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.

Literal or Metaphor

I’ve found myself coming back over and over to Jesus’ conversation with Nick at night in John 3. I have realized something new about Nick’s communication, how it differed from Jesus’ communication, how that difference got in the way of Nick understanding what Jesus was saying, and how often I’ve done the same thing. made that same mistake, and not merely once or twice.

Here’s the passage:

“Now there was a Pharisee, a man named Nicodemus who was a member of the Jewish ruling council. He came to Jesus at night and said, "Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God. For no one could perform the signs you are doing if God were not with him." Jesus replied, "Very truly I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God unless they are born again." "How can someone be born when they are old?" Nicodemus asked. "Surely they cannot enter a second time into their mother's womb to be born!" Jesus answered, "Very truly I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God unless they are born of water and the Spirit. Flesh gives birth to flesh, but the Spirit gives birth to spirit. You should not be surprised at my saying, 'You must be born again.'”  [John 3:1-7]

Recently I realized that Jesus was speaking metaphorically, while Nick – not understanding metaphor – was trying to understand his words literally. No wonder Nick had such trouble figuring Jesus out.

“You are Israel’s teacher,” said Jesus, “and do you not understand these things?” [verse 10]

Then I recognized that those two facts are related: Nick did not understand how Jesus was teaching because he was Israel’s teacher: because he spent his days studying the scriptures. He approached scripture very literally, and that literal way of interacting with the scriptures kept him from understanding what God was doing right in front of him.

That has been me often enough. I’ve approached scripture so terribly literally that I have misunderstood my Father who speaks literally sometimes and metaphorically sometimes. I’ve prided myself for not being afraid to interpret scripture literally, and yet that very literalist approach has often kept me from seeing, from understanding what God was doing in me, right in front of me.

Because God does not always speak literally.

#Unfiltered

“Unfiltered” is sort of a thing right now.

Folks talk on Instagram or Facebook about posts and pictures that are #Unfiltered:  they’re real, authentic, not faked, not Photoshopped, not particularly posed. “This is real,” they insist.

I believe that this is something God is doing. God is bringing this value for the authentic to the front of our attention.  God likes authentic. He likes real.

That’s one of the things I like about him. He doesn’t filter stuff. He’s authentic. He’s real.

He’s got this book (I guess they call it a Bible) that’s all about his relationship with the human race, and so it includes lots of humans in it: lots of people and their stories.

And he doesn’t filter it even a little bit. Completely unfiltered.

The people in his book, he calls some of them friends: some of them are real screw-ups. Hmm. Actually, most of them are. In fact, nearly all of them. If you were omnipotent and writing a book about your peeps, you’d think you’d show the shiny side, the good-looking side. Make them look good.

He does that a little, but that’s the smaller bit. The bigger bit is how badly his favorite people fark everything up. Or nearly everything. And he still hangs out with them.

One of his favorites started out really poor, but with a whole lot of God’s help, made it to the big time. And what does he do? He seduces the wife of one of his best friends (and daughter of another good friend). He gets her pregnant while hubby’s off fighting his imperialistic war. And then he murders her husband so he can have her all to himself. Alongside several dozen other wives and mistresses.

And God calls this son-of-a-birch-tree one of his favorites. What?

Another guy lies about his 60-year-old wife (“Nah, she’s my sister!” Essentially saying, “You can sleep with her if you promise not to kill me.”) And while they’re trying to figure out how to seduce her, he trades in on his status and ends up one of the richest dudes in the area. They have to ask him to leave so he doesn’t destroy their national economy.

God says, “Yeah, that guy is my example. I’m going to call him ‘the father of faith.’” As if it never happened!

Another guy refuses (three times!) to even acknowledge that he knows the guy when God puts on skin and comes to town. The religious freaks were setting up to murder him, and he totally ghosts the son of God. “Nope. Don’t even know the guy. Could you pass me a sandwich?”

And God makes him head of the church. Are you kidding me?

Yeah. It’s outrageous. It’s a complete travesty of justice.

And it’s one of the things I like best about this God.

It’s not that he doesn’t care if we muff it up. It’s just that muffing up doesn’t piss him off. He knows that’s how this species – built from dirt in the first place, anyway – is predisposed. And he doesn’t shun, ghost us, or get embarrassed when we come around.

In fact, he has spent literally all of recorded history pursuing us, coming to find us, getting on his knees to clean off our mess, to pull our foot from the trap, even ransom us from both sin AND death.

And if that wasn’t enough, he is so stoked to be close to us that he’ll happily live inside of us. That was his idea: not a hair’s breadth of distance between his almightiness and our dorky foolishness. Or rampant suckiness. Or unmitigated evilness. He’s not impressed. “Yeah, come here, you! Let me clean you up! Now isn’t this better, here with me?”

