Why: You Allowed This To Happen.

A message to Believers

Sometimes I think and wonder If Adam and Eve had never fallen, the universe would have remained in a state of perfect harmony, untouched by suffering, lack, or death. Every part of creation would reflect the intention of its Creator, functioning not in chaos but in absolute unity. Humanity would not know sorrow, for there would be no loss. The human condition would not be shaped by greed or selfishness, but by an innate connection to divine purpose. We would exist not merely as mortals, bound by weakness, but as beings of unshaken power, living in the fullness of what we were meant to be.

Imagine a world where decay does not exist, where the limitations of sickness and exhaustion never touch life. Every living thing flourishes, sustained by an eternal balance between the Creator and His creation. There would be no fear, no violence, no pain. The very fabric of existence would be woven with nothing but beauty, fulfillment, and peace. Love would be pure, untainted by manipulation or insecurity. Every interaction would be marked by the deepest form of unity, with hearts and minds functioning as they were originally designed.

The harmony of such a world would be indescribable because it would be beyond the scope of human experience. The only reference we have is the broken reality we live in now, a world marked by suffering and separation. But if mankind had never fallen, there would be no need for redemption, because there would be nothing to restore. No need for salvation, because there would be nothing to be saved from. The very meaning of existence would be profoundly different, untainted by the weight of failure or the struggle of survival.

This is what was lost. This is what could have been. And now the question must be asked, if this is what was intended, what does that mean for the world as it is today? What does it mean for redemption? For salvation? For humanity itself?

If the fall of mankind was solely caused by temptation, then the presence of Satan in proximity to God’s creation is a question that demands an answer. His betrayal was not an ordinary rebellion—it was cosmic treason, an event so destructive that its consequences rippled through creation itself. And yet, despite this unparalleled defiance, he was permitted to exist, permitted to roam, permitted to approach the very beings made in God’s image. Why?

A betrayal of this magnitude should have warranted immediate and complete destruction. There should have been no survival, no allowance for his continued presence. And yet, he remained, not only surviving but having direct access to the first humans and still for a brief time was allowed access to the kingdom of Heaven. If Adam and Eve fell because of his influence, then why was that influence allowed? The simple answer—that God permitted it—is insufficient. The deeper question is, why would He permit it? Why would He allow the possibility of devastation for the very creation He deemed “very good”?

And then comes the matter of free will. There are some who say that God was testing Adam and Eve’s ability to obey, but this explanation presents a contradiction. Before Satan ever spoke, Adam and Eve had already exercised free will. They had been given instruction, and they had chosen to obey. Their free will had been intact, tested, and proven. So why then was a new test introduced—not one of simple obedience, but of external manipulation?

God could have shielded His creation from danger. He could have ensured that no force would ever threaten the purity of what He had made. And yet, a being that should have been utterly destroyed was permitted to enter, permitted to speak, permitted to set into motion the downfall of mankind. This allowance changed everything. And if the consequences of this allowance have shaped the reality of human suffering, then the weight of this question cannot be ignored.

If the universe was meant to be pure, untouched by corruption, then why was corruption given space to exist? If free will was tested through obedience, then why was temptation introduced? If God valued His creation beyond all else, then why did He allow a fallen being to have the power to undo it?

The weight of these questions demands exploration. Because if we are searching for understanding, then we must first confront the reality of what was permitted before we can grasp what has been redeemed.

The scale of suffering that has unfolded since the fall is almost impossible to fully grasp. The countless lives lost, the unthinkable ways people have died, the agony endured generation after generation—all of it traces back to the moment where corruption was allowed to take root. If the number of people who have lived and died since that moment exceeds 100 billion, then the weight of what was introduced into existence cannot be overstated.

And it’s not just death—it’s everything that precedes it. The sorrow, the grief, the unbearable realities that have driven people into despair. Disease that ravages the body, depression that suffocates the mind, moments of such profound hopelessness that life itself feels impossible. The darkness that permeates existence did not have to be. But it was allowed.

A creation meant for perfection was corrupted indefinitely. Selfishness, greed, cruelty—these things should never have existed. And yet, they became intrinsic to the human experience, passed down without consent, embedded into the very fabric of existence. An inheritance no one asked for, yet one that cannot be refused. 

