear about human trafficking? That’s not just societal programming. That’s divine handwriting screaming that evil is real—and that God is, too.

So no, the presence of evil isn’t your silver bullet against Christianity. It’s actually the neon sign pointing directly to the God you’re trying to ignore.

You feel that ache? That outrage? That longing for justice?

That’s not a bug in the system. That’s the fingerprint of your Creator. That’s the echo of Eden and the rumor of a Judge.

If evil exists, then good exists. And if good exists, there must be a standard. And if there’s a standard, then there’s a Lawgiver.

You don’t get morality from slime and stardust. You get it from a holy, sovereign, unchanging God.

And He’s not surprised by the mess. He stepped right into it. But we’ll get to that.

Next up: Let’s obliterate the idea that God must not care because bad things happen to "good people."

(Spoiler: There are no good people.)

II. “God must not care, because bad things happen to good people”

Let’s go ahead and roll out the red carpet for one of the most tired, sentimental, and emotionally manipulative objections to the existence of a good God: “If He really cared, He wouldn’t let bad things happen to good people.”

Ah yes, the classic self-flattery of humanity. A warm bath of moral innocence with a heavy dose of victimhood. It’s the theological equivalent of saying, “I’m a good person—I recycle and I don’t yell at waiters.” As if those two bullet points qualify you to shake your fist at the heavens.

You’ll hear this line parroted everywhere from late-night talk shows to awkward Thanksgiving debates. Oprah once said, "I believe that all people are inherently good." Well, isn’t that precious. That would be news to the 20th century. Hitler, Stalin, Mao—all must’ve just had rough childhoods, huh?

Or take Ricky Gervais, the charmingly smug atheist comedian, who quipped, "If God exists, why did he let my mom die of cancer? She was a good person." And to that, we say: define "good."

The problem with this argument isn’t just that it’s emotionally charged. It’s that it rests entirely on a myth: that good people exist.

Cue the record scratch and enter Romans 3:10, which slams the door shut on the illusion: "None is righteous, no, not one." Not a single solitary one. Not me. Not even your sweet Grandma who made cookies and went to church every Sunday. Without Christ, she stood condemned like the rest of us.

Theologian Jonathan Edwards put it plainly: "The only thing we contribute to our salvation is the sin that made it necessary."

We're not born into moral neutrality. We inherit sin like a genetic curse (Psalm 51:5). We don’t just do wrong; we _are_wrong. Morally, spiritually, constitutionally wrong. And that reality turns the entire "why do bad things happen to good people?" question into a theological farce.

Real world example? Let’s take a stroll through the last hundred years. The Rwandan genocide wasn’t an isolated event committed by monsters. It was carried out by neighbors, teachers, even pastors. Normal people who became butchers overnight. Evil isn’t lurking in some distant shadow—it lives under your skin. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, survivor of Soviet prison camps, nailed it: "The line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being."

Still not convinced? Consider the story of Uzzah in 2 Samuel 6. The ark of God was being transported improperly. It began to tip. Uzzah reached out to steady it and was struck dead. Harsh? Only if you think your hands are cleaner than the dirt. R.C. Sproul said it best: "The presumptuous sin of Uzzah was this: He assumed his hands were less polluted than the earth."

So let’s be clear: God isn’t obligated to protect people who are, by nature, rebels. The question isn’t "Why do bad things happen to good people?" The question is, "Why do good things happen to any of us at all?"

The story of Job, which we’ll unpack next, doesn’t show divine indifference. It shows divine sovereignty. God isn’t asleep. He’s staging something eternal—and He doesn’t need your permission to do it.

Job: Not God’s Neglect, But God’s Sovereign Stage

Let’s clear the air before we step into the ash heap with Job: if you think the story of Job is about karma, retribution, or God needing to prove something to Satan, you haven’t read it—you’ve skimmed it like a BuzzFeed article. Job isn’t a punchline in a cosmic bet. He’s a man caught in the holy theater of divine sovereignty, where pain isn’t proof of God’s absence but the platform of His glory.

The problem is that most people don’t know what to do with Job. Skeptics scoff. Believers squirm. Even pastors mumble something about “trusting God through hard times” and quickly pivot to something less emotionally explosive. Why? Because the book of Job is theological nitroglycerin. It explodes our assumptions about suffering, justice, and the role of God in our pain.

And let’s be honest—the surface reading of Job makes God look bad. Like, really bad.

God brings Job up. God allows Satan to destroy his life. And then God refuses to answer Job directly for 37 chapters.

Let that sink in: God initiates Job’s suffering. He doesn’t permit Satan's suggestion—He presents Job to Satan. “Have you considered my servant Job?” (Job 1:8). That verse alone has made countless deconstructionists quietly close their Bibles and never return.

But before you slam the book shut, let’s slow down and look deeper.

Job is not a pawn. He is a stage. And his life is a megaphone.

The Setup: The Courtroom of Heaven

The book opens not on earth, but in heaven. God is holding court, and the sons of God (angelic beings) come before Him. Among them is the Accuser—Satan. Not as some rogue outlaw sneaking into paradise, but as one on a leash. God reigns over even His enemies. That alone should rearrange your theology.

God brings up Job. God. This isn’t a Satanic ambush. This is divine orchestration.

Why? Because Job’s life is meant to prove something: that God is worthy of worship, even when the blessings are stripped away. Satan challenges that. He accuses Job of being a spiritual gold-digger. Take away the perks, and Job will curse you, he claims. (Job 1:11)

So God gives permission—but with limitations. Satan can touch Job’s life, but not his person. Then later, his person, but not his life. Divine sovereignty draws the circle. Satan operates within it.

And just like that, Job’s world unravels.

The Collapse: When Righteousness Meets Ruin

Job loses everything. His livestock—gone. His servants—slaughtered. His children—killed in a freak accident. And just in case the devastation felt too general, Satan attacks Job’s health next, afflicting him with boils from head to toe.

What does Job say?

"Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return. The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord." (Job 1:21)

This isn’t resignation. It’s reverence. Job worships. Not because he’s numb, but because he knows: the goodness of God does not rise and fall on the comfort of man.

And here’s the kicker: In all this Job did not sin or charge God with wrong. (Job 1:22)

Modern readers balk here. "How can God let this happen?" But the biblical text doesn’t blush. It tells us plainly: God didn’t just allow it—He ordained it for His glory.

The Debate: Bad Theology in a Time of Suffering

Enter Job’s three friends. And let’s call them what they are: theological ambulance chasers. They sit with Job for a week in silence, which is the best thing they do. Then they open their mouths and it all goes downhill.

Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar operate from a works-based theology: bad things happen to bad people, so if something bad is happening to you, Job, you must be hiding some sin. Their God is a vending machine—insert righteousness, get blessing.

Sound familiar?

It should. This is the heartbeat of every prosperity preacher alive today. The same logic runs beneath every "speak it into existence" sermon and every "your breakthrough is coming" Instagram reel. But Job destroys that theology with ashes and boils.

Job pushes back. He pleads. He questions. He doesn't claim perfection, but he knows he hasn't earned this suffering.

And for chapters upon chapters, they go back and forth. It’s painful. It’s raw. And it’s divinely preserved so that we, too, will learn to shut up when people suffer and stop spouting garbage theology at grieving souls.

The Silence Breaks: God Shows Up

After all the noise, all the bad arguments, and all the agony, God shows up. But not with a cup of coffee and a warm hug. He comes in a whirlwind.

He doesn’t answer Job’s questions. He doesn’t explain the wager. He doesn’t justify the suffering.

Instead, He questions Job.

"Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding." (Job 38:4)

God gives Job a cosmic tour of creation. Stars, oceans, lions, snow, thunder, Leviathan. It’s majestic and terrifying. It’s God saying, "I am infinitely wise. You are not. Trust me."

And somehow, that’s enough.

"I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you; therefore I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes." (Job 42:5–6)

Job doesn’t get clarity. He gets God.

The Point: Sovereignty Over Sentiment

So what do we learn?

1. God is not on trial. We are. He owes us nothing. We are dust, and not particularly bright dust at that.
2. Suffering doesn’t mean God is absent. It often means He’s working something eternal we can’t yet see.
3. Our comfort is not God’s primary concern. His glory is.
4. The devil is on a leash. Satan doesn’t get the last word. God does.
5. Worship is real when the blessings are gone. That’s when faith shines.

Job’s story matters because it refuses to sanitize suffering. It forces you to confront the uncomfortable reality that God may be glorifying Himself through your pain in ways you cannot comprehend.

And here’s the final punchline: Job was a preview. The real innocent sufferer was still to come. Jesus Christ, the truly righteous one, endured the full wrath of God not for a heavenly test but for the redemption of rebels.

"Though he slay me, I will hope in him." (Job 13:15)

Job said that in the middle of his misery. Christ lived that on the cross.

Job shows us that suffering isn’t meaningless. It is not divine neglect. It is divine stagecraft. A theater of glory where God proves that He is enough.

Even when the kids die. Even when the boils come. Even when the friends fail. Even when the silence lasts 37 chapters.

God is enough.

And He always was.

So, after walking with Job through ashes, loss, silence, and divine thunder, maybe you're feeling a little uneasy. Maybe you've realized that your picture of God was more Precious Moments than piercing majesty. And maybe—just maybe—you're starting to understand that the real God isn't tame. He doesn't fit your Instagram bio. He doesn't consult you before He rules the universe. And He certainly doesn't apologize for how He runs His creation.

The story of Job strips us down to the core. It removes every illusion that life is about fairness, and it silences the smug voice in our heads that says, "If I were God, I'd do things differently."

Yes, you would. And that's the problem.

Because deep down, most of our objections to God aren't intellectual. They're personal. Emotional. Gut-level reactions dressed up in philosophical drag. The real issue isn't that we can't believe in God. It's that we won't believe in a God who doesn't play by our rules.

So now we come to perhaps the most emotionally explosive objection yet:

III. “I just can’t believe in a God who would allow this much pain”

Let’s translate that, shall we?

Translation: "God didn’t meet my expectations, so I fired Him."

Let’s call this what it is: spiritual consumerism. God didn’t deliver the product you ordered, so you gave Him a one-star Yelp review and moved on. Pain wasn’t in your subscription box, and now you’re deconstructing on TikTok.

But here's the thing: belief doesn’t hinge on comfort. Reality doesn’t bend to your expectations. Truth doesn't need your vote to exist.

