stop hiding

“I am the Vine, you are the branches. When you’re joined with me and I with you, the relation intimate and organic, the harvest is sure to be abundant. Separated, you can’t produce a thing.” (John 15:5, The Message)

Image by Brenda Anderson via Flickr

This coming advent I am planning to join in something that many of the churches of my tribe are doing in our area. We are planning to join together in 40 days of prayer, asking Jesus to come into our world, into our churches, into our homes, and into our lives.

I have to admit, in many ways I prefer to do something a bit more concrete. I prefer to do something like the Advent Conspiracy that we did last year. Our community responded really well to this call to share, and we raised a little over $50 000 on Christmas Day to help provide water for places that do not have clean water.

I think we prefer to do something like this, because it is something we can point to that shows how good we are, or how caring we are, or how ‘good’ we are. It is something that we can point to that relieves some of the angst we feel about our relationship with God. The worry that maybe we, as a community, could be doing something a bit better in leaning on God.

We like these kinds of things because they focus on behaviour, and that is something we love to control.

Many of the sermons, and Christian talk that I was exposed to growing up had to do with moralisms. Things such as “Adam and Eve should have obeyed God. You should obey your parents” actually send the wrong message about the Christian faith, but it plays on our natural instincts.
This plays into the “moral temptation.”

Moral temptation: the attempt of the hidden heart to try to perfect oneself in the power of the self.

This is not something we do consciously, but subconsciously. We use an appearance of goodness to cover over the shame we feel about how broken we are. Something we inherited from Adam and Eve.

Their first response to guilt and shame, to a feeling of being completely exposed and worrying about how they were being perceived, was to try to figure out a way to fix it on their own (by sewing together fig leaf garments) and then hiding when they realised that didn’t work. You get the feeling that they would have been willing to meet with God if they had been able to provide a covering for themselves with which they felt adequate, not that this is possible.

When we experience guilt, our first response is quite often, “God, I am going to work on that. I am going to be better. I am going to pray more. I am going to do more. I am going to _________.” This, of course, only increases our feelings of guilt and inadequacy, beginning a long spiral into spiritual despair and distance from God.

But, if we are able to see that moment of being convicted of sin as a reminder of the first time we encounter the good news that Jesus has covered that sin. If we can see that the guilt we carry is not a burden which we have to try and work off, but an invitation to a journey of trust and growing intimacy with God, then we will be able to move away from moral formation to spiritual formation.

Even though it is a big temptation to focus on the practical, the numerical, the easily identifiable, it is more important that we focus on an encounter with Christ ;the author and finisher of our faith.

It is only in Christ that we can move from “I need to do better” to “I need you.”

““I am the Vine, you are the branches. When you’re joined with me and I with you, the relation intimate and organic, the harvest is sure to be abundant. Separated, you can’t produce a thing.” (John 15:5, The Message)

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learning to lament

As a child I always wanted to walk with a cane. I thought it would be very cool to be reliant upon something like that.

I also thought that I would get a lot of attention from the ladies.

I sprained my ankle once, out of my own stupidity. It wasn’t really that bad, but I insisted on using crutches so that I would not hurt myself more. Really I was just looking for sympathy. It worked too. Some of the girls at school who wouldn’t look at me before suddenly spent time looking after me. The shine wore off after a while, however, and every things went back to normal.

I guess I just wanted attention, and thought that suffering would bring it.

Our culture hates to suffer. We do everything we can to make sure that everything is comfortable. To make sure that there are no aches and pains. We do everything to avoid one of the most transforming experiences there is in this world.

Last night we began a Bible study on the Psalms of Lament where we began to think about what it means to use our suffering as something that can transform the relationship we have with God. The Psalms, especially those of lament, encourage us to be honest with God, to be free with our language.

The notion of ‘liberation of language’ cuts two ways. On the one hand, we may be more free with our language, to let our language be liberated, not by being permissive or vulgar, but by letting it move beyond descriptive functions to evocative, creative functions in our life. That language should be free means that we will turn it loose to form new possibilities for us–allowing us to engage in free speech that is hope-filled.

On the other hand, the notion of the liberation of language is not only about free speech, but about speech freeing us. Thus we may become aware that when speech is broken free from a need for exactitude and permitted to reshape our existence and experience, we will experience new freedom that is not just freedom of speech, but freedom for faith. Language matters enormously. If our speech and the speech of the Bible must be too closely managed, it likely means restriction both of God and us. On the other hand, free speech for God may release the energy which leads to “all things new.”

The Psalmic metaphors we consider offer to us not descriptions but news, not situations but movements of God that will change things. Praying the Psalms means openness to God’s pilgrimage toward us.

Allowing our language to reflect our experience of life and God frees us from the shackles that we place on our relationship. It releases us from having to speak to God in a certain form and gives us the freedom to approach him as our perfect Father.

We started by having a look at the structure of a Psalm of Lament as suggested by Claus Westermann.

I.Address

A.The lament psalm normally begins with an invocation of the divine name, beginning a conversation.

