'Emily, I will not believe in the God you believe in,' my teacher says.

She continues, 'My sister is a lesbian and I know your God despises her and calls her way of life sin'.

I was in year 11, sitting in my Legal Studies class when this statement was penned to me. You know how the drill goes. A quiet hush descends, writing stops and the rocking of the desks cease. It comes to my attention that I now have 25 sets of interested eyes on me, as my teacher talks very loudly about her sister who is a lesbian.

Her gaze is on me and it readily demands an answer.

My year 11 reply consists of, 'The God I believe in is the opposite of what you just described. He loves your sister more than you could ever imagine, BUT, it does say within the Bible that a relationship should be consummated between a man and a woman'.

She stares at me with a look of disbelief, but I am well aware that what I have just said is not new. With tears running down her cheeks, she quietly whispers, 'So, you're saying she is sin.'

She is now openly crying in front of the whole class and in shock tears of my own appear as I reply, 'I don't know what you want from me. But those words never came from my mouth.'

'Oh, but they are on your lips' she mutters as she looks straight at me.

Unbelief hurts

Recently, my home church in Melbourne has been conducting a series called 'The God I don't believe in,' where we are discussing the erroneous caricatures of God that have become so hotly contested within our culture. There are often times during the sermons (though they are incredibly interesting) when I catch my mind wandering back to the year 11 conversation.

Honestly, the conversation was really nothing profound. I walked out from the classroom confused, tired, but having endured very, very limited persecution. My friends still talked to me the day after, my marks on an essay weren't tainted and the teacher carried on like nothing had happened. However, when I think back to this conversation, one thing nags at me.

And I think it was her eyes.

Yes, there were tears streaming down her face. But when I looked past her teary complexion, there was something significantly painful about her demeanour. She was hurting. And it looked very sore.

Unbelief within that moment was so inherently present, I could not only hear it, but I could see it. And in that sense, it was a very, very profound conversation.

Worldly pain

Just recently, I watched a video in the series called 'The Meaning of Life with Gay Byrne' where Stephen Fry, an English comedian and actor, embarks on a journey to debunk belief in the Christian God. Byrne asks him one simple question, 'Suppose it is all true... and you walk up to the pearly gates and are confronted by God, what will Stephen Fry say to him/her/it?'

He answers, 'Bone cancer in children? What is that all about?'

Surprisingly, I have found myself watching this video over and over again and I know why. Fry was simply expressing the feelings of many, including those who make similar complaints within the pages of the Bible.

While the problem of evil still exists, confuses and complexes most people, including Christians, there are reasons this argument cannot successfully stand as a logical case against God's existence and His all-encompassing goodness.

When looking at the world, it is evident that there is both a problem of beauty and a problem of pain. We notice the pain more, perhaps, but it is hard to deny that the beauty of this world isn't as much a part of human existence as evil and pain. So how do Christians understand intellectually, and cope with the evil and pain which plagues this world?

The notion of the 'fallenness' of humanity and creation are inextricably important. Nonetheless, I believe that these ideas will only ever be partially satisfying as an explanation for evil and pain. What remains is a question which often plagues me: couldn't have God done it another way? To which the answer may as well be: probably.

The heart issue

Here we arrive at the heart of the issue. Christians find themselves convinced—on other grounds—that God is all-powerful, all-knowing and the epitome of all things good. As Christians, it is logical for us to arrive at the conclusion that God's reasons for permitting such evil and pain are truly loving, and what's more he is able to fulfill his aims and, what's more, that we as humans may not be able to fully comprehend or imagine the divine reasons.

My point is; it is entirely okay to look at pain and the world in its current state and think that God must have darn good reasons for choosing this course. I do believe however, that his promised resolution will be utterly divine to make up for the pain that surrounds the order of existence.

And, there is something else entirely magnificent: the cross and the resurrection are guarantees of both. The cross shows us of God's absolute love for humanity and highlights that human pain and suffering must fall within the plans of self-giving love. The resurrection is a promise. A promise of new life when death overwhelms, thus, the promise of restoration.

Like Stephen Fry, I hate the pain, the bad stuff, the unending confusion of humanity. I despise it. But nevertheless, unlike Fry, I am convinced that the God I do believe in, is so, so, so good and absolutely, rightfully in control.

So I rest in, receive and acknowledge this and remember that I am just a girl, thankful for a God who loves my teacher, her sister and me.

Emily Black is passionate about writing and seeks to write raw, authentic and timely pieces that disturb and comfort, engage justice and fundamentally empower. She is currently studying a Bachelor of Arts at the University of Melbourne and actively desires to pursue a life of untainted freedom through Jesus Christ.

Emily Black's previous articles may be viewed at http://www.pressserviceinternational.org/emily-black.html This article originally appeared on Christian Today Australia here