Saying "I can't believe in a God who allows this much pain" is like refusing to believe in gravity because you tripped. It still exists. You just don’t like what it did to you.

The Bible never hides the reality of pain. In fact, it leans into it.

Jesus Himself said: "In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world." (John 16:33)

Paul didn’t dodge suffering. He cataloged it: shipwrecks, beatings, hunger, prison, betrayal, sleepless nights. And yet, he called them "light momentary afflictions" compared to the eternal weight of glory to come (2 Corinthians 4:17).

See, the problem isn’t pain. The problem is our presumption that pain means abandonment. But in Scripture, pain often means refinement, not rejection. God isn’t ignoring you. He might be sanctifying you.

Now, let’s talk about authority. Specifically: who exactly do you think is sitting on the throne?

Because the more you accuse God of failing your standards, the more it becomes clear you’ve got the roles reversed. You’re not the judge. You’re the defendant.

You don’t get to rewrite the job description for the Almighty. You don’t get to pull rank on the One who spoke galaxies into existence.

"Who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand and marked off the heavens with a span...?" (Isaiah 40:12)

That’s who you’re dealing with.

You don’t have to like what God allows. But you do have to reckon with the fact that you are not Him.

And that’s where most people bail.

Because they don’t want a Savior. They want a sidekick. A divine Alexa. A cosmic therapist who listens, nods, and affirms their life choices.

But the God of the Bible doesn't fit in your pocket. He reigns. He commands. He rules with righteousness and majesty.

"Our God is in the heavens; he does all that he pleases." (Psalm 115:3)

The truth? You don’t need a god you can fully understand. You need one worthy of your awe, trust, and surrender.

So the next time someone says, "I just can’t believe in a God who would allow this much pain," remember: belief has never been about comfort.

It’s about who sits on the throne.

And spoiler alert: it isn’t you.

Going Deeper — The Theological Realities Behind Evil

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IV. What Is Evil? (And Why You Can’t Define It Without God)

Here’s where the gloves come off.

We’ve spent enough time swatting at the emotional wasps buzzing around this question. Now it’s time to torch the nest. Because if we’re really going to tackle the problem of evil, we need to ask a more fundamental question:

What even is evil?

No, really. Define it.

Don’t just list examples. That’s not a definition—that’s a grocery list of grievances. Tell me what evil actually is. Why it matters. Why it should offend you. Why it should mean anything more than biological reactions colliding in your frontal lobe.

The moment you try to answer that seriously, you realize something uncomfortable:

You can’t define evil without assuming a standard of good.

And you can’t have a standard of good without someone to define it.

You can’t make a crooked line unless you’re comparing it to a straight one. And you can’t know something’s broken unless you know what it was supposed to be.

Cue the awkward silence.

Because this is where every atheist stumbles. They lean into evil to disprove God, but they have no scaffolding to define the evil they’re pointing to. They borrow from a moral framework they claim doesn’t exist. It’s like using a dictionary you say was never written.

Look, you’re allowed to cry out against suffering, to rage against injustice, to scream when the world breaks your heart. But when you do that, you’re not echoing Darwin. You’re echoing Eden.

There’s a reason we feel evil as more than just inconvenience. Because deep down, we know this isn’t how things are supposed to be.

Evil is real. But it’s not self-existent. It doesn’t have its own independent essence. It’s a parasite. A distortion. A violation of the good.

Which means—brace yourself—there has to be a source of objective good.

Which means there has to be a God.

Moral Relativism Can’t Produce Moral Outrage

Let’s dig in.

Moral relativism is the philosophical equivalent of wet cardboard. It looks like it can hold some weight, until you try to stand on it.

The idea goes like this: morality is subjective. Right and wrong depend on culture, personal opinion, or societal consensus. You do you, I’ll do me, and nobody gets to say what’s absolutely right or wrong.

Sounds tolerant. Feels inclusive. Dies under pressure.

Argument 1: "What’s true for you isn’t true for me."

Great. Let’s test that. If I decide that robbing your house is true for me, is that okay? If a dictator decides that genocide is good for their regime, does that make it morally upright? If a society votes that enslaving people is legal, does that make it moral?

Of course not.

You feel the contradiction instantly. Because you don’t actually believe morality is subjective. You believe your views are right, and others are wrong.

Which means—congratulations—you’re not a relativist. You’re just a moral absolutist in denial.

Argument 2: "Different cultures have different moral codes."

True. But that doesn’t prove morality is relative. It proves people disagree. Cultures also disagree about science. That doesn’t mean physics is up for grabs.

C.S. Lewis said, "The moment you say that one set of moral ideas can be better than another, you are measuring them by a standard." That standard must be above all of them.

Let’s use history: Nazi Germany thought it was moral to eliminate Jews. The Allies thought it was evil. Who was right? You want to say the Allies, and you’d be correct—but only because you're appealing to a standard that transcends cultural opinion.

Now try making that argument without appealing to any transcendent moral authority. You can’t. You either believe morality is above us or you admit that it’s just the loudest voice winning the day.

And that’s not morality. That’s mob rule with better lighting.

Argument 3: "We don’t need God to be good."

Define "good."

No seriously, go ahead. Try. Without borrowing anything from Judeo-Christian ethics. Without assuming that compassion is better than cruelty, or justice is better than injustice.

You’ll find that your entire moral vocabulary is on loan from a worldview you say you’ve rejected.

You don’t need to believe in God to behave morally. Sure. But without God, you have no basis to say why moral behavior matters. You can be good without God in the same way you can breathe without knowing what oxygen is. But deny oxygen altogether, and eventually you suffocate.

Moral Law Demands a Lawgiver

Paul said it first, and best:

"For when Gentiles, who do not have the law, by nature do what the law requires, they are a law to themselves... They show that the work of the law is written on their hearts." (Romans 2:14-15)

There it is. The reason people instinctively know right from wrong isn’t evolution. It’s not cultural convenience. It’s because God wrote His law on every human soul.

When you feel moral outrage, you are not evolving. You are echoing.

You’re echoing the voice of your Maker.

Historical Witness: Theologians and Philosophers

St. Augustine said, "For when the will abandons what is above itself, and turns to what is lower, it becomes evil – not because that to which it turns is evil, but because the turning itself is wicked."

This is key: evil isn’t a substance. It’s a direction. A rebellion. A parasite feeding off the host of the good.

C.S. Lewis adds: "My argument against God was that the universe seemed so cruel and unjust. But how had I got this idea of just and unjust? A man does not call a line crooked unless he has some idea of a straight line."

Lewis didn’t become a Christian in spite of evil. He became one because of it. Because evil pointed him to the necessity of a God who defines good.

Cornelius Van Til put it sharply: "The unbeliever must borrow from the Christian worldview in order to make sense of anything."

So when Richard Dawkins says, "There is at bottom no design, no purpose, no evil, no good, nothing but blind, pitiless indifference," at least he’s being consistent. Horrifying, but consistent.

Moral relativism leaves you with no basis to condemn injustice. No reason to help the weak. No reason to protect the vulnerable. All you have is preference, power, and pretense.

But the God of the Bible gives you a rock to stand on. A definition of good that doesn’t shift with culture. A reason to call evil what it is, and to long for something better.

You don’t need to invent morality.

You need to return to the One who defines it.

If We’re Stardust, Why Do We Care Who Punches Who?

Let’s go ahead and light this powder keg.

If we’re just highly-evolved monkeys spinning on a cosmic rock, why does anything matter? Why does it matter if one chemical bag punches another chemical bag? Why does it matter if neurons in one skull decide to rape, steal, or kill other neurons? Why does it matter if a dictator slaughters millions or if a predator abuses a child? If we’re all just stardust, then morality is a cosmic illusion—a psychological survival strategy. And outrage? That’s just neurons firing a little more passionately.

But here’s the problem: you don’t actually live like that.

Nobody does.

Not even the people who preach it.

The Atheist's Dilemma

Modern atheism is like a man sawing off the branch he’s sitting on while giving a TED Talk on the integrity of trees. It shouts about meaning and justice while denying the very foundations that make them possible.

Take atheist philosopher Michael Ruse. He admits, "Morality is a biological adaptation, no less than hands and feet and teeth... Ethics is illusory."

In other words, morality is just a trick our DNA plays on us to keep the species alive. Be nice, so you don’t get eaten. Play fair, so the tribe doesn’t collapse. But here’s the catch: if morality is an illusion, then so is injustice. You can’t get both.

Now let’s make this real.

Imagine This

You walk into a room and see a man beating a child with a pipe. You scream, "Stop! That’s wrong!"

Now imagine he turns to you and says, "Wrong? That’s just your opinion, man. I evolved differently."

You can’t appeal to his moral conscience—he doesn’t believe he has one. And neither should you if you’re consistent with naturalistic atheism.

Yet no one—not even the most hardened materialist—looks at child abuse and says, "That’s evolution in action! Survival of the fittest!"

Why? Because something in you knows: that is evil. Not inconvenient. Not socially unhelpful. Evil.

And evil demands a standard.

Pragmatism vs. Reality

Let’s be pragmatic. If all we are is matter in motion—no soul, no purpose, no design—then what we call morality is nothing more than chemical preference. Your love for justice is no more meaningful than your love for tacos. Both are the result of your brain responding to stimulus. Nothing more.

And if that’s true, then morality dies. So do human rights. So does dignity.

We scream about injustice while standing on a worldview that says people are just accidental arrangements of atoms. But if human beings are just walking meat with electricity, why should we care who punches who?

You can’t get ought from is.

You can describe what happens in nature. You can observe what people do. But you can’t get to what they should do without invoking something beyond biology.

Scripture Doesn’t Blink

The Bible doesn’t blush at this. It hits it head on.

"So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them." (Genesis 1:27)

We care because we’re not stardust. We’re image-bearers.

That’s why it matters when someone punches someone else. That’s why murder is more than math. That’s why justice is more than collective preference.

The imago Dei (image of God) doctrine tells us that human life has objective, inviolable worth. Because God says so. Not biology. Not culture. Not the courts. God.

"The blood of a person who sheds human blood will be shed by a human; for God made humans in his image." (Genesis 9:6)

So when injustice happens, the Christian doesn’t just say, "That’s bad for society."

He says, "That is wicked. It offends God."

Historical Clarity

Atheists benefit from Christian moral capital while trying to burn down the moral bank.

The abolition of slavery? Fueled by Christians like William Wilberforce.

The civil rights movement? Led by ministers preaching the dignity of man based on Genesis 1.

