Why does God allow suffering? Why does one public figure survives a mysterious sickness, kidnapper’s bullet while another dies in the same dust that once carried their dreams? These are not abstract inquiries; they are the questions that shake angry hearts across nations. Many people now openly and secretly resent God because grief, tragedy and unanswered prayers made faith feel like betrayal. I once asked a friend in the United States why Americans seem less burdened by spiritual frustration than many Nigerians. He said, “Here, people don’t spend endless hours casting and binding Satan the way you do in Nigeria. We that believes, simply hold on to the promises of God. Wisdom, good governance, and common sense provide the basic needs so people can breathe.” That comparison reveals a painful truth: when systems work, people pray in peace; when systems fail, people pray in desperation.
Across Africa, millions are angry at God not because He failed them, but because human leadership weaponized corruption and left citizens to battle with prayers what governments should solve with policy. My American friend went on: “Unless you are down on your luck or abuse the grace of God, it’s hard to find someone suffering because of bribery or corruption. But in Nigeria, people pray and fast to enjoy rights that should be automatic.” His words expose a national contradiction; citizens casting out demons to access clean water, electricity, jobs, safety, and justice. In such places, the spiritual warfare people engage in is not because God is weak but because institutions are. Yet Psalm 115:3 reminds us, “Our God is in the heavens; He does whatever pleases Him.” His sovereignty does not excuse human failure; it exposes it.
But the question lingers: if God is sovereign, can we be angry at Him when life collapses? The Holy Bible permits lament but warns against pride. Job questioned God, but he never dethroned Him. Bishop David Oyedepo once noted, “Mysteries are the secrets of God. Where you cannot trace His hand, trust His heart.” That trust becomes difficult in societies where citizens must “cast and bind” for every necessity. It becomes even harder when one leader survives a bullet while another dies. Yet Jesus dismantled the equation of tragedy with sin when He said of those killed by a collapsing tower, “Do you think they were worse sinners? No.” (Luke 13:4–5). Survival or death is not a measure of divine favouritism. It is a mystery anchored in purposes we do not yet see.
Still, disappointment makes some walk away from the church entirely. They cannot reconcile unanswered prayers with a good God. Others slide into prayerlessness because they are secretly offended by the Holy true God. But Scripture offers another lens. When Paul begged for deliverance and heaven stayed silent, God answered only with, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9). Silence is not absence; silence is strategy. As the Late T.B. Joshua often said, “When God seems silent, He is doing more than you think.” In functional societies, people thank God for what works. In dysfunctional societies, people blame God for what men broke. Both impulses reveal our limited understanding of sovereignty.
So why is one ruler preserved while another is lost? Why do miracles seem selective? Why do some nations bind demons while others bind policies? Because God’s purposes are woven through realities that transcend borders, faith traditions, and political systems. Romans 8:28 assures us not that everything is good, but that “all things work together for good.” Archbishop Desmond Tutu once remarked, “We live in a moral universe. Evil and injustice cannot have the last word.” Some leaders are spared to fulfill assignments; others finish their work in the moment they fall. Some nations suffer because of poor governance; others flourish because wisdom replaced greed. Patriotism demands we admit the difference.
In the end, the sovereignty of God is not accountable to public anger. The bullet that misses one life and claims another does not prove divine partiality; it proves the fragility of human existence. The suffering caused by corruption is not God’s will; it is humanity’s rebellion against responsibility. And when heaven seems silent, faith becomes the only honest response. Job, crushed yet unbroken, declared, “Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him” (Job 13:15). Trust is the antidote to bitterness. Wisdom is the antidote to national suffering. And when nations fail their people, it is not prayer that collapses; it is leadership if not he has given all we need. God remains God, whether bullets fly, systems fail, or prayers linger without answers.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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