Showing posts with label Failure. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Failure. Show all posts

Thursday

Cussing Out God

I feel the need to talk about a turning point I experienced a long time ago. I don’t remember having shared this before. Please be patient with me; it’s hard to talk about, and hard to write about. I find it kind of embarrassing for six or eleven reasons.

Many years ago, my bride and I joined a missions team planning to plant churches in a foreign country. In hindsight, I suspect we followed my spiritual ambition more than we followed Holy Spirit. Live and learn. But we have some remarkable memories of God’s faithfulness. (And did you know that the Amazon rainforest is really beautiful?)

There’s this aphorism in Christian culture: “Where God guides, he provides.” That’s true. But God does not necessarily provide where my ego and my ambition have guided me. Oh, we have stories of miraculous provision for ourselves and our children, but the mission – since it wasn’t a God-directed event – did not go well. It went down in flames.

We eventually made it home, tail between our legs, having spent every dime we had, having spent every relationship we had, completely destitute and desperately depressed. We had a place to live for a few weeks, but after that, unless God did yet another miracle, we’d be raising our flock of kids under a bridge somewhere.

The depression, the presence of very real failure, my inability to “get a job” like everybody told me to, it was all on my back, a heavy weight, for months, and eventually, for years.

Someone recognized I needed help, and made arrangements for me to see a therapist (a practice I completely support if you need it – and I needed it!!), but that didn’t go well at all.

The sign outside his office instructed me to wait in the lobby, but it turned out that he had no lobby, and I ended up unintentionally walking in on someone else’s session at a really intense moment, and I did that only 10 minutes after a homeless guy had walked in on the same session.

The therapist lost it, and as I retreated in shame, the Christian guy that was supposed to help me get out of my depression opened his door and shouted imprecations at me. Not very encouraging, actually.

I kind of lost it. I had risked everything on this adventure at obeying (what I thought was) what God had said, and I had failed miserably at being a missionary, failed miserably at being a Christian, failed miserably at being a provider for my family, and was currently failing miserably at life. I was making plans for the most discreet way to kill myself, and this guy that’s supposed to help me rages at me and angrily slams the door on me, literally.

So God and I had it out.


You know, when we talk about powerful interactions with the Almighty, they’re supposed to be uplifting and what-not. There’s a standard of how believers are supposed to behave in the presence of Majesty.

Yeah, not so much. This was ugly. God had (as I saw it) betrayed me yet again, and I was done with enduring. I let him have it.

I stomped out of the therapist’s office complex, and stormed around the block (around a whole lot of blocks, actually), shouting my rage at God. I used every four-letter word I knew and made up some new ones to accuse him with. I yelled at him at the top of my lungs, my face flushed, my eyes streaming, gesticulating wildly. I cussed him up one side and down the other. If I could have reached him, I would have beat him up (yeah, right!), I was that mad at him. I beat up the air in his direction.

It felt like hours, and in hindsight, I’m really surprised that nobody called the police. Or maybe they did, but the police were too scared to confront me. I’m not a small boy, and I was really wound up; I was not safe to approach. I kind of expected God to smite me, and I wasn’t opposed to that idea: he’d abandoned me and betrayed and left me hanging so badly already; smiting was the next logical step.

And through it all, he didn’t say a thing. He didn’t actually smite me. I kind of had the distant sense that I had his attention, but he just let me go on about my rage. In hindsight, I kind of felt like he was holding my hair so I could vomit freely and not get it all over me. He took none of my foul accusations personally.

But it turned out that the rage was the turning point in my depression. Oh, I still couldn’t get a job that would pay the bills, and I still needed literal miracles to feed and house my family, and those came as they were needed. But the rage and the depression and the hopelessness had their back broken in that tantrum. Interesting.

A couple of weeks later, I had an evening with a friend that had been hung out to dry as badly as I had been. We commiserated for a few hours, but as I left, I recall really clearly saying to God, “Lord, to whom shall I go? You have the words of life.” And I recall, with similar clarity, recognizing that I really believed it. It shocked me, actually.