Hospitals, orphanages, charity? All driven historically by people who believed humans mattered because they were made by a Creator.

Try to build those on a foundation of atheistic pragmatism and you get sand castles in a storm.

Richard Dawkins’ Honest Slip

Even Dawkins, the Pope of pop-atheism, said in River Out of Eden:

"In a universe of electrons and selfish genes, blind physical forces and genetic replication, some people are going to get hurt, other people are going to get lucky, and you won't find any rhyme or reason in it, nor any justice."

Well, at least he’s honest. Brutal, but honest. In his universe, suffering doesn’t matter. There is no justice. No evil. Just stuff happening.

And yet Dawkins will turn around and call religion evil. As if that word still has meaning.

The Internal Implosion

This is where atheism implodes: it demands justice, then denies the Judge. It shouts for meaning, then says the universe is meaningless. It calls for compassion, then says we’re the accidental result of pitiless indifference.

You don’t get morality from molecules. You don’t get ethics from entropy. You get it from eternity.

Real-World Rebuttal

Try telling the victims of genocide that evil is just a social construct. Try telling the mother who lost her child to a school shooter that justice is subjective. See how far that goes.

You can only cry out against evil if you believe in a God who defines good.

Otherwise, your screams are noise.

The Only Ground That Holds

The Bible doesn’t deny suffering. It explains it. It doesn’t dismiss evil. It defines it.

And more than that, it gives hope: a God who not only condemns evil, but conquers it.

At the Cross, Jesus took the full weight of the world’s evil. Not metaphorically. Literally. Wrath. Injustice. Betrayal. Pain. All of it.

He wasn’t stardust. He was the incarnate Son of God.

And He rose.

So if you really care when someone gets punched—if you rage at injustice, weep at loss, long for redemption—you’re not an accident.

You’re an image-bearer.

And that ache you feel?

It’s not stardust. It’s the echo of a God who says evil matters... and will not have the last word.

V. Where Did Evil Come From?

We’ve already dismantled the weak foundations of moral relativism. We’ve exposed the cosmic inconsistency of the "stardust morality" crowd. We’ve asked hard questions that demand more than emotional fog or bumper sticker slogans.

Now it’s time to hit the big one:

Where did evil actually come from?

Not hypothetically. Not poetically. Not in some nebulous "energy" sense. But actually—really. Where did it come from?

Because at this point, even the most defiant skeptic has to admit: evil exists. It's not just preference. It's not just a bad mood or cultural misunderstanding. Evil is real. It's predatory. It scars, it maims, it devours.

So where did it come from?

Here’s the short version: God made everything good. Man broke it.

That’s the thesis. And if that sounds too simplistic for you, stick around—we’re about to back it with Scripture, logic, and a theological sledgehammer.

Genesis 1:31 says, "And God saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good." (Genesis 1:31)

No fine print. No cosmic asterisk. No secret shadows lurking in the margins. Just divine affirmation: very good.

Which means evil wasn’t part of the original package.

Now, let’s add a layer: God is sovereign. We’re not talking about some absentee landlord God who created the cosmos and clocked out. No, we’re talking about the King of Glory who "does all that He pleases" (Psalm 115:3), who "works all things according to the counsel of His will" (Ephesians 1:11), and who sustains every atom by the word of His power (Hebrews 1:3).

So let’s make it plain: Evil exists. God is sovereign. God is good. Now what?

This is where the brain cramps start for many people, especially those who try to defend God by dialing down His power or softening His rule. But Scripture doesn’t do that.

God is sovereign. Always. God is good. Always. Evil exists. Temporarily.

The tension is real. But don’t flinch—lean in. Because what you’ll find is not contradiction, but awe.

Evil doesn’t exist because God is evil. Evil exists because God created beings with the capacity to rebel. And that rebellion—foreseen, permitted, and contained—serves a greater sovereign purpose that we can barely begin to understand.

You might say, "But couldn’t God have created a world where evil never existed?"

Yes. But He didn’t. Because the world He created, including the reality of the Fall, is the world that most glorifies Him. It is the world where grace shines brightest, where mercy is magnified, and where the cross is necessary.

You want a world with no evil? That’s coming. But it doesn’t make this one a mistake. It makes it a means to an end.

So let’s take a hard look at the original blueprint. Let’s open up Genesis 1:31 and see how God’s goodness and sovereignty set the stage for the drama of redemption—not despite evil, but through it.

God Made Everything Good (Genesis 1:31)

Let’s get something straight from the jump: God doesn’t make junk. He doesn’t make halfway holiness. He doesn’t assemble universes with a warranty and a recall policy. When God speaks creation into existence, it isn’t just good. It’s very good.

"And God saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good." (Genesis 1:31)

That verse is not filler. It’s the Holy Spirit dropping the mic on creation. Six days of divine design. Light. Land. Sky. Stars. Oceans. Lions. Lemurs. DNA strands. Human beings. And then God stands over it like a master craftsman, nods, and says, “Yep. That’s exactly how I wanted it.”

So let’s be clear: evil was not baked into the system. There were no cracks in the divine floor plan. No fine print. No moral booby traps hidden in the Garden. God didn’t create evil.

He created order. Beauty. Harmony. Purpose.

Creation didn’t limp off the line with glitches. It danced.

And yet, the moment things go wrong in our world, skeptics come swinging: "See! Evil exists! Your God must be either powerless or malicious!"

Hold on.

You can’t accuse the Architect of building a crooked house if the tenants set it on fire.

The Sovereign Blueprint

Let’s double down here. God is not just the initial spark of creation. He is sovereign over it. That means everything that exists, exists because He wants it to. Not passively. Not reactively. Purposefully. Sustainably.

"Our God is in the heavens; he does all that he pleases." (Psalm 115:3) "In him we live and move and have our being." (Acts 17:28)

So when God declared creation “very good,” He meant it. The stars were in perfect alignment. The waters obeyed their boundaries. The lion did not eat the lamb. Humanity walked with God in unbroken fellowship.

And here’s the kicker: He didn’t need to make any of it. God wasn’t lonely. He wasn’t bored. He wasn’t wringing His hands in heaven saying, “You know what I need? A universe.”

Creation was an act of sovereign generosity. Overflow. Divine artistry.

Which makes the arrival of evil even more jarring. But don’t blame the Source. The canvas was flawless.

The Accusation Falls Flat

One of the laziest arguments atheists love to recycle is the "If God created everything, and evil exists, then God created evil" line. It sounds clever until you actually apply logic.

Evil isn’t a thing. It’s the absence of something. It’s not a created substance. It’s the corruption of something pure.

Like rot in fruit. Like rust on metal. Like cancer in a cell.

No one makes rot. It happens when what was good begins to decay. You can’t bottle evil. You can’t weigh it. You can only see it in contrast to what should have been.

God made the fruit. Not the rot. God made the cell. Not the cancer. God made the world. Not the wickedness.

Augustine nailed this over 1,500 years ago: "Evil has no positive nature; but the loss of good has received the name 'evil.'"

Evil isn’t a rival force to God. It’s a rebellion against what He made.

You Can’t Improve on Perfection

Genesis 1-2 is a record of intentionality. God speaks. God shapes. God separates. God breathes. And after each movement of His sovereign hand, He declares it "good."

The Hebrew word there, tov, isn’t moral fluff. It means desirable. Beautiful. Functionally perfect. It’s the kind of good that means, "This is exactly how it should be."

That includes man.

"Then God said, ‘Let us make man in our image, after our likeness.'" (Genesis 1:26)

Humanity wasn’t a divine afterthought. We weren’t a beta test. We were the image-bearers—crafted with intelligence, will, emotion, moral capacity, and the unique ability to relate to God.

And yes, that included the freedom to choose.

More on that in the next section. But for now, hear this:

If you think the presence of evil disproves the goodness of God, you have fundamentally misunderstood both. Evil doesn’t mar God’s perfection. It magnifies it.

Because in contrast to evil, His justice blazes brighter. His mercy stretches farther. His grace lands harder.

God made everything good. You can fight that truth, but you can’t erase it.

He made it good. And when it broke, He didn’t abandon it.

He stepped in.

But that comes later.

First, we need to talk about the ones who lit the match. Let’s talk about man’s rebellion next.

Man Introduced Evil Through Rebellion (Genesis 3)

Let’s cut the nonsense: evil didn’t crawl out of a cosmic sewer or fall from the sky like radioactive sludge. Evil didn’t sneak past God’s firewall undetected. It was ushered in through the front door by the very beings who were made in God’s image.

We broke it.

Genesis 3 isn’t just the story of a fruit snack gone wrong. It’s the moment the created shook a fist at the Creator and said, “I’ll take it from here.”

"But the serpent said to the woman, ‘You will not surely die. For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.'" (Genesis 3:4–5)

There it is—the foundational lie beneath every sin: God is holding out on you. You could run this universe better.

Adam and Eve weren’t tricked. They weren’t victims of divine entrapment. They were rebels. They knew the command. They knew the consequence. And they chose rebellion anyway.

Let’s not paint them as confused toddlers. They had perfect communion with God. They walked with Him. They had no trauma, no generational curses, no broken homes or poor schooling. Just one rule. One tree. One choice.

And they chose self over God.

"So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food... she took of its fruit and ate, and she also gave some to her husband who was with her, and he ate." (Genesis 3:6)

The most catastrophic moment in human history came not with a bang but a bite.

Total Collapse from Total Depravity

From that moment on, sin didn’t just exist out there. It took root in here. The heart of man was no longer inclined toward God but away from Him.

Romans 5:12 spells it out:

"Therefore, just as sin came into the world through one man, and death through sin, and so death spread to all men because all sinned." (Romans 5:12)

The theological term here is total depravity—not that we are as bad as we could be, but that every part of our nature is corrupted by sin: our minds, our wills, our desires, our choices. The fall didn’t sprain us. It killed us.

"And you were dead in the trespasses and sins in which you once walked..." (Ephesians 2:1)

The Blame Game Fails

And no, you don’t get to blame the devil. He lied, yes. But he didn’t take their hands and force-feed the fruit. He dangled the bait. We took it. Joyfully.

Adam didn’t need more information. He needed a clean heart. But instead of repenting, he hid in the bushes and played the first recorded game of marital finger-pointing.

"The woman whom you gave to be with me, she gave me fruit of the tree, and I ate." (Genesis 3:12)

Nice dodge, Adam. Blame Eve and God in one sentence.

