Writers In The Storm

The first time I read the bible in its entirety, I started in the book of John, at my wonderful sister’s suggestion, and kept going until I came around the horn again to John. My background held little bible reading, so the book contained many surprises for me. People got mad at God.

Subsequently I’ve learned that many people are mad at God, for various reasons, but at the time, it was a singular shock for me. I’ve been known to have a temper, so that wasn’t the salient point. But mad at God? The maker of the universe? What hubris? What temerity? What intimacy. And I was jealous.

It took awhile to sort my feelings about this. I encountered the first fist-clenched railing against our Lord with fear and trembling, expecting to read about lightning bolts clattering from the heavens to leave only the burnt remains of the complainer. But God let him rail. He indulged the pain, anger, and disappointment, and He answered.

Why did he bother to answer?

The complainer was one of His own. The two were on a first-name basis, so to speak. That’s when my muddle turned to jealousy. I couldn’t get mad at God, because we weren’t yet intimates. I kept Him outside my personal inner circle. Mind you, my inner circle at that time was more of a dot.

Many walk around angry at God, but they won’t take their anger to Him. They turn from God, because they refuse to leave their pain in His care. He invited us to lay all of our concerns at His feet. We can either trust him with it, or wear it like the chains of Jacob Marley. Honestly, who else wants it?

So I prayed that I might be able to get mad at God. Not that I had a ready list. But it implied an intimacy and that elusive “personal relationship” with God, that I wanted, but never before understood. I could also give Him my fears, my frailties, and my failings, and He would answer me.

So I prayed each day, all day, as things arose. An awkward conversation. An unsure decision. Running late, anxious for an appointment. In every case, He met me to stand in the gap and smooth my soul.

My path had its share of crooked turns, pitfalls, and mismarked trailheads. God led out of my own personal wilderness. I like to think I love much, because I have certainly been forgiven much. How can I get mad at that? But if I do ever find a reason, I know He will allow me an intimate setting in which to state my case. And I will never lose His love.

The Roman Centurion, of New Testament fame, surprised everyone with his faith.  His culture encouraged obeisance to multiple gods.  Nothing in his experience as a Roman citizen, military leader, or occupier of Capernaum suggested that he might humble himself to request the healing services of a sandal-footed Nazarene.  A Jew.

Another knew Jesus from the womb.  His birth foretold in the book of Isaiah, John the Baptist cried out a message of repentance in the wilderness.  He lived in preparation for the One who was to come and save.  The Messiah.

John baptized his followers in the Jordan with water.  He spoke of a day when another would come to baptize with the Spirit.  There, in the middle of the river, among his followers, with the heavens opening and the voice of God proclaiming love for his Son, Jesus, John had absolute clarity of purpose.

But the heavens eventually closed, the reverberation of God’s voice faded from his ears, and Herod, tired of his haranguing rebuke, arrested John.  He lay in a dark cell somewhere in the palace, contemplating the severity of his situation.  He heard news of Jesus’ ministry.  He bid his friends to go to Jesus and ask Him, “Are you the one who was to come, or should we expect someone else?” *

Born to make straight the way for our Savior, yet in his bleak hours, John doubted.  Wasn’t someone supposed to rescue him?    Was he right back in the desert, that God had anointed Jesus?  Didn’t these prison chains belong on Herod?

I know God has a special plan for me, but with the earthly measure I take, it will never compare to John’s.  And I doubt.  Not fundamentally, but in situations, in moments, in shadows, the fear I lived with before I came to understand, stalks briefly through my veins. 

I thank God for His inclusion of this particular testimony.  Even John the Baptist sometimes felt utterly, wearily, hopelessly, human. So it’s not just me, and I’m in excellent company.

* Matthew 11:3