B.This beginning address may be accompanied by other forms of speech: an introductory cry for help (Ps 12), petition for an audience (Ps 5), a lament (Ps 13)

II.Lament: A lament normally has three subjects: You, o God…; I…; the enemies…(Ps 13:1-3)

III.Confession of Trust: The lament often gives way to some sort of confession of trust, often introduced with a “But”.

IV.Petition

A.The principle petition/plea consists of three parts

i.petition for God to be favourable (look … incline yourself…hear)

ii.petition for God to intervene (help…save)

iii.petition for God to destroy the enemy

B.These petitions are normally accompanied by phrases designed to move God to intervene. There is often some sort of motivation given that urges God to do the requested action.

V.Assurance of Being Heard

VI.Double Wish: Occasionally a lament with ask God to intervene against …. and for …

VII.Vow of Praise

VIII.Anticipatory Praise

These are, of course, general categories which may or may not be present in every Psalm. In fact, sometimes it is telling when certain parts are missing.

Take, for example, Psalm 88. This is the only Psalm of Lament that does not end in praise (as far as I am aware). We began looking at it because it is one that simply describes the situation of the lamenter. There is no movement in it. It simply expresses to God a sense of being wronged and abandoned.

Psalm 88 (The Message)

God, you’re my last chance of the day.

I spend the night on my knees before you.

Put me on your salvation agenda; take notes on the trouble I’m in.

I’ve had my fill of trouble; I’m camped on the edge of hell.

I’m written off as a lost cause, one more statistic, a hopeless case.

Abandoned as already dead, one more body in a stack of corpses, And not so much as a gravestone— I’m a black hole in oblivion.

You’ve dropped me into a bottomless pit, sunk me in a pitch-black abyss.

I’m battered senseless by your rage, relentlessly pounded by your waves of anger.

You turned my friends against me, made me horrible to them.

I’m caught in a maze and can’t find my way out,

blinded by tears of pain and frustration.

I call to you, God; all day I call. I wring my hands, I plead for help.

Are the dead a live audience for your miracles?

Do ghosts ever join the choirs that praise you?

Does your love make any difference in a graveyard?

Is your faithful presence noticed in the corridors of hell?

Are your marvelous wonders ever seen in the dark,

your righteous ways noticed in the Land of No Memory?

I’m standing my ground, God, shouting for help,

at my prayers every morning,

on my knees each daybreak.

Why, God, do you turn a deaf ear?

Why do you make yourself scarce?

For as long as I remember I’ve been hurting;

I’ve taken the worst you can hand out, and I’ve had it.

Your wildfire anger has blazed through my life;

I’m bleeding, black and blue.

You’ve attacked me fiercely from every side,

raining down blows till I’m nearly dead.

You made lover and neighbour alike dump me;

the only friend I have left is Darkness.

Notice how this psalm never moves past lament. There is no confession of trust, no petition, and no praise. There are times in many of our lives when we feel this way, when we feel lost, when we feel abandoned. We assume we cannot talk like this to God, so we simply walk away.

Never expressing the hurt.

Allowing the wall to grow thicker and thicker.

I pray that we would be able to grasp the freedom we have to approach God with our experience. To tell him how we feel, and how much it hurts.

To express our pain so that it can be transformed into something else.

To expose ourselves so that we can be transformed.

keep pushing

Road To Nowhere

Originally uploaded by charminbayurr

My son is just starting to learn how to ride a two wheeler (with training wheels of course). He never really learned how to pedal anything before, so there is a lot to learn. He has to figure out how to turn his feet around on the pedals and push at the right times, alternating one leg and then the other. He has to figure out how to balance a little so that he does not feel like he is falling over. He has to concentrate and steer so he does not go off the road and fall in the ditch.

So many things to learn.

The last few weeks we have been going to a vacant road in an industrial park in the evenings to give him lots of room to learn. His mum has been learning how to ride a motorcycle at the same time. I have had to get rather firm with him because he simply wants to give up. Time and again, when it gets a bit tough he just wants me to push him along. I don’t mind giving him a push to get started, but he wants me to keep pushing him.

He wants to simply coast along while I do all the work.

I love to coast too. I love to have someone pushing me along, forcing me to do the things that I need to do. I love to have someone else making me grow in my relationship with God.

Wait. That’s not how it works? You mean to tell me that if I simply show up on Sunday, and have some emotions stirred up by a worship service, then go home and spend no more time in the Word, or doing service, or practising other Christian disciplines I will never actually strengthen my faith?

When I look down the road laid ahead of me, the road that leads me to God and to the person I really want to be, it looks so long. I would rather have someone push me than have to learn how to move by myself.

The problem is, we need to learn or else we will forever be stuck at the beginning of our road. We are all travelling a different road and no one will travel mine with me. There will be some who will come alongside me for a while. They may be able to give me a little boost, maybe pick me up after I have fallen, but then they will have to move on to their own road and I will need to continue mine.