Sound familiar?

"If God is real, why is the world so messed up?"

We’re still passing the buck.

But Scripture won’t let us. Evil entered the world through human rebellion. That rebellion wasn’t outside God’s sovereignty, but it was 100% our responsibility. No coercion. No excuse.

And what did we earn? Alienation. Death. Curse. Thorns. Pain. Shame. Separation from God.

The world wasn’t just broken. It was guilty.

So if you're wondering where evil came from, take a long look in the mirror. The monster isn't out there. It's in here.

But—praise God—that’s not the end of the story. Because even in that garden of ruin, God spoke a promise.

"I will put enmity between you and the woman... he shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel." (Genesis 3:15)

A Redeemer is coming. Not just to clean up the mess, but to crush the serpent.

That’s next.

But first, let’s talk about how a holy, sovereign God didn’t create evil, but created beings capable of rebellion—and why that wasn’t a failure in the plan, but part of the plan all along.

God Didn’t Create Evil—He Created Free Beings Who Chose Rebellion

Let’s speak softly now.

Not because the truth is weak, but because this is holy ground. We’ve kicked down the door of secular relativism. We’ve exposed the moral poverty of atheistic naturalism. We’ve shattered the illusion that evil disproves God. But here, in this moment, we need to stop swinging and start pleading.

Because if you’ve followed this far, then maybe—just maybe—you’re starting to feel it: a weight you can’t shake, a question you can’t answer on your own. And it’s not just, “Where did evil come from?” It’s deeper.

It’s, “Why do I feel like part of it?”

Let me assure you: that’s not shame alone. That’s grace beginning to whisper.

The Honest Dilemma

If God is all-powerful, and God is all-good, why does evil exist?

We’ve tackled that from every angle. We’ve shown how evil doesn’t come from God. We’ve traced its roots to human rebellion. But now we must answer with tenderness: if God knew Adam and Eve would sin—if He knew that evil would rip through history like a wildfire—why make us capable of rebellion at all?

Why not make a world where evil was impossible?

Because a world without the possibility of rebellion is a world without love.

God didn’t create robots. He created image-bearers. He designed beings with intellect, emotion, will, conscience, and agency. And with that capacity came the risk of defiance. Not because He needed us—but because He wanted us to truly know Him, love Him, glorify Him.

And love is meaningless if it isn’t free.

Divine Sovereignty, Not Divine Sadism

Now hear this: God is sovereign over all of it.

Evil did not surprise Him. He didn’t react to the Fall like a panicked engineer trying to patch a glitch. No. The cross wasn’t Plan B. The Lamb was slain before the foundation of the world (Revelation 13:8).

This is crucial. God permitted the Fall not because He delights in pain, but because through it He would display the riches of His glory: His justice in judgment. His mercy in redemption. His love in salvation. His patience in long-suffering. His grace in Christ.

"What if God, desiring to show his wrath and to make known his power, has endured with much patience vessels of wrath prepared for destruction... in order to make known the riches of his glory for vessels of mercy...?" (Romans 9:22–23)

Evil exists because God allowed it. And He allowed it because through it, He would reveal something greater than we could imagine.

Not a cold, distant god watching pain with apathy—but a God who enters the pain.

The Cross: Where Sovereignty and Suffering Collide

You want to know what God thinks of evil? Look at the cross.

You want to know what He thinks of your pain? Look at the blood shed on that cross.

The greatest evil in human history—the murder of the sinless Son of God—was not only foreseen, it was ordained.

"This Jesus, delivered up according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God, you crucified and killed by the hands of lawless men." (Acts 2:23)

Don’t miss this: God ordained the worst act of evil to accomplish the greatest act of good.

And He did it for you.

Because while you rage at the existence of evil in the world, there is a darker truth still—you have participated in it.

Your lies. Your pride. Your lust. Your cruelty. Your indifference.

I have participated in it.
My Lies. My Pride. My Lust. My cruelty. My Indifference.

Romans 3:23 says, “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” (Romans 3:23)

You’re not just a victim of evil. You’re a vessel of it.

But here is the beauty: you don’t have to be.

You Were Made for More

You weren’t made for aimless morality. You weren’t made to drift in a sea of shifting ethics. You were made for glory. To know your Creator. To reflect Him. To worship Him. To walk with Him in the cool of the day.

And yes, you walked away. We all did.

But God didn’t.

He came. Not with a sword to cut us down, but with nails to redeem us.

"But God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us." (Romans 5:8)

This is the answer to the problem of evil. Not a syllogism. A Savior.

He didn’t explain the pain. He entered it. He didn’t stay distant. He bled. He wept. He broke death open from the inside out.

"He was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed." (Isaiah 53:5)

So now, what will you do?

Will you keep demanding answers from the Judge, while ignoring the invitation of the Savior?

Will you keep blaming God for evil, while refusing to see the evil He bore on your behalf?

Or will you kneel? Will you come home?

A Personal Plea

If you are reading this, and you’ve spent your life running from God because of evil in the world—stop running.

There is evil. But there is also hope. There is pain. But there is also healing. There is judgment. But there is also mercy.

"Come now, let us reason together, says the Lord: though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow." (Isaiah 1:18)

He is not afraid of your questions. But He will not answer them on your terms.

He invites you—not to a lecture, but to the cross. To the foot of the only place where evil was truly answered. Not with words, but with wounds.

And He invites you today.

Come.

Cry out. Not for arguments. But for mercy.

Turn from the hollow worldview that offers you nothing but atoms and accident. Turn to the God who gives you meaning, redemption, and eternal life.

This isn’t a philosophical debate. It’s a lifeline.

And you can reach for it right now.

God didn’t create evil.

He created beings with the capacity to love Him—and they rebelled. We rebelled.

But He did not leave us in ruin.

He sovereignly orchestrated a plan before time began to take the punishment upon Himself.

Not because we were worthy.

But because He is glorious.

Evil exists for a season. But it will not reign forever.

A day is coming when God will wipe every tear from every eye, when death shall be no more, and neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore.

"Behold, I am making all things new." (Revelation 21:5)

And you are invited to be part of it.

Don’t let the question of evil keep you from the goodness of God.

It was never meant to.

It was always meant to bring you here.

To Jesus.

To grace.

To the place where evil dies and hope is born.

Come home.

**VI. But Isn’t God Sovereign?**Let’s make this crystal clear: if you made it through that last section with dry eyes and a stiff spine, you might want to check your pulse.We just walked through the wreckage of human rebellion and stood at the foot of the cross where evil was dealt its deathblow. You’ve heard the call—come home, repent, receive grace. And now, if you’re still reading, it means you want to go deeper.Good.Because now we have to reckon with a question that makes some Christians nervous and makes most atheists smug:

“If God is sovereign—if He’s really in control of everything—then doesn’t that make Him responsible for evil?”

And the answer, in short?**No. Not even close.**But buckle up, because we’re about to do some theological heavy lifting.

Yep. 100% Sovereign.

Let’s start with the part people love to gloss over: **God is absolutely, exhaustively, unapologetically sovereign.**He doesn’t just know what’s going to happen. He decrees it.

"Our God is in the heavens; he does all that he pleases." (Psalm 115:3)"I am God, and there is no other; I am God, and there is none like me, declaring the end from the beginning and from ancient times things not yet done, saying, 'My counsel shall stand, and I will accomplish all my purpose.'" (Isaiah 46:9-10)"He works all things according to the counsel of his will." (Ephesians 1:11)

All things. Not some things. Not just the sunny, happy, coffee-sipping devotional parts. **All. Things.**That includes earthquakes. That includes betrayal. That includes suffering. That includes the cross.Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Wait, you’re telling me God ordains pain? He wills tragedy?”Yes.Because the alternative is terrifying.If God isn’t sovereign over suffering, then suffering is sovereign over Him. If He can’t use evil, then evil uses Him. And that’s not a God worth worshiping. That’s a glorified lifeguard hoping He hears your cries in time.The God of Scripture is not hoping. He’s _ruling._He is the Alpha and the Omega, not the accident analyst.That means every atom in the universe moves at His command. Every tear has its place in the story. Every trial has a purpose. Every cross leads to a crown.So yes—God is 100% sovereign.But—and this is crucial—sovereignty is not the same thing as authorship.And now we need to handle that next, with scalpel-level theological precision.Because if you miss this, you’ll either end up with a god who is too small to stop evil or one who is guilty of it himself.Both are blasphemy.

Let’s walk the narrow road between them. Let’s do it reformed, real, and relentless.

VI. But Isn’t God Sovereign?

Let’s make this crystal clear: if you made it through that last section with dry eyes and a stiff spine, you might want to check your pulse.

We just walked through the wreckage of human rebellion and stood at the foot of the cross where evil was dealt its deathblow. You’ve heard the call—come home, repent, receive grace. And now, if you’re still reading, it means you want to go deeper.

Good.

Because now we have to reckon with a question that makes some Christians nervous and makes most atheists smug:

“If God is sovereign—if He’s really in control of everything—then doesn’t that make Him responsible for evil?”

And the answer, in short?

No. Not even close.

But buckle up, because we’re about to do some theological heavy lifting.

---

Yep. 100% Sovereign.

Let’s start with the part people love to gloss over: God is absolutely, exhaustively, unapologetically sovereign.

He doesn’t just know what’s going to happen. He decrees it.

"Our God is in the heavens; he does all that he pleases." (Psalm 115:3)

"I am God, and there is no other; I am God, and there is none like me, declaring the end from the beginning and from ancient times things not yet done, saying, 'My counsel shall stand, and I will accomplish all my purpose.'" (Isaiah 46:9-10)

"He works all things according to the counsel of his will." (Ephesians 1:11)

All things. Not some things. Not just the sunny, happy, coffee-sipping devotional parts. All. Things.

That includes earthquakes. That includes betrayal. That includes suffering. That includes the cross.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Wait, you’re telling me God ordains pain? He wills tragedy?”

Yes.

Because the alternative is terrifying.

If God isn’t sovereign over suffering, then suffering is sovereign over Him. If He can’t use evil, then evil uses Him. And that’s not a God worth worshiping. That’s a glorified lifeguard hoping He hears your cries in time.

The God of Scripture is not hoping. He’s ruling.

He is the Alpha and the Omega, not the accident analyst.

That means every atom in the universe moves at His command. Every tear has its place in the story. Every trial has a purpose. Every cross leads to a crown.

So yes—God is 100% sovereign.