That was a bunch of years ago. I’ve told God (and a few others) that I’m actually glad that whole seven-year season is in my past: I’m glad I’ve learned the lessons of His faithfulness, his patience, that I don’t know I could have learned any other way. And I’m equally glad that season is not in my present, or (I trust) in my future. I don’t ever want to go through that again. But I know Him so much better these days, and I trust him so much more now, as a result of that crisis, which kind of culminated in that tantrum.

So do I recommend to folks going through their own hell-and-high-water crisis that they follow my example and cuss God out? Oh, hell no! Don’t follow me. I’m not the role model for your crisis.

But I absolutely recommend that believers, whether in crisis or not, to be absolutely honest and open with God, even with the ugly bits. And I acknowledge that it sure might take something extraordinary to get at the ugly bits that we Christians are so good at hiding, even from ourselves. Yeah, that needs to get out. Clean out every bit of that stinky refrigerator called the subconscious! And get help if you need it.

Oh, and that therapist and I eventually made peace. It turned out that nobody had ever walked in on a session before that day, and this was a particularly fragile client. He was completely freaked out when we eventually did meet, but by then, I don’t know that I needed his services so badly: Father had held my hair and let me vomit, and now it was all out. I just needed help rinsing out my mouth and stumbling back to bed.

Balaam’s Presumption

I’ve been reflecting on Baalam son of Beor recently (Numbers 22 – 24, I believe).
Balaam was known as a prophet whose words carried power (“...For I know that whoever you bless is blessed, and whoever you curse is cursed.”).

A local king (Balak, king of Moab) saw the horde of people on their way from Egypt, heading to the Promised Land, and he was afraid for his life. He had reason to be. This mob of former slaves had just wiped out the neighboring kingdom (21:25).

So he decides to hire the local prophet, and here is where things get interesting. This is what stuck out to me this morning:

Balak tries to hire Balaam to curse the invading army (22:6). Balaam answers, “I’ll check with God.” (22:8)

God tells Balaam “Do not go with them.” Balaam tells the recruiters, “Go back to your own country, for the LORD has refused to let me go with you.” (22:13)

So far so good.

But Balak is determined. He offers more cash, more status. Balaam knows God has already said no. That should have been the end of it. But he goes back to check with God again.

It occurs to me that an awful lot of prophets I know (NOT all of them!) have some measure of insecurity in them, and with reason. People who speak for God are not often welcome into polite society: prophets encounter rejection more than some folks. This seems to be a tender spot for Balaam.

And this is where things go haywire. God defers to Balaam’s free will, lets him go with them, but says, “...but do only what I tell you.”

Balaam saddles up his donkey and heads to Moab with the royal recruiters.

And along the way, an angel tries to kill him three times. 
His talking donkey saved his life. (22:28)

Interpreting this Old Covenant story through the newer, more complete revelation (Hebrews 1:3), it’s clear that it’s not God trying to kill the rebellious prophet. I suspect that rather his rebellion against God’s clear instruction (22:13) gave fallen angels (or demons) the right to go after him. A digression.

That’s what sin does, of course: it gives hell permission to beat on us. God says, “Be holy” for a reason. (Leviticus 11:44,45; 19:2, & 1Peter 1:16) (Fortunately, his command to be holy also releases his power for us to choose holiness successfully.)

I come away from this thinking that free will really is a big deal. Our free will is so powerful, it will let us defy the will of God. Of course, there are some formidable consequences to that choice, but it is still a choice.

It’s not that hard to talk yourself into doing what God said not to do. And God will let us do it. There have been times that I’ve asked him not to, but free will seems to be a big deal to him: he generally insists that we make our own choices.

Note that in the end, Balaam did attempt to curse Israel, but God turned it into a blessing (Deuteronomy 23:5), but he ended badly (2Peter 2:15 & Revelation 2:14).

I don’t want to be like Balaam. His words carried power. His prophecies all came to pass. But he was damned fool about it: he disappointed God and nearly got killed by an angel. (But he got to hear a donkey talk! That’s kind of cool. An ass talking to an ass, I guess.)