This unsolicited inheritance carries an ultimate consequence—death and separation. And the only way to reverse this separation is through a price that cannot be paid by human effort, only by something divine. A cost beyond human ability, requiring a substance of divine origin to restore what was lost. But this brings forward yet another contradiction—if free will exists, why must reconciliation require something outside our own ability to choose? 

This debt is astronomical, and yet it was given with no choice. And all of this—the suffering, the hopelessness, the inevitable separation—was allowed.

As time passed after the fall, humanity multiplied, but so did the corruption that had taken root. The world that was never meant to be—a world of suffering, rebellion, and separation—became fully realized. Satan and the fallen angels continued their operations, spreading their influence and deepening the fractures in creation. The purity of mankind was further compromised when angels and humans intermingled, producing the Nephilim, beings that were neither fully human nor fully divine. This contamination of the human bloodline threatened the very lineage that would one day lead to Jesus Christ, the one who would bring redemption.

The earth was in peril, drowning in wickedness. Unspeakable things took place daily, and the world spiraled further into chaos. God looked upon His creation and saw nothing but evil, save for one man and his family—Noah. In the midst of corruption, Noah remained faithful, a lone beacon of obedience in a world consumed by darkness.

And then comes one of the most striking moments in scripture. Genesis 6:6 NASB states, “So the LORD was sorry that He had made mankind on the earth, and He was grieved in His heart.” This verse presents a profound and unsettling thought—God, the Creator of all things, regretted making man. The weight of this statement cannot be ignored. If God is perfect, if His plans are flawless, then how could He experience regret? People often say that God does not make mistakes, but when a person regrets something, it is often because they recognize that what has happened is not what they intended. 

Regardless of whether God would ever admit to making a mistake, His response to this regret was catastrophic. He did not simply remove the wicked individuals—He wiped out nearly all of creation. The flood was not a minor correction; it was a complete reset. Every living thing that had been tainted was destroyed, save for Noah and his family. The judgment was swift, devastating, and absolute.

This raises yet another question—if God allowed corruption to spread, if He permitted the contamination of His creation, then why did He later regret it? If He knew the consequences of allowing Satan to exist, of permitting free will to be tested through temptation, then why did He reach a point where He felt sorrow over what had happened? And if His solution was to erase nearly all of humanity, then what does that say about the weight of what had been lost?

The flood was not just a punishment—it was a reckoning. It was the moment where God, seeing the full extent of what had become of His creation, decided that the only way forward was destruction. And yet, even after the flood, sin remained. The world was cleansed, but the human condition was not erased. The unsolicited inheritance of sin continued, passed down through generations, leading to the need for an even greater act of redemption.

If regret led to destruction, then what does redemption truly require? If God was willing to wipe out nearly all of humanity, then what does that say about the depth of the corruption that had taken hold? And if the flood was meant to cleanse the earth, then why did sin persist even after the waters receded?

Time passed, and humanity flourished again. God found Abraham and chose him to be the foundation of a great people. From him, God formed a nation, a covenant people, and from his lineage, even the gentiles would later be spiritually grafted in. But though God established them, His people lost their way. Sin remained, rebellion endured, and suffering continued. 

Centuries passed, and the descendants of Abraham found themselves enslaved, bound under the rule of Pharaoh. The weight of oppression pressed upon them, yet God did not abandon them. He found Moses, a man through whom He would deliver His people. Through signs and wonders, through divine intervention, Egypt was shattered, and Israel was freed. 

More time passed, and again, Israel lost its way. They were scattered, exiled, and dispersed among the nations. And yet, no matter how far they strayed, they always found their way back to their promised land. A pattern emerged—destruction, suffering, redemption, and return. But as the world approached the time of Jesus, everything that had happened since the waters receded had not simply occurred by chance. These events were allowed to happen. And at this point, they needed to happen, because a greater solution was being plotted—a resolution not just for Israel, but for all of creation. 