But—and this is crucial—sovereignty is not the same thing as authorship.

---

Sovereignty ≠ Authorship of Sin

Let’s draw a hard, glorious line here: God ordains all that comes to pass, but He is not the author of sin.

Let me repeat that slowly for the peanut gallery in the back of the YouTube comment section: God is sovereign over sin. But He is not the sinner.

If you miss this, you either fall into the heresy of open theism—where God is just a glorified guesser—or into fatalism, where God becomes a cosmic puppet master who programs people to sin and then punishes them for it. Both are ditches. Neither is biblical.

God does not commit sin. God does not tempt to sin. God does not approve of sin. But God does ordain sin for His purposes without being guilty of it.

"Let no one say when he is tempted, 'I am being tempted by God,' for God cannot be tempted with evil, and he himself tempts no one." (James 1:13)

"This God—his way is perfect." (Psalm 18:30)

Here’s the theological distinction that matters: primary causation vs. secondary causation.

God is the primary cause of all things—nothing happens apart from His decree. But sin is brought about through secondary causes—real human agents making real choices with real consequences.

Think Joseph and his brothers. They sell him into slavery out of hatred and greed. That’s sin. And yet:

"As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good." (Genesis 50:20)

They meant evil. God meant good. Not "God used it for good after it happened." No. God meant it.

The same action. Two intentions. One sovereign purpose.

God is not the source of sin. But He is never offstage.

Let’s go deeper.

Calvin and the Reformed Tradition

John Calvin, often misquoted and misunderstood, nailed this in his Institutes:

“The will of God is the chief and principal cause of all things. But God’s will is not the cause of sin.”

In other words, nothing happens apart from God’s decree—but He is not morally culpable for evil. God is not up there rubbing His hands in delight as sinners fall. He’s not orchestrating genocide with a smirk. But He is over it. And He is bringing justice and redemption through it.

The Westminster Confession of Faith says it beautifully:

“God from all eternity did... freely and unchangeably ordain whatsoever comes to pass: yet so, as thereby neither is God the author of sin...” (WCF 3.1)

That’s not a contradiction. That’s sovereignty without sin.

Think of the Cross

There is no greater evil than the murder of Jesus Christ.

And yet:

"This Jesus, delivered up according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God, you crucified and killed by the hands of lawless men." (Acts 2:23)

Lawless men killed Him.

But God planned it.

The cross wasn’t God’s Plan B. It wasn’t divine damage control. It was predestined. Prophesied. Perfect.

God ordained the greatest evil for the greatest good.

So if you’re tempted to throw out the doctrine of sovereignty because it’s uncomfortable, ask yourself this: do you want a God who could have stopped the cross but didn’t? Or a God who planned the cross and redeemed the world through it?

Only one of those Gods is real.

And only one of them can save you.

Let’s press even further in the next section—because the same sovereign God who ordained the cross ordains even your worst moments for His glory and your good.

God Ordains All Things for His Glory—Even the Worst Things

Let’s slow our pace for a moment. Not because the truth has changed, but because many who are reading this are limping. Not philosophically, but personally. You’ve buried a child. You’ve watched a marriage disintegrate. You’ve felt the crushing silence after a diagnosis, the sting of betrayal, the ache of long, unrelieved suffering.

You don’t need snark here. You need to know if God sees. If He cares. If He’s good.

And the answer, spoken with trembling but unwavering conviction, is: Yes. Yes, He is.

But His goodness does not mean a pain-free life. In fact, if Scripture teaches us anything, it’s that God ordains even the worst things for the greatest glory. Not randomly. Not coldly. But with holy, sovereign, breathtaking intentionality.

The Cross: The Pattern for Glory Through Suffering

Let’s begin where all Christian theology begins and ends: the cross.

The murder of Jesus Christ was the single most unjust act in human history. No one has ever suffered more undeservedly. Yet Scripture is crystal clear:

"This Jesus, delivered up according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God, you crucified and killed by the hands of lawless men." (Acts 2:23)

"For truly in this city there were gathered together against your holy servant Jesus... to do whatever your hand and your plan had predestined to take place." (Acts 4:27–28)

Did you catch that? The greatest evil ever committed was predestined by God. Not tolerated. Not permitted. **Planned.**And it wasn’t arbitrary. It was for our salvation.

God used betrayal, false trials, torture, and murder to bring about eternal redemption.

So when you ask, “How could God let this happen to me?” you’re not asking a question He hasn’t answered. He answered it at Calvary—with blood.

Joseph: The Long View of Providence

Let’s zoom out from Calvary to the story of Joseph.

A teenager with dreams. Betrayed by his own brothers. Sold into slavery. Falsely accused of assault. Rotting in an Egyptian prison for years.

But then? Restoration. Authority. Reunion. Redemption.

And when he comes face-to-face with the brothers who started it all, he doesn’t exact revenge. He speaks with tear-filled eyes:

"As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good." (Genesis 50:20)

Two wills. One act. Their intent? Wicked. God’s intent? Good.

He meant it.

Not just used it. Not just responded to it. He ordained it—for the preservation of a nation and the unfolding of a covenant.

The pain was real. But the glory was greater.

Hannah: A Silent Womb and a Sovereign Hand

What about Hannah, barren and mocked for years by her rival?

"The Lord had closed her womb." (1 Samuel 1:5)

Let that sit.

God did it. The aching months. The weeping prayers. The waiting. All from His hand. And why?

Because through that pain, a prophet would be born. Samuel—the one who would anoint kings, who would be the hinge of Israel’s history.

God closed the womb to open the door to redemptive history.

Paul: The Thorn, the Grace, the Glory

Paul, the greatest missionary who ever lived, begged God to take away a “thorn in the flesh.” Three times he pleaded. Three times he was told:

"My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." (2 Corinthians 12:9)

Paul doesn’t get an explanation. He gets presence.

And what does he say?

"Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me."

Sometimes God doesn’t remove the thorn. Because the thorn drives us to His grace.

Historical Voices in the Fire

Martin Luther, writing during the bubonic plague, losing children and enduring deep depression, said:

“God writes the Gospel not in the Bible alone, but on trees, and flowers, and clouds and stars... and also on crosses.”

He knew the cost. But he knew the cross.

Spurgeon, battling chronic illness and despair, said:

“I have learned to kiss the wave that throws me against the Rock of Ages.”

Do you see? The pain wasn’t minimized. It was submitted.

Not explained away. Exalted. Because it was in the hands of the Sovereign One.

You, Reader—Right Now

If you're hurting, this is not abstract. It’s not theory. You want to know: Does God care? Does He see me? Can He use this?

Yes. And more than that—He has never wasted a tear in all of redemptive history, and He won’t start with yours.

"You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?" (Psalm 56:8)

He sees. He knows. He is not removed.

And while we often want relief, He gives us something greater: purpose.

"For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison..." (2 Corinthians 4:17)

He is not cruel. He is carving eternity into your story.

And one day, you will see.

"What I am doing you do not understand now, but afterward you will understand." (John 13:7)

Hold on, dear one. You are not forgotten. Your suffering is not aimless. The pain may scream now, but the glory is coming.

And He will not fail.

Not even in this.

He Uses the Devil Like a Scalpel—and Throws It Away When Done

Let’s be honest: Satan thinks he’s clever. Like a kid with scissors running through a museum, he wreaks havoc and believes he’s outsmarted the curator. But what he forgets—what he’s never learned—is that God doesn’t waste His enemies.

He uses them.

Not as equals. Not in some eternal cosmic chess match where good and evil are neck-and-neck. That’s pagan mythology. The Bible doesn’t give us yin and yang. It gives us Creator and creature. One infinite. One on a leash.

And that leash? God holds it. Firmly.

Satan Is on Assignment—Unwillingly

Let’s take Peter. Not Job. We’ve already been there. Let’s look at the man who would become the cornerstone of the early church, and how Satan came sniffing around him.

Jesus says something staggering:

“Simon, Simon, behold, Satan demanded to have you, that he might sift you like wheat, but I have prayed for you that your faith may not fail.” (Luke 22:31–32)

Let’s stop and consider what just happened.

Satan had to ask permission.

He doesn’t get open access. He doesn’t freelance. He has to request. Demand. Plead for allowance to touch a son of God.

And what does Jesus say? Not, “I blocked him.” Not, “I rebuked him.” No. “I prayed for you.”

Jesus let it happen. Because Peter’s faith needed refinement. And God chose to use the devil—not as a creator of chaos, but as a scalpel in the hands of the Great Physician.

Yes, Peter fell. He denied Christ three times. But he didn’t stay down. Because Jesus interceded. And when Peter returned, he was stronger, softer, and ready to feed the sheep (John 21:15–17).

The Devil Is God’s Devil

That’s not my phrase. That’s Martin Luther’s:

“Even the devil is God’s devil.”

Satan isn’t rogue. He’s useful. God doesn’t bless his work—but He bends it. He doesn't approve of evil—but He appropriates it for good.

Think of Pharaoh. Hardened. Oppressive. Wicked. And yet, God says:

“For this very purpose I have raised you up, that I might show my power in you.” (Exodus 9:16)

God didn’t wring His hands in heaven watching Pharaoh defy Him. He raised him up on purpose—to become a display of His own supremacy.

So, too, with Satan.

When the Serpent Bites, God Injects the Cure

In Numbers 21, the people of Israel grumble and rebel—again. God sends fiery serpents. People die. Judgment is real.

But then? Mercy.

God commands Moses to make a bronze serpent. Lift it high. And everyone who looks at it lives.

Fast-forward to Jesus explaining His mission:

“As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up...” (John 3:14–15)

The imagery is haunting: a serpent on a pole. A symbol of death becomes a channel for life. The thing that should kill becomes the thing that heals.

Do you see it?

God takes what Satan meant to destroy—and makes it the means of salvation.

At the cross, Satan bit. And in doing so, he signed his own death warrant.

“He disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, by triumphing over them in him.” (Colossians 2:15)

Satan didn’t win. He was played.

The Pain Is Real—But So Is the Purpose

Now, if you’re suffering, this might feel hollow. You don’t care about Luther’s quotes or the devil’s leash. You want to know: Why am I going through this?

Let me say this gently, but firmly:

I don’t know.

But God does.

And He doesn’t just know—He ordained it. And He has already written the last chapter.

“And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace... will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.” (1 Peter 5:10)

“Resist the devil, firm in your faith, knowing that the same kinds of suffering are being experienced by your brotherhood throughout the world.” (1 Peter 5:9)

You are not alone. You are not forgotten. And the devil is not in control.