But wait! There’s more! He’s not done yet!

“So how’d you like to sit up here on this throne with me? Look, you can see the whole Kingdom from up here! So as long as you’re here on this throne, what kind of things would you like to do with this Kingdom? Cuz I’m going to share it, all of it, with you! We’re gonna do this together!”

Yeah, that’s the God we get to be with. #Unfiltered. Authentic. Real. Embarrassingly so.

And he invites us into all of this, to do all of life, with him.

If we’re willing.

The Ministry of Broken People

Here's an interesting observation. I've been with a number of broken people recently. Some of them are regular folks, and some broken people are leaders, occasionally famous leaders.

I'm noticing a trend about some of the broken, messed-up and damaged Believers: God doesn't appear to give a rat's hindquarters about their brokenness. He doesn't seem to be offended by the outcasts, the rejects, the jerks.

If they’re hungry (and that seems to be a clue for all of us!), he is really happy to fill them and use them and empower them. He makes a freakin' mess changing the world through them. He's downright extravagant in showing out through them.

I've been with a number of clean and tidy and well-educated people recently. I'm noticing a trend about some of them, too. They look good, they sound good, they are comfortable to be around.

And there's a whole lot of us in between there.

But really, I see more of God's signs and wonders, more people healed and delivered, more completely unexplainable "coincidences" in the aftermath of the first group. They go places I don't like to go. They take on circumstances that make me uncomfortable. And the glory of God drools out from their brokenness, their foolishness, their awkwardness in ways that most of us aspire to.

It's interesting how our culture labels the beautiful people as the big successes. There's more of us in-betweeners, so we win the popularity polls.

But it's the broken, socially inept, rude, crude and socially unacceptable ones, the ones who actually believe God and His Book, the busted ones trying to do the stuff: these are the ones I think are actually getting it right.

Father, Son & Holy Bible?

The Bible is indispensable for you and me. There’s life in its pages, life that cannot be found anywhere else. Let’s get that out of the way right up front. The Bible is a gift from God.

I wonder sometimes if we haven’t elevated the Bible above where it ought to be, if we haven’t made more of it than God intends for it to be to us.

As a species, we have this tendency, you know, towards extremism. Anything that’s good, we idolize. Anything that is uncomfortable, we demonize. Anything that is questionable, we outlaw. We seem inclined to over-simplify issues, and I wonder if we haven’t done that with the Scriptures.

I heard someone confess, recently that "... he no longer regards the Bible as inerrant, dictated by God, historically accurate in all of its claims or even internally consistent with itself." (Others have asked similar questions with different details. This is the list that came before me, so I’m reflecting on this list.)

Believers have bled and died over those four points points: Is the Bible:

Inerrant?
Dictated by God?
Historically accurate in every detail?
Internally consistent?

We’ve always been taught (or some of us have) that these are true, that the Bible is all of these things. But is it really?

Since I’ve grown up with a very healthy respect for the Bible, my first reaction was something akin to offense that anyone would even question these attributes. I’m not fond of offense in myself, so I try to examine my offenses when they occur.

And two thoughts occurred to me as I thought about this topic:

1.  We’ve always assumed (I have always assumed) that these attributes were true about the Bible. Assumptions are dangerous things. And

2.  These are not attributes that the Bible actually ever (as far as I can discern) claims for itself. The Bible does not, within its pages, ever claim to be inerrant (though it is “God-breathed” or God-inspired”) or dictated by the Almighty (in fact it claims the opposite), or historically accurate in every detail (much of it does not even aspire to be an historical record), nor does it claim that it is completely consistent within itself (though, in fact, it is remarkably consistent, it is not perfectly so).

And all of this leads me to consider these tentative conclusions:

If these are not attributes that the Bible ever claims for itself, then they must be attributes that people, human beings, have thrust upon it, and this must have happened after the Bible was written.

These sort of claims are not likely to be attributed to the Scriptures by secular people, or by contemplative mystics. These are the sort of claims that are more likely to come from a religious spirit.

I would rather not embrace conclusions that spring from a religious spirit, not even when those conclusions revere things (the Bible) that I hold in very high esteem, not even when they’re (presumably) made with good intentions.

None of this will challenge my love for the Scriptures. None of this will diminish the hours I spend in its pages, drawing life from it as Holy Spirit gently and consistently breathes it into my soul.

But I believe I’ll attempt to not attribute to the Bible things that the Bible does not claim for itself. If nothing else, that strikes me as a violation of the command to avoid adding to the Book.