We are responsible for our own lives, and this includes our relationship with God.

losing control

Last night we looked at the ten plagues that preceded the exodus of Israel from Egypt. It struck me as we were going through them that they seemed to go on and on. I could see the eyes of the congregation, especially the young people, glazing over as we went through them (and we did it quickly). There are some interesting differences, but it is really hard to go through the whole list of ten and have any semblance of what this must have been like for the Egyptians.

One tragedy after another.

This would be like ten hurricanes crashing into New Orleans in succession. Like ten large earthquakes rocking Sanfransisco. We do not do well with one tragedy, let alone ten in a row. When one major event like this happens, everything shuts down. The whole country tunes it to see what is going on. Everyone pitches in to help.

But ten like this? We have no frame of reference.

That is why it is so hard to understand Pharaoh. Here is a man who is absolutely stubborn. He is given countless opportunities to do what God is asking him. There are numerous times where he could actually let go of his control and let the people go. But that is just the problem.

Pharaoh wants to keep control. Even when he decides to let them go, as he does a couple of times after a plague, he wants to control the terms of their release.

Pharaoh absolutely refuses to let God be God.

I see myself in Pharaoh. I see myself sitting here wanting to negotiate the terms of my surrender. I see myself trying to make sure that I retain some semblance of control over my life and the lives of those around us. I see myself refusing to let God be God.

This, however, does not work. God will not allow us to continually refuse to let him be in control. He may need to humble us. When I see Pharaoh, after the last plague, I see a man stripped of all illusion of control. I see a man completely defeated.

I pray that I will never get to that point.

I pray that I will hand my life over to God before he comes and takes it from me.

I pray the same for you.

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scream at God

Psalm 13 has been a very close friend at times when I am going through a rough patch. I find it so refreshing how David screams at God, demanding that he listen and do something about the situation, all in the context of a covenant relationship.

See, the covenant goes two ways. God asks us to love and trust him, and in return he promises life. Not just life in the future, but eternal, fulfilling life, now. There are many days, however, that I get sick of waiting to catch a glimpse of that new life. There are many days when I feel as though the old life has too great a hold to expect anything else. There are days when I sit and look out the window wondering, “Who cares?”

Normally when we talk about the covenant going two ways, we outline our responsibilities toward God. We talk about how we are required to live a life that shows how great our gratitude is for what God has done for us in Jesus.

But what about God’s part? If we trust God’s offer of bringing life, abundant life, to those who follow him, why does crap happen to us?

I guess that is why I love the laments so much. They cry out to God to do what he has promised. To fulfil his end of the deal.

I have a friend who is going through a very difficult time right now. She gives all the good “Christian” responses, like “God will get me through.” and “I am healing.” But there is an undercurrent of anger and doubting which she refuses to acknowledge.

This undercurrent is slowly separating her from God.

I asked her how she was with God. She said, “I find it hard to talk to him right now.”

So I said, “Then don’t talk; scream, curse, yell, rail, tell him how you feel, in whatever way you feel.”

I think we have a very small picture of God. We assume that if we get angry with him, he is either going to do something bad to us in retaliation, or he will reject us completely. But God knows how we are feeling. He knows we are pissed at him, and when we come to him with nice words and platitudes, but our hearts are angry he sees the discrepincy and I can’t help but wonder if that hurts him more.

If my kids were angry with me, and yet came to me with nice words I would think they did not trust me enough to share their true selves with me.

God is a big boy, he can handle it.

So if you are stuck. If you are walking the valley and it seems as though God is not there. If you feel like accusing God for what has happened in your life, go ahead.

Your in good company.

Jeremiah:

Why is my pain unending and my wound grievous and incurable? Will you be to me like a deceptive brook, like a spring that fails? (Jeremiah 15:18)

Job:

Am I the sea, or the monster of the deep that you put me under guard? When I think my bed will comfort me and my couch will ease my complaint, even then you frighten me with dreams and terrify me with visions, so that I prefer strangling and death, rather than this body of mine. I despise my life; I would not live forever. Let me alone; my days have no meaning. What is man that you make so much of him, that you give him so much attention, that you examine him every morning and test him every moment? Will you never look away from me, or let me alone even for an instant? If I have sinned, what have I done to you, O watcher of men? Why have you made me your target? Have I become a burden to you? Why do you not pardon my offences and forgive my sins? For I will soon lie down in the dust; you will search for me, but I will be no more. (Job 7:12-21)

Peter Rollins puts it this way in his book The Orthodox Heretic

Far from being something to condemn of discourage, the idea of fighting with God as part of what it means to express one’s deep abiding faith in God seems to be a unique aspect of the Judeo-Christian tradition.

We need not hide our feelings of anger or betrayal, but we are encouraged to express them. After all, did not Jesus himself cry out in a voice of betrayal from the cross?

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

The psalms of lament can be powerful allies in times of struggle because they provide the kind of vocabulary that is necessary to express this pain to God. They are also invaluable, because they provide a trusting framework in which the complaint can be registered.