God is. Always.

And when He is done using Satan as a tool—He will discard him forever.

“The devil... was thrown into the lake of fire... and they will be tormented day and night forever and ever.” (Revelation 20:10)

He was never more than a scalpel. And one day, God will put down the instrument and wipe every tear from your eyes.

Until then?

I praye you can cling to Christ. Trust the sovereign hands that hold the leash. And know—this too has purpose.

Part 3: The Atheist Arena — Quotes, Smackdowns, and Scripture

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VII. Richard Dawkins Says…

“The God of the Old Testament is arguably the most unpleasant character in all fiction: jealous and proud of it; a petty, unjust, unforgiving control-freak; a vindictive, bloodthirsty ethnic cleanser; a misogynistic, homophobic, racist, infanticidal, genocidal, filicidal, pestilential, megalomaniacal, sadomasochistic, capriciously malevolent bully.” — Richard Dawkins, The God Delusion

You’ve walked through the doctrine. You’ve sat with the pain. You’ve seen how the sovereign God of Scripture ordains even the worst things for His glory and our good. But now, let’s open the floodgates of cultural critique. Because there’s a whole arena of skeptics and pop-atheist icons hurling stones at the throne of heaven with smug grins and pithy soundbites.

And one of the loudest voices in that amphitheater is Richard Dawkins—the high priest of secular mockery and one of the most cited atheists of our time.

He doesn’t whisper. He slanders. He doesn’t ask questions. He unloads accusations with a rhetorical flamethrower, hoping no one notices that his arsenal lacks ammunition.

So let’s take the gloves off and address Dawkins’ famous quote head-on. Not with volume. With Scripture. With theology. With truth.

And yes—with a little sanctified snark.

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Dawkins’ Volcano of Adjectives

Richard, buddy, take a breath.

That quote reads like a thesaurus had a nervous breakdown. It’s a volcanic eruption of insults so loaded, it practically collapses under its own rhetorical weight. The average middle-school rant is more restrained.

But let’s unpack it.

Not because Dawkins is right. But because he’s loud—and people listen.

His accusation isn’t actually an argument. It’s a tantrum. And like any good tantrum, it demands attention—but not necessarily respect.

Why?

Because Dawkins doesn’t argue from a moral standard. He assumes one.

Let’s take just one word from his list—“unpleasant.”

Wow, Richard. Big If True.

Let’s pretend, for the sake of argument, that the God of the Old Testament really is “unpleasant.”

Okay.

By what standard?

Dawkins is an evolutionary biologist who doesn’t believe in objective morality. He believes humans are cosmic accidents, the result of mindless, pitiless natural selection. In his own words:

“The universe we observe has precisely the properties we should expect if there is, at bottom, no design, no purpose, no evil, no good—nothing but blind, pitiless indifference.” — River Out of Eden

Wait… so no evil, no good, and yet God is… what? Evil? Bad? Immoral?

You don’t get to call God immoral when your worldview denies the category of morality.

That’s called borrowing capital from Christianity. That’s like stealing lumber from someone’s house and then mocking them for being homeless.

Dawkins wants to hold God accountable to a moral standard that only makes sense if God exists.

So Richard, where’d you get yours—evolutionary molecules? Genetic algorithms? Survival instincts?

You need transcendent morality to make transcendent accusations.

You don’t get to slap God with moral categories you can’t account for.

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Let’s Actually Look at the God Dawkins Hates

So what does the Old Testament actually show us?

1. God is Holy

“Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory!” (Isaiah 6:3)

God is not a cosmic grandpa handing out lollipops. He is pure. Set apart. Unfathomably righteous. He doesn’t wink at evil—He judges it.

If that makes you uncomfortable, good.

You don’t want a God who lets wickedness slide. You want a God who is just—who sees evil and says, “No more.”

But here’s the rub: we’re part of the evil.

So when God judges sin, He’s not being a bully. He’s being consistent with His nature.

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2. God is Just

“Shall not the Judge of all the earth do what is just?” (Genesis 18:25)

The stories that Dawkins cites—floods, judgments, fire from heaven—don’t come from a God throwing a fit. They come from a God responding to centuries of evil.

• The Canaanites sacrificed their children on burning altars (Leviticus 18:21).
• Sodom was so depraved that they tried to assault angels (Genesis 19).
• The flood came after every intention of man’s heart was only evil continually (Genesis 6:5).

This wasn’t overreaction. This was justice.

And here’s the twist: Dawkins wants justice without a Judge.

He wants outrage without a standard.

He wants moral fury with no foundation.

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3. God is Patient

“Do you presume on the riches of his kindness and forbearance and patience, not knowing that God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance?” (Romans 2:4)

God waited 400 years before judging the Canaanites (Genesis 15:16). He warned Nineveh before bringing destruction (Jonah 3). He sent prophet after prophet to plead with Israel.

He doesn’t strike at the first offense. He calls. He waits. He warns.

And when He judges? It’s never undeserved.

Dawkins paints God as impulsive.

But the biblical God is deliberate. Patient. Righteous.

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4. God is Merciful

If Dawkins had read past Leviticus, he’d see that God doesn’t just judge sin—He makes a way to forgive it.

“The LORD is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.” (Psalm 103:8)

“Come now, let us reason together, says the LORD: though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow…” (Isaiah 1:18)

He makes covenants with rebels. He forgives idolaters. He restores prostitutes. He redeems nations.

The God of the Old Testament is not a monster. He’s a merciful judge who gives more grace than we could ever deserve.

But Dawkins doesn’t want that God.

Because that God holds him accountable.

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It’s Not God’s Character That Offends—It’s His Authority

At the end of the day, Dawkins isn’t scandalized by God's actions. He’s scandalized by God’s right to act.

He wants a God who affirms his values, not one who defines them.

He wants a god he can control, critique, and condescend to. But the God of Scripture doesn’t audition for approval. He doesn’t owe you an explanation.

He says:

“I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, and will show mercy on whom I will show mercy.” (Exodus 33:19)

You don’t get to write Yelp reviews of Yahweh.

You get to repent.

Or rebel.

But you don’t get to stand above Him.

Because one day, Richard Dawkins will bow.

“At the name of Jesus every knee should bow… and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord…” (Philippians 2:10–11)

And so will you.

Now is the time to do it willingly.

Before you do it compulsively.

The God Dawkins mocks is not a fiction. He is a consuming fire (Hebrews 12:29).

And if you don’t run to His mercy, you will meet His wrath.

Because the most unpleasant reality in the universe is not that God judges sin.

It’s that we dared to think He wouldn’t.

And the most beautiful? That He judged it—in Christ—so that sinners like Dawkins could still be saved.

Mercy is still on the table.

But so is judgment.

Choose wisely.

VIII. Sam Harris Says…

“If God is good and all-powerful, He would prevent all suffering.” — Sam Harris, Letter to a Christian Nation

Ah, Sam Harris. The silver-tongued surgeon of secularism. Polished, clinical, confident—and dead wrong.

This quote is the atheist’s version of John 3:16: memorized, recited, framed, and flung like a theological grenade in debates across dorm rooms and Reddit threads. It’s simple, clean, emotionally loaded—and entirely hollow when you peel back the layers.

Let’s dissect it.

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First: Let’s Translate Harris

“If God is good and all-powerful, He would prevent all suffering.”

Translation: “God didn’t meet my expectations, so I declared Him non-existent.”

This isn’t an argument. It’s an assumption wrapped in emotion, dipped in moral outrage, and served on a plate of borrowed ethics. Harris starts with what he thinks God should be and concludes God can’t be—because suffering still exists.

Let’s be blunt: Sam Harris has built his god out of bubble wrap.

He demands a deity who never wounds, never weeps, and never says no.

But that’s not God. That’s a therapist with omnipotence issues.

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Problem #1: The Illusion of Entitlement

Harris’ logic only works if you assume that human beings deserve a painless existence.

But by what standard?

The biblical worldview says God created us good, we rebelled, and now we live in a world fractured by sin—our sin. We’re not victims of divine negligence. We’re perpetrators of cosmic treason.

“All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” (Romans 3:23)

If God gave us what we deserved, there wouldn’t be some suffering.

There would be nothing but judgment.

The fact that any of us are still breathing is mercy. The fact that we experience joy, laughter, beauty, love, and even small moments of comfort is overwhelming grace.

So when Harris demands a painless life as a prerequisite for belief, he’s not appealing to justice—he’s demanding privilege.

He wants a God who allows rebellion without consequence.

That’s not morality. That’s moral insanity.

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Problem #2: The False Dilemma Fallacy

Harris’ statement assumes two things:

1. If God is all-powerful, He can prevent all suffering.
2. If God is all-good, He must prevent all suffering.

If He doesn’t, He must be either weak or wicked.

But here’s the glaring hole: Harris never asks if suffering could serve a purpose.

It’s as if he believes that all suffering is inherently meaningless. That pain has no place in a good God’s world. But that’s a category mistake.

The Bible doesn’t treat suffering as meaningless.

It treats it as refining fire.

“We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope...” (Romans 5:3–4)

“Though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith... may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.” (1 Peter 1:6–7)

Harris assumes that a loving God would remove all pain.

But what if a loving God redeems pain instead?

What if He takes the worst this broken world can throw and transforms it into glory?

Because that’s exactly what He does.

The God of Christianity doesn’t dodge suffering.

He enters it.

He bleeds.

He dies.

And in doing so, He crushes death from the inside out.

“By his wounds we are healed.” (Isaiah 53:5)

Show me another worldview that does that.

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Problem #3: Harris Ignores the Cross

Let’s suppose, just for a moment, that Sam Harris is right: if God is good and powerful, He would stop all suffering.

Well, He has.

He didn’t stop it on Harris’ terms. He stopped it on His own.

At the cross.

There, God didn’t ignore suffering. He absorbed it.

He didn’t eliminate evil (yet). He defeated it.

The cross is where justice and mercy meet. Where sin is punished and sinners are pardoned. Where God declares, “I will not overlook evil—but I will bear it for you.”

Harris dismisses the cross as a primitive atonement myth. But what he misses is this:

The cross is the only place in human history where suffering actually ends in victory.

No other belief system even tries to make sense of innocent suffering. Christianity claims it’s the center of the universe.

So when Harris says, “If God is good, He would stop suffering,” we say:

He did. And He will. But first He used it to save you.