The suffering Israel endured—often at their own hands, yet also by the hands of their enemies—was immense. But this story does not belong to Israel alone. The entire world was still suffering under the weight of the fallen state—the condition of sin. Every nation, every people, every soul was marked by the same reality. The state of mankind remained broken. The struggle of life endured. And though many had found power, wealth, and influence, none had found freedom from the curse that had shaped their existence since the beginning.

And so, as history unfolded, as generations rose and fell, the world unknowingly stood at the precipice of something greater than suffering, greater than exile, greater than rebellion. A moment was coming—one that would shift everything.

The Messiah had come. He had come to die for our sins. But not just for the sins of lying, stealing, adultery, or even murder. If salvation was merely a transaction, where one divine life was exchanged for a list of individual wrongdoings, the depth of Christ’s sacrifice would seem almost trivial. Could something so unimaginably powerful truly need to die for something as small as a single act of theft, deception, or betrayal?

For those unaware, the exchange might seem unworthy. Why would God Himself need to die just because a man committed a crime? But Jesus did not simply erase the wrongdoing. He did not allow people to walk away unscathed. Instead, He took upon Himself the entirety of what justice required. He absorbed the fate of the murderer, the sinner, the broken. In that moment, He was the one condemned, the one punished, the one forsaken. And in this light, forgiveness is no longer a mere pardon—it is a weight, a necessity, a force beyond comprehension.

This is why Jesus’ sacrifice cannot be understood merely in terms of individual sins. His death was not for the actions themselves—it was for the state of being that caused those actions. Sin is not something you simply do. Sin is something you are, something you are born into, something you cannot escape. The fall ensured that humanity would always miss the mark, always fall short of the glory of God, always exist in separation unless something divine intervened.

The fact that mankind existed in its fallen state was, in itself, the definition of sin. This is why a simple act of repentance could never be enough. This is why no ordinary sacrifice could repair what had been broken. The world did not need merely forgiveness—it needed reconciliation. It needed something pure enough to overwrite the curse, something beyond mortal strength that could reverse the fate inherited unwillingly.

And yet, one could look at God and ask, How could You allow this? How dare You allow such suffering? The pain, the sorrow, the unimaginable devastation—was all of this not His fault? In a sense, it was. He allowed it. He permitted it to unfold. But make no mistake—humanity played its part as well.

And so, when Jesus died, He took upon Himself everything—every death, every act of violence, every loss, every heartbreak. He absorbed the totality of suffering that had spread across all generations, all history, all creation. Every horrific, tragic, accidental, natural death, and the cataclysmic outcome of the flood was placed upon Him, not just as a burden, but as an experience. Because to pay a debt, one must feel the debt. 

On that day, Jesus Christ did not merely represent suffering—He felt it. Every loss, every disease, every hopeless moment that had ever existed was absorbed into His divine vessel, the only vessel strong enough to endure the full weight of divine judgment. He did not just die—He felt death itself, the separation, the anguish, the reality of everything humanity had been forced to endure since the fall. EVERYTHING 

And in that moment, something shifted. When He cried out, “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” He was not merely calling out in despair—He was experiencing the ultimate separation, the full weight of what it meant to be cut off from the Father. Because that was the true consequence of sin—not just suffering, not just hardship, but separation from God Himself. God turned his back on his son, so that he could FACE his creation once again and reconcile them back into his bosom. 

And yet, even after absorbing it all, He remained. He did not collapse under the weight of it. He remained long enough to take it completely. And when the suffering had run its course, when the judgment had been fulfilled, He bowed His head, and He laid His life down willingly. Father, into Your hands, I commit My spirit.

The moment Jesus died was not simply an act of redemption. It was, perhaps, a reckoning. A divine resolution to everything that had been allowed. A necessary conclusion to a plan that had permitted suffering for the sake of something greater. And when He took it all upon Himself, He did not merely erase the consequences—He bore them, He felt them, He endured them. Past, present, and future, so that creation could finally find its way back to the presence of God.

This was the cost of reconciliation. And this is where redemption truly began…. 

When I think about it, I sometimes think the sacrifice of Jesus was an apology for everything God allowed since the beginning of creation. He allowed Man to suffer through unsolicited, unwilling inheritance, at no choice of our own. So, He allowed his Son to pay a debt that was never His. An eye for an eye……

God is faithful. 

Amen