I'm Homeless Again - pt. 2
March 21, 2007 I'm continuing to struggle through an understanding - or lack thereof - in the apparent contradictions inherent in the O.T. history of the Jewish people. As was rightly pointed out in the comments, there is a dynamic tension between opposing facets of God's character - his justice and mercy, for instance - and they are held in balance, or check, if you will, by one another. If a nation were to experience God's wrath they would not necessarily see his mercy, not be able to see or recognize or even know it existed - unless he cut short their 'punishment'. In short, it isn't possible to see all of God at once, and sometimes what we do see knocks us flat on our can.
It has also been pointed out that the first Passover had the effect of redistributing power and wealth and initiated land reform in Egypt. The drowning of the army in the Red Sea checked Egypt's territorial ambitions as well, and it took drastic measures on God's part to do all of this. That God accomplished this while releasing his people from bondage and slavery is another example of God's abilty to work to achieve multiple outcomes simultaneously; indeed, given the scale, complexity and inter-twining of the socio/political/economic affairs of we humans, it may be necessary for God to work to multiple outcomes simultaneously.
Part of what I've been struggling with is that the O.T. presents a history that is written entirely from the Jewish point of view. It is, more specifically, not a history but an intimate diary of the Jewish people's relationship with God. We know that God used other nations - Assyria and Babylon - to judge Israel for their sins, but we don't have a corresponding narrative of the Assyrian people's history with God, or the Babylonians, or the Egyptians, or the Philistines... Without those corresponding life stories we can't see God working on a global scale, in a multiplicity of ways, to achieve a multiplicity of outcomes and it may be impossible to grasp the 'big picture' expression of his love amidst all of the competing priorities, projects, deadlines and relationships he exists within. That such complexity is played out in both the nation and within the hearts, minds and lives of the common folks who inhabit that nation only increases the obscurity of God's love amidst humanity's collective pain.
That brings me back, however, to all those Egyptian mothers, burying their sons. What does the phrase, "God's love endures forever" mean to them? In the psalms it is an exaltation and celebration. The best we could hope for from those Egyptians, finding their first-born child dead on his pillow, is well, what exactly? A soul-weary assent to the concept of God's love? A grim determination to hold on to God's love? The problem of pain has never been satisfactorily resolved by any theologian or philosopher, and it can't be, because love isn't supposed to hurt. Lengthy and convoluted arguments abound, books have been written, classes have been taught, sermons preached. None of it matters a whit when your pillow is soaked with your tears, none of it makes any sense at all as you bury your child.
Though I haven't got a real good handle on this yet I have to say that sometimes God's love hurts. It just hurts. I know, I know - and I've said it myself - "If it hurts it's not love - it's abuse." That's not what I'm talking about. There was a time when I struggled with depression and landed on the couch under a blanket for three months. I went back to work too soon and ended up on the couch again. None of my prayers were heard. God was silent. That God-awful and God-forsaken time in my life, however, resulted in me being who I am today, and where I am today - quite literally, in both this job and this city - and has deepened my faith, understanding and appreciation of God in ways that I can scarcely enumerate. At the time, however, it was perhaps the most difficult experience of my life. It was horrible. I cannot describe how hard it was to live through it and, quite frankly, I don't know how I survived it.
When I talked to the man in the previous post, the drunk who had a good day because the cops didn't show up until almost 10 AM, he said that he didn't believe God loved him. "Do you know how you can tell God loves you?" I asked. When he shook his head I said, "Because I'm here." I put my hand on his shoulder and prayed for him, right there in the dining room, prayed that his bondage would be broken, prayed that God would set him free. Before leaving for the night he decided he was going to sober up again. About six hours later, however, he landed on the psyche ward of a local hospital because he was frightened by the suicidal thoughts that had suddenly entered his head. I truly believe that satan realized he'd lost his grip on this guy and simply tried to kill him. I visited him in the hospital and we sat in his room and talked and I knew enough to just let him talk, to not try and fix his problem, to advise him to listen to his doctor, to only try and live one day at a time, to reassure him that this is his journey. I knew all of that because I had been through those God-forsaken months when I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move, and I loved that guy, sitting there in that little room, loved him, and loved God and realized, for maybe the first time, that God never once promised us it would be easy, or seem fair, or even look right, but instead what he offered was himself.
There's a lot I still don't understand. There's a lot I never will. I keep seeing those Egyptian mothers, weeping through the night, see my friends struggling with boat loads of stuff they had no say in, see all the pain they must absorb and feel my heart breaking for them. The words 'paradox' and 'incongruity' come to mind. I've been carrying these questions around for a long, long time and, deep inside, wrestling, arguing and struggling with God over them. We can't let ourselves be afraid of the questions any more, becuase no sooner had I given voice to that doubt than God displayed himself - exactly in the way that I could understand - in the person of an homeless alcoholic on a psyche ward. That's not an 'answer', that's God being present in love and grace beyond anything I could have imagined; it's God working on a level - and levels - that are just so beyond me they defy rationalization and, although it may not be an 'answer' - or at least, not the answer I wanted - it feels right.
It's hardly a resolution, but for me, right now... it's enough.
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Reader Comments (11)
Love,
Jennelle
Hope you dont mind If I link you up for my five readers..A blog buddy who lives a bit closer to antarctica than me needs to hear this right now i think. Thank you thank you Thank you!
~m2~ As I am fond of saying, "thou dost truly rocketh!"
Dustin - Thanks for that - I had no idea there were others out there who felt the same way.
Been There - It's true. There were times when I wasn't thinking past the next five minutes, either.
Urbanmonk - I've been called a lot of things in my life, but 'friggin hero' - that's a first!!!
Robert - It's true. It takes a lot of nerve - and some would say ego - to say that God loves you because I'm here but... you're right. When it comes right down to it, God works through people, doesn't he?
"The problem of pain has never been satisfactorily resolved by any theologian or philosopher, and it can't be, because love isn't supposed to hurt."
Maybe I'm missing something, but I'd take exception to this part. This side of heaven, love always hurts. We'll be hurt and we'll dish it out. A lot of that pain is wrong but some of it is also necessary. I'm not saying this answers the death of Egyptian children, but even I discipline my son because I love the little bugger.