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Problem #4: Harris Rejects a God He Invented

Let’s be honest: Harris isn’t rejecting the God of the Bible.

He’s rejecting the god of his imagination. A tame deity who exists to pad our comfort, protect our dreams, and erase anything unpleasant from our lives.

That god doesn’t exist. Never has.

The God of Scripture is a consuming fire (Hebrews 12:29), a righteous Judge (Psalm 7:11), and a suffering Savior (Isaiah 53).

He doesn’t cater to Sam Harris’ preferences.

He calls Sam Harris to repentance.

“The times of ignorance God overlooked, but now he commands all people everywhere to repent.” (Acts 17:30)

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Problem #5: Harris Has No Replacement

Let’s pretend for a second that Harris is right and God doesn’t exist.

Now what?

Pain is still here. Children still die. Cancer still eats through bodies. Wars still happen.

But now? There’s no meaning.

No redemption. No justice. Just time, chance, and rot.

Harris has no answer for suffering.

He only has the ability to complain about it.

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The Invitation Harris Refuses

The tragedy is not just that Sam Harris is wrong. It’s that he refuses the very hope he’s longing for.

He sees pain and demands it be healed.

God sees pain—and offers healing.

But it comes through surrender. Through bowing. Through acknowledging that we’re not the judge.

We’re the ones on trial.

And Christ offers pardon to those who admit they need it.

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28)

Rest from pain? Not yet.

Rest from guilt? Today.

Harris says, “God would prevent all suffering.”

God says, “I will end all suffering.”

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more...” (Revelation 21:4)

It’s coming.

And until then, the invitation still stands:

Come to Christ.

Stop demanding comfort and receive redemption.

Stop asking “Why me?” and start crying “Lord, have mercy.”

Because the God Harris mocks is real.

And one day, he’ll meet Him.

Let’s pray others meet Him as Savior—before they meet Him as Judge.

IX. Christopher Hitchens Said…

“Religion poisons everything.” — Christopher Hitchens, God Is Not Great

Ah, Hitchens. The war general of wit. Razor-tongued, impossibly charming, intellectually engaging—and fatally wrong.

Of all the “Four Horsemen” of modern atheism, Hitchens was the one who could charm a crowd while verbally disemboweling his opponent. But make no mistake: behind the velvet voice and British prose was an unrelenting hostility toward Christianity.

And this line—“Religion poisons everything”—is his gospel. His creed. His banner. And it’s also pure, uncut nonsense.

Let’s exhale and peel this back.

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First: Poison Everything?

Everything? Really?

Hospitals? Charities? Orphanages? The abolition of slavery? Women’s literacy campaigns? The spread of medicine and education to tribal cultures? All poison?

Let’s do something rare and reasonable: let’s define our terms.

What is poison? Poison corrupts, contaminates, and kills.

Now, let’s talk facts—not just soundbites.

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Christianity Built More Than Hitchens Ever Did

Let’s take a stroll through history. You know, the kind with footnotes and evidence.

• The First Hospitals?

Built by Christians.

The Council of Nicaea (325 AD) actually mandated that every cathedral build a hospital.

Ever heard of the Red Cross? Founded by a Christian.

• The First Universities?

Started by monks and church leaders.

Oxford. Cambridge. Harvard. Yale. All Christian-founded.

• The End of the Slave Trade?

William Wilberforce. Evangelical Christian.

The American abolition movement? Spearheaded by Christian pastors.

• Orphanages, soup kitchens, leper colonies?

Run by nuns, monks, and missionaries. All “poisonous,” apparently.

Now, contrast that with the track record of atheistic regimes:

• Stalin: 20 million dead.
• Mao: 45–70 million dead.
• Pol Pot: 2 million dead.

All under governments that explicitly rejected religion.

So remind me again—who poisoned what?

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You Know What Poisons Everything? Sin.

Let’s reframe the quote:

“Religion poisons everything.”

Correction: Sin poisons everything.

Including religion.

Yes, religion has been twisted. People have used crosses to justify crusades, inquisitions, colonization, and oppression. But Christianity didn’t teach them to do that.

They did it in defiance of Scripture—not in obedience to it.

“They profess to know God, but they deny him by their works.” (Titus 1:16)

Jesus didn’t teach coercion. He said, “Love your enemies.” (Matthew 5:44)

He didn’t call for conquest. He said, “My kingdom is not of this world.” (John 18:36)

He didn’t model power plays. He washed feet.

So if people twist Christianity into something evil, that’s not an argument against Christ. That’s proof we need Him.

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Hitchens Hated What He Never Understood

Here’s the tragedy: Hitchens didn’t reject the Gospel. He never heard it clearly.

He mocked cultural religion, man-made legalism, moral hypocrisy—and we agree with him.

He was angry at a system that created guilt without grace. Law without love. Morality without Messiah.

And you know what?

Jesus was angry at that too.

“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you tithe mint and dill and cumin, and have neglected the weightier matters of the law: justice and mercy and faithfulness.” (Matthew 23:23)

Hitchens waged war on man-made religion. But man-made religion isn’t the Gospel.

The Gospel is about a God who poisons nothing—but drank the poison of our sin Himself.

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Christianity Isn’t a Poison—it’s the Cure

Let’s do a thought experiment.

Imagine a world where everyone:

• Loved their neighbor as themselves
• Cared for the poor
• Told the truth
• Kept their word
• Stayed faithful to their spouse
• Gave generously
• Forgave enemies

Now tell me: does that sound like poison?

Because that’s biblical Christianity.

“Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.” (Matthew 5:16)

Hitchens took the worst distortions of religion and declared them normative. That’s like blaming hospitals for malpractice.

You don’t reject all medicine because a quack did harm. You don’t swear off all food because one chef gave you food poisoning. You don’t reject Jesus because His name was hijacked.

You come to Him. The real Him.

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The Poison in the Mirror

The uncomfortable truth Hitchens wouldn’t face is this:

The real poison isn’t out there. It’s in here.

The venom of pride, greed, rage, lust, envy, and bitterness runs through all of us.

And there’s only one antidote.

“For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” (2 Corinthians 5:21)

The Gospel is not religion. It is rescue.

Jesus didn’t come to make us religious. He came to make us new.

Hitchens says “religion poisons everything.”

God says, “Behold, I make all things new.” (Revelation 21:5)

You tell me which voice you want to trust.

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A Final Word for the Hitchslapped

Christopher Hitchens died in 2011.

He knows now.

He knows that God is not fiction. He knows that Jesus was not a myth. He knows that the Gospel he mocked was the only hope he ever had.

And though he was brilliant, articulate, and captivating—none of that could save him.

Only Christ saves.

And that offer still stands.

For you.

Because while sin poisons everything,

Christ redeems anything.

And He’s ready to redeem you.

Don’t drink the poison.

Drink living water. (John 4:14)

X. The “Free Will” Argument (Both Sides Get It Wrong)

Let’s address the sacred cow of modern apologetics and atheist memes alike: free will.

You’ve heard it. You’ve probably said it. When someone asks why there’s evil in the world, the reflexive answer often sounds like this:

“Because God gave us free will.”

It’s neat. It’s simple. It gets God off the hook.

But it’s also theologically thin, philosophically lazy, and biblically incomplete.

Let’s burn the golden calf, shall we?

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Atheists: “God Shouldn’t Allow Free Will!”

This side of the argument is both bold and bizarre.

The same folks who shout about personal autonomy, bodily choice, and freedom from religious oppression will turn around and demand: “Why would God allow humans to choose evil?!”

Do you want autonomy or not?

You can’t rage against divine dictatorship and then complain about moral permission.

If God stopped every evil decision, you’d accuse Him of tyranny. If He allows you to make choices, you accuse Him of negligence.

The problem isn’t that God allows freedom.

The problem is that we abuse it.

And here’s the kicker: most atheists who complain about God allowing evil still want the freedom to define morality, gender, truth, purpose, and identity on their own terms.

You can’t have it both ways.

You can’t demand free thought and then scold God for letting you use it.

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Christians: “Free Will is the Answer to Evil!”

Now, before we start high-fiving ourselves for having the “biblical answer,” let’s pump the brakes.

Too many Christians use free will as a theological escape hatch.

“Why does evil exist?” “Free will.”

Boom. Done. Clean hands.

But that’s not how the Bible talks.

Nowhere in Scripture is human free will used as the grand explanation for evil.

What you do find is:

• God is sovereign over everything (Isaiah 46:9–10, Ephesians 1:11).
• Man is fully responsible for sin (Romans 1:18–20).
• Evil is real, and God uses it without authoring it (Genesis 50:20, Acts 2:23).

So while humans do make real choices, free will isn’t the hero of the biblical story.

God is.

And here's where it gets dangerous: when Christians elevate “free will” to the point where God is reactive rather than sovereign—where He merely responds to human choices instead of ordaining all things for His glory—we haven’t protected God’s character.

We’ve stripped Him of His throne.

We’ve made man the author of history and God the editor.

But that’s not what Scripture teaches.

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What the Bible Actually Teaches

Here’s the tension: God is sovereign. Man is responsible. Evil is real.

And those truths don’t cancel each other. They collide.

“The king’s heart is a stream of water in the hand of the Lord; he turns it wherever he will.” (Proverbs 21:1)

“For it has been granted to you that for the sake of Christ you should not only believe in him but also suffer for his sake...” (Philippians 1:29)

“...Jesus, delivered up according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God, you crucified and killed by the hands of lawless men.” (Acts 2:23)

Same event. Two actors. One divine decree.

God’s sovereignty doesn’t violate man’s responsibility. It upholds it.

You’re not a robot. You’re not a pawn. But you’re also not the author.

You’re a character in a divine drama—fully accountable, deeply loved, and totally dependent.

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Don’t Put God in a Courtroom You Built with Stolen Wood

Every time someone tries to put God on trial—“Why did You allow this?” “Why didn’t You stop that?”—they forget something crucial:

The moral categories they’re using were invented by God.

You can’t indict the Judge using His own law.

You can’t slap His name on the witness stand when your outrage depends on His moral blueprint.

You’re holding a gavel made from a tree He created.

You’re trying to sue the architect using a courtroom He designed, with breath He gave you, on land He owns.

Sit down.

And realize: the problem of evil is not a math problem to be solved. It’s a mirror held up to a fallen world—and a divine invitation to trust the only One who has ever walked through it blameless.

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Final Thought: Free Will Didn’t Save You—God Did

In the end, “free will” didn’t put Jesus on the cross.

