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(WARNING: This is an uncensored rant against God. If you find such things as doubt, anger, and questioning toward God offensive, read no further. If not, then read on.)
Have you ever felt like God was Jerry Maguire and you were Cuba Gooding, Jr. and you are all, “I’m here! I’m sticking by you when everyone else has ‘runnoft!’ I’m answering your call with a big ‘yes!’ Thick and thin – I’m right here! I got the goods, got the talent and the drive – so SHOW ME THE MONEY!” And God’s not in this scene ‘cause he’s ditched you to go hang out with Renee Zellweger and her red-headed kid, ‘cause the story starts to wander and he’d rather be with her than you?
And then you realize that you’ve got it backwards – you aren’t in the scene with God and Renee at all. You’re somewhere off camera yelling into a phone at no one, and this story isn’t about you anyway?
Which is really lame because you are a much better actress than Renee Zellweger, right?
Yeah. Me, too.
Abraham. Moses. David. Elijah. Jeremiah. Hosea. Mary. Jesus. Peter. Paul. Martin Luther. Teresa of Avila. Martin Luther King. Gandhi. Eli Weisel. Deitrich Bonheoffer. Oscar Romero. Mother Teresa. Nelson Mandela.
Each one of these folks gets the call. Each one goes through this “dark night of the soul” thing with God. And like the Player in Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead, each one soon realizes that he or she is acting his or her heart out in a play that no one is watching.
Humiliating.
Not that I’m in any way close in comparison with the superstars on the list, but I’d say at this moment in my call, “humiliating” about sums it up.
It’s funny. We usually blame the chosen ones for doubting God. However it seems to me they all share the same story of a deadbeat God who woos them, gives them a reason for living, and then takes the next train out of town. He never calls or texts, and they are left behind with all God’s children to take care of and not a clue as to when the next child support payment is coming.
So do I have a right to complain? To doubt? To raise my fist and scream, “You did this to every other snuggle buddy you’ve had! I should have known!”
Damn straight I do. God called. I followed. I did what was asked. And now – nothin’. Nada. Zilch. The big goose-egg. Zippo. Kerplunk.
This is how the children of Israel must have felt as they wandered for 40 years. They get a few miracles every now and then – some water coming from a rock….the Red Sea split in two….the earth opening and swallowing a few families. But the rest of the 40 YEARS is hiking. In a desert. With manna for breakfast-lunch-and-dinner every freakin’ day. And where does the manna come from? Dirt.
I figure they’ve got a right to murmur. And since I’ve been wandering more than 40 years now (albeit eating much better than dirt chips), I’ve got a right to murmur too.
I understand that God is God and I am not, but if God became human for my sake, then please don’t let the lesson of humanity be lost over the two thousand years since Mary and Joseph chastised the little troublemaker for not watching the time and keeping up with the caravan. Humans need relationship. I can’t keep up with a God who doesn’t regularly talk to me. I need the interaction.
I’m not asking for double rainbows or the Trinity on a zucchini. I just want God to check in every now and then with small moment of peace and fulfillment and a “Hey, you’re doing great!” I know there are bigger fish to fry like tsunamis and Romneys and bears (oh, my), but at some point if I was called, then it follows that there was a purpose, right? I’m some kind of important, right?
Right?
But here I am, lost on a path that seemed so well-lit just a few years ago. And I’m calling out daily, hourly, damn-near-every minute for a hand in the dark from the One who called me to this place – only to hear a few uncomprehending birds flutter by.
If this is some kind of squirrely test to see if I trust God enough, then I’m going to be really pissed.
I’ve checked and double-checked the header. I know that I took the right path. Every time I send up signals asking for coordinates, I get the “no news is good news” answer. In a darkened wilderness, filled with hungry lions, lacking any discernable trail, and a storm on the way – that’s just not good enough.
I’m just one human being trying to live out my life with some shred of integrity. Is it too much to ask? Why is this so hard? Why can’t God just talk to me? Please?
Perhaps… Perhaps I’ve been called to insignificance. Gee. That would suck.
So here I am. Waiting. Again.
If I hadn’t been here before, I’d wonder if I heard right the first time. But in my greater-than-forty-years, I have been here before and I know this is just the silent treatment for a crime I’ve not committed. Job had it this bad and worse, all because God got into a peeing contest with Satan – and when Job screamed at God for his failure to communicate, God had no excuse except to say that God is who God is. That’s heartening.
But since I know the drill, I also know someone, somehow, is coming with a light for this dark night of my soul. Somewhere out there is an epiphany with my name on it – my not-so-insignificant name for a purpose that I’m still working out. It’s just that God, like my son, is perpetually late. You’d think after creating the universe, he’d understand the concept of time.
Mary should have taught him better manners.
All I can say is I love you, and I love your writing and lamenting! It is heartening to know that others are in the same boat as you or feel the same way, and believe me, many out there feel this regularly. That darn thing they call faith, really, how long, maybe doubting Thomas had it right after all? Then again, how freaky would be if God screamed back all the time we muttered his name? Like most humans, I would like a little more familiarity a little extra comfort. Maybe you touching our lives with writing is that little extra for the day. We just gotta have a little faith, hope and love!
And now it’s time for CBBBS*!
Each strand of the net does not touch the fish.
But no strand is insignificant.
And
When you die and you are leaving the theater and you marvel at how you really felt like you were there, you’ll have to admit it was a really interesting story. Just when you thought the heroine was ready to take off, her wings were clipped for no damn reason. And then… Well I don’t want to give away the plot.
*Cryptic Bits of Buddhist Bull Shit (Namaste, mo fo!)
Wow! The Unknowable is giving you a long time in the self abbraision polishing chamber! You are really going to shine when to door opens!
I sure hope you are right – I am due for a shine that will light up half the universe…or at least my face – as I flounder in darkness.
“Humiliating” – you got that one dead ON!
This is the only sensible thing I have found in days/weeks/years of of searching the web when despondent and disgusted with the Almighty.
I tell others (because I do believe, against all evidence) that “God Has A Wonderful Plan For Your Life” and yet –
I pray and rant and vent to Him, faithfully attend church, sing His praises, go to Christian study groups and evangelize etc. etc.
In the midst of all this I, stop for a moment, often on my knees, and wait to hear some word of direction, guidance, even rebuke or correction – and then I hear:
…crickets….the refrigerator humming…and I sense, only in absence, the coldness of a God who chooses not to communicate with his own blood-bought followers but wants us to know him by reading pages of a first-century text about great things he was doing ages ago.
I know he is the only Savior, I know there is no God but the God of Scripture, but I am beyond bewildered at this point. It’s not fun, much less interesting – it’s becoming irrelevant.
“Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him: but I will maintain mine own ways before him.”
JOB 13:15