Is God Fair?
I grew up in the northern suburbs of Chicago in the ’80s and ’90s. One of my all-time favorite memories was watching the Chicago Bulls during the Jordan–Pippen era. We usually caught the World Champs on TV, but every so often, my dad and I would drive up to Milwaukee to see them play the Bucks—home game tickets in Chicago were outrageously priced.
I was about twelve when I finally got to see the Bulls play in Chicago. It should’ve been a dream come true. Instead, that night changed how I saw the world, and eventually, how I saw God.
As Dad and I walked from the dim parking garage toward the United Center, I sidled up next to him and stared wide-eyed. Women in torn clothes, barefoot, cradling naked babies, knelt on the sidewalk, begging. Men and boys lay beside piles of trash—dead or sleeping, I couldn’t tell. I didn’t yet understand addiction. I just knew I’d never seen such despair.
That night, Jordan didn’t even play, and the Bulls lost. Afterward, Dad and I went to Gino’s East for pizza (still second place to Lou Malnati’s, in my opinion) and checked into a cheap hotel. I remember Dad speaking to the hotel clerk through a metal box in the middle of a glass window, which I imagined was bulletproof. As I lay in the creaky bed in the dingy room, trying to ignore the honking and shouting outside, the muffled arguments through the walls, and the cockroaches that scurried across my toes, I remember feeling ashamed.
Dad was a pastor, which meant money was tight—pastors weren’t known for big paychecks back then. We lived a modest, middle-class life in Mundelein, a blue-collar suburb surrounded by some of the wealthiest zip codes in the country. I knew we weren’t rich, and I complained a lot as a kid about not having the things – Air Jordan’s, jeans from The Gap – that my wealthier buddies had. But now, unable to sleep in that crappy hotel room, I realized how much I had to be thankful for. I had food, clothes, a bed, and two parents who loved me. Shit, Ben! You just got to see the Chicago Bulls play in person! I had no business complaining.
As an adult, I’m blessed to own a home, drive decent cars, and take the occasional vacation. I’m not rich, and I know I didn’t get in a stable financial position by my own genius. My parents raised me to be responsible. I learned (sometimes the hard way) what not to do with money. Although I’ve never struck it big, I’ve also never gone broke, and I pray that God continues to provide for my family every day. Most importantly, I believe that everything I have – my skills, my work ethic, my very mindset – is a gift from God. He gave me the ability to learn, to grow, to make choices. So when I see poverty – people begging on the street, strung out and hopeless – I can’t help but ask: God, how is this fair? Why did You give me parents who taught me how to be responsible, work hard, and trust in You, while others weren’t given these graces? Why was I spared when, with my own flaws and weaknesses, I could easily have ended up on the street?
It doesn’t feel fair. But maybe that’s because I was looking at fairness through earthly eyes.
God’s fairness isn’t measured by wealth, comfort, or success. His justice is eternal, not temporal. Earthly blessings are temporary, spiritual ones are everlasting. Some who “have it all” may be spiritually bankrupt, while others who suffer may grow in holiness. This leads to a harder question: If God is fair, how can hell exist? How can a loving and just God let anyone spend eternity there?
If my parents taught me to know God, and God created me with a soul open to His truth, is it fair that someone who never heard about Him should be lost forever?
Of course God is fair, Ben! If you weren’t taught about Him by your parents or a pastor, God still reveals Himself to each of us in countless other ways… right? When I was studying the human body in school, and even now in practice—I can’t help but think, this just didn’t happen by accident. When I’m watching the sunrise from a mountain peak, witnessing my children being born, or sharing a special moment with my wife, I cannot conclude that it all happened by chance. There’s an intelligent design behind the natural world and the way we interact with it and with one another. This is oftentimes referred to as Natural Revelation.
God also speaks to us through Personal Revelation. Sometimes, when I’m praying, reading Scripture, or sitting quietly in church, God’s voice breaks through with a truth so real I cannot deny it comes from Him. I also believe that the innate understanding of right and wrong is written on every human heart. Most people agree that rape and murder are wrong—but how do we know that unless it was placed in us from the moment of our creation? Animals don’t know that killing is wrong.
I don’t want to downplay these supernatural experiences, but if I’m honest, I didn’t recognize that these revelations were from God until after I became a Christian. I didn’t connect the dots until after I committed my life to Christ. Looking back, I see that the only reason I accepted the existence of God in the first place was because I was taught about Him—and because He gifted me with a soul open to that truth. He gave me fertile soil where the seeds of faith could take root and bear fruit. Still, none of this was of my doing.
If all good things come from God, then even my openness to Him was a gift. I didn’t earn it. It was planted in me by Him. And that brings me back to grace: even my willingness to believe in Him was an act of His mercy. So, if someone wasn’t given the same graces that I’ve been given, how is it fair that they go to hell?
If you’re a Christian, you’re likely familiar with the idea of free will. For our love of God to be real, we must also have the freedom to reject Him. It’s a hard truth—the very reason evil exists—but it’s also essential for genuine love between the Creator and His creation. Once we come to terms with the reason for suffering, we can begin to see that even suffering can be a blessing. I’ve written often about my own struggles, and in hindsight, I can honestly say I wouldn’t want to live without them. Suffering refines, humbles, and draws us closer to God—like gold purified by fire. Many of the saints found holiness not through comfort, but through hardship. Comfort can dull the soul; suffering can awaken it.
Along with my understanding of true love and suffering, I’ve come to understand that God judges us not by what we have, but by what we do with what we’ve been given. Each person’s life – every gift, experience, and struggle – is designed for their sanctification. Fairness doesn’t mean sameness; it means purpose.
“To whom much is given, much will be required.” (Luke 12:48) Those with wealth or talent carry greater responsibility. Those with less are not held to the same measure. God weighs the heart, not the outcome. God offers the same invitation to grace for everyone. Salvation is the great equalizer. Rich or poor, educated or not, every soul has access to His mercy. Life’s inequalities end at the gates of eternity.
In the end, God’s fairness will be fully revealed when all wrongs are made right. The poor, the forgotten, the faithful will know joy beyond imagination. And those who reject grace will do so by their own free will. Just as some choose self-destruction in this life, some will choose separation from God in the next.
So yes, God is fair. Perfectly fair.
He gives each of us exactly what we need to become who we’re meant to be. That’s how I see it. But I’m curious—how do you see God’s fairness?