God did.

“Yet it was the will of the Lord to crush him...” (Isaiah 53:10)

And it wasn’t free will that raised Him from the dead.

It was divine power.

“God raised him up, loosing the pangs of death...” (Acts 2:24)

So yes, you choose. You repent. You believe.

But behind it all is a sovereign God who works all things—even sin, even suffering, even Satan—for His glory and our good.

Why is there evil in the world?

Because man chose it. Because God uses it. And because in the end—He will destroy it.

Until then, don’t worship your free will.

Worship the God who saves in spite of it.

Part 4: The Cross and the Cure

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XI. What Has God Done About Evil?

Let’s cut to the chase. Enough theory. Enough philosophy. Enough posturing about the moral dilemmas of an omnibenevolent Creator in a universe that still gives us paper cuts, pandemics, and dictators.

You want to know what God did about evil?

He didn’t write a blog post.

He didn’t float down suggestions from the sky.

He put on skin. Walked into the fire. And took the blow.

“This Jesus, delivered up according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God, you crucified and killed by the hands of lawless men.” (Acts 2:23)

God’s answer to evil isn’t an argument. It’s a man.

A man nailed to a tree by the very creatures He came to rescue.

Let’s make this painfully clear: Jesus Christ bore the full weight of the world’s evil.

Not metaphorically. Not symbolically. Literally.

• Betrayed by a friend.
• Falsely accused by religious leaders.
• Mocked by soldiers.
• Beaten, spit on, stripped, and shamed.
• Nailed to a cross.
• Hung between two thieves.
• Abandoned by nearly everyone.

And through it all, innocent.

“He was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities...” (Isaiah 53:5)

You want to talk about evil? Talk about Calvary.

Because that’s where every drop of it came to kill—and was killed.

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He Didn’t Ignore It—He Bore It

Unlike every other worldview that shrugs at suffering, downplays it, or blames it on karma, Christianity says: God came down and got bloody.

The cross is not a PR stunt. It’s a divine collision between holiness and horror.

At Calvary, God said:

• Evil is real.
• Justice is coming.
• But I’ll take the hit.

God’s not aloof. He doesn’t sit on a cloud with a clipboard. He gets in the dirt. He gets in the agony. He gets in the place of wrath—in our place.

And not just for suffering’s sake.

But to defeat it.

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Jesus Experienced the Deepest Evil Humanity Could Offer

And what did He do?

He absorbed it without sinning.

He endured injustice without rage.

He endured suffering without compromise.

He endured betrayal without vengeance.

And then—He died.

Why?

Because evil had to be punished. And instead of punishing us, He punished Himself.

“He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree…” (1 Peter 2:24)

The cross wasn’t accidental.

It wasn’t a martyrdom.

It was a divine execution—on your behalf.

And in that moment, Jesus didn’t just suffer with us. He suffered for us.

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The Cross = God’s Answer to Evil and Sin

Let’s be clear: evil is not an abstract philosophical puzzle to God.

It’s a wound that had to be healed.

And the healing came through blood.

You want to ask, “Why doesn’t God do something about evil?”

He did.

He sent His Son to drink the full cup of wrath you deserved.

He took the nails that were shaped by your rebellion.

He broke the back of death by stepping into it willingly.

No other faith claims this.

No other religion dares to suggest that God died for man.

Only Christianity stares evil in the face and says, “You won’t win—because Christ already did.”

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XII. The Cross Flips the Whole Conversation

The cross isn’t just a response to evil.

It’s the reversal of it.

What looked like the darkest day in history was actually the dawn of redemption. What looked like divine defeat was actually a pre-planned cosmic victory.

“For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.” (1 Corinthians 1:25)

The cross is where the worst thing ever done—killing the Son of God—became the best thing that ever happened.

That’s not just ironic.

That’s divine.

God didn’t just allow evil. He crushed it.

“He disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, by triumphing over them in him.” (Colossians 2:15)

Think about that.

The instruments of terror—spikes, a whip, a cross—became tools of triumph.

The devil’s playbook was burned. Sin’s record was nailed. Death’s sting was pulled.

The very stage of evil became the throne of grace.

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Only Christianity Dares Say This

Every other worldview has you working your way out of evil:

• Be better.
• Try harder.
• Balance your karma.
• Reach enlightenment.

But only Christianity says:

“You can’t. He did.”

Only Christianity says the Judge took your sentence.

Only Christianity says the King wore a crown of thorns.

Only Christianity says that the Redeemer bled for the rebels.

And that’s not mythology. That’s history.

Rooted in time. Pinned to wood. Confirmed by an empty tomb.

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The Cross Shames Every Objection

Why is there evil?

Look at the cross.

Why does God allow suffering?

Look at the cross.

Why do bad things happen to good people?

Look at the cross—and realize there’s only been one truly good person.

And He volunteered for the worst thing ever.

So He could win the best thing ever:

You.

“For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” (2 Corinthians 5:21)

That’s what God did about evil.

He didn’t just stop it.

He flipped it.

And He’s still doing it today.

One sinner at a time.

XIV. So What Now?

You’ve followed the argument. You’ve seen the depravity of man, the sovereignty of God, and the scandal of the cross. You’ve stared at the darkness and found it eclipsed by blazing grace.

So what now?

“God… now commands all people everywhere to repent.” (Acts 17:30)

This isn’t a lecture.

This is a summons.

This isn’t just philosophy.

This is personal.

You don’t just get to nod in agreement.

You have to respond.

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Repent. Turn from your Sin. Trust the One Who Took the Wrath You Deserve.

Yes, evil exists. You’ve felt it. You’ve committed it. You’ve justified it.

But now you’ve seen what God did about it.

He judged it—in Jesus.

He took the whip, the mockery, the nails—the hell meant for you.

And now He calls you to repent.

That means stop playing God.

Stop excusing sin.

Stop demanding explanations while refusing His mercy.

Fall on your knees and trust Christ.

Not just as a good example.

Not just as a spiritual guru.

But as the Lamb who was slain—for you.

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Evil Exists, Yes—but So Does Mercy. And It’s More Scandalous.

You want to talk about scandal?

It’s not that evil still exists.

It’s that mercy does.

“The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end.” (Lamentations 3:22)

Every breath you’ve drawn in rebellion, God sustained.

Every day you’ve lived indifferent to Christ, God extended.

Every moment you’ve scoffed at holiness, God withheld judgment.

Why?

Because He’s patient.

“Do you not know that God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance?” (Romans 2:4)

You’re still here.

Not because you’re good.

But because God is merciful.

But mercy has a shelf life.

The clock is ticking.

And the King is coming.

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Jesus is Not a Cosmic Therapist—He’s a Conquering King, and He’s Offering Terms of Peace

This is where cultural Christianity collapses.

Jesus is not a spiritual support animal.

He’s not a life coach.

He’s not your buddy.

He’s King of kings and Lord of lords.

He is returning—to judge the living and the dead.

And before He does, He offers terms of peace:

“Kiss the Son, lest he be angry, and you perish in the way...” (Psalm 2:12)

That’s not advice.

That’s a royal decree.

You’re not invited to negotiate.

You’re invited to surrender.

Not because God is cruel.

But because He already made peace—through the blood of the cross.

You can bow now—or later.

But you will bow.

“At the name of Jesus every knee should bow... and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord...” (Philippians 2:10–11)

Do it now.

Turn.

Trust.

Live.

Because evil will end.

But Jesus won’t.

And His mercy is still on the table—for now.

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Well, if you’ve made it this far—congratulations. You’ve slogged through philosophical minefields, atheist soundbites, theological depth charges, and a whole lot of unapologetic truth bombs.

So let’s land the plane. Buckle up. Tray tables in the upright position. Because here comes the last word.

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Atheism Can’t Account for Evil—It Can Only Complain About It

Let’s not kid ourselves.

Atheism is great at asking questions.

• “Why does evil exist?”
• “Why do bad things happen?”
• “Why won’t your sky fairy stop the hurricanes?”

But ask it to provide a foundation for why evil is evil—and it collapses.

Because in a world of random atoms, natural selection, and cosmic accidents, evil is just your personal dislike turned into a philosophical hissy fit.

You don’t like murder? Cool. Neither does a panda. But don’t pretend you can explain morality when your entire worldview says we’re just meat machines with a conscience glitch.

Atheism has no spine, no standard, and no Savior.

Just complaints.

And you can’t build a meaningful life—or mount a meaningful objection to evil—with complaints.

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Christianity Alone Explains Evil, Redeems It, and Defeats It

Christianity says:

• Evil exists because man rebelled.
• Evil persists because creation is groaning.
• Evil is defeated because Christ rose.

No other worldview dares to say:

• Evil isn’t just “out there”—it’s in you.
• You’re not the victim of evil—you’re part of it.
• You’re not the judge—you’re the one on trial.

And yet—God came to save you anyway.

That’s not religion. That’s rescue.

That’s not “be better.” That’s “be forgiven.”

That’s not moralism. That’s mercy.

Christianity doesn’t give you every answer about evil. It gives you something better:

A cross that absorbs it. A Savior who redeems it. A kingdom where it dies forever.

“Behold, I am making all things new.” (Revelation 21:5)

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You Want a God Who Stops All Evil? Then Get Off the Throne and Let Him Start with You

This is where the rubber meets the road.

You want justice? You want evil eradicated? You want a God who crushes wickedness?

Then stand up.

And realize: He’s going to start with your pride, your porn, your bitterness, your cruelty, your rebellion, your fake Christianity, and your self-righteous objections.

Because the evil “out there” starts in here.

God will judge evil.

But if you demand that day come quickly—you better be ready to face Him.

Or...

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But If You Want Grace—There’s a Blood-Stained Cross and an Empty Tomb Waiting

Here’s the scandal:

You can still be forgiven.

You.

Not just “bad people.” Not just murderers and politicians and heretics.

You.

Because Jesus bore the wrath. He absorbed the curse. He bled in your place.

And now He stands—resurrected, glorified, reigning.

And He says:

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28)

So stop posturing. Stop philosophizing. Stop hiding behind arguments.

Bow.

The war is over. The grave is empty. The verdict is in.

And the mercy of God is better than anything you’re clinging to.

You want to know why there’s evil in the world? Because we rejected God.

You want to know what God did about it? He didn’t reject us.

That’s the final word. That’s the scandal of the Gospel.

And that’s your invitation.

Don’t miss it.