I sort of like it when people are angry with God, and I suspect God does too, even though it's probably misdirected. Anger means they care. But nonetheless, I'm disturbed by my own anger at God. I met a man at a dinner who was offended by God. Deep down he was angry at the real and perceived injustices which he blamed on God. He was a good man, as best I could tell, but his anger showed though, because he cared. He spoke about everything from global child abuses to his personal grievances such as, why God didn't “come through” when he needed him to? I encounter such buried anger often - in friends, colleagues, and acquaintances - and with the right trigger it suddenly bursts out. Sometimes aimed at the the institutions of religion - and I fully share that sentiment - but mostly at God. If pressed for an response I usually trot out the typical platitudes, trying desperately to make them fit the particulars of the circumstances: “God sees a bigger picture; free will causes pain; God is not a slot machine; we grow through suffering; God hurts too when he sees these things”, and so on. Yet as we all know, platitudes can be both completely true and at the same time absolutely useless. If God is all powerful and all loving, why doesn't he “just fix it”? Some people respond by walking away from God, some bury their anger in denial, some begrudgingly continue in faith like a person who doesn't like what gravity does but can't deny its reality. A very few seem to have worked through it to where they can say with total honesty “I trust that God knows best.” I think everyone else simply are not brave enough to face up to it. Because God can be incredibly frustrating at times: "I can see what needs to be done, why won't he do it" is the typical line. But logically, if God is God, then he does know better. But I still need to work through my anger and frustration. Come on God! You make all these promises, you say to just ask, you painfully point out that I'm broken but say that you still accept me, and then tell me that the power and treasures of heaven are supposed to be available. Ok, I admit you also say there will be trials and suffering, and I still don't quite know how to fully reconcile all that. But, But! Why is it that so often talking to you is like talking to a brick wall? I look at all these “religious” people who religiously pray for world peace and bless our president and heal my neighbour and won't you fill up our church and please solve my financial problems and, and … and it makes me think "so what is all that about, because mostly nothing seems to change?' Ok, so you say I must pray, you say to trust, and you also say you know all about it already. And there I was going around thinking you were logical and then you come along and throw all these paradoxes at me and tell me to get on with it and have faith. So goes my occasional semi-irrational outbursts of anger – when I'm brave enough to acknowledge that I do harbour anger. The rest of the time I battle the temptation to step up and take charge of the situation, whether I have the ability to or not (usually not). In that I have a whole heap of company … I think most people trying to be Christians battle that temptation and lose … but they don't realize their attempt to play God is rooted in a deep seated irritation at the intransigence of God! I believe that all Christians, somewhere deep down, have a pot of anger they are desperately try to keep a lid on. For some its a big pot with steam hissing out from under the lid, for others its a tiny little container hidden away in the dusty corner of a disused mental room behind tightly locked doors. Regardless of the size, we keep it bottled in because we are scared of saying “I'm cross with God”. Why? Why not admit it? God knows it anyway. Until I open the lid, its simply going to fester. Have you ever forgotten a cup with dregs of coffee and come across it weeks later (I confess I do that all too often)? There's interesting "growths" inside - and that's sort of what happens with bottled up anger. In any relationship, hidden grievances are destructive and grow like a nasty mould. When all is said and done I find myself going back to the truths of what I once disrespectfully called "platitudes", and despite my kneejerk reaction that they're about as useful as some doctors quackery, I find they help if I can simply get them past my prejudice and pride. They don't all make total sense, I can't quite wrap my mind around how it all works. But like the duality of light's wave and particle nature, at least these "platitudes" are logically consistent, and I can accept that as good enough … until I find another hidden pot that needs to be opened.
1 Comment
Thanks for this post about being angry at God. I think it's best for us to be engaged in the relationship with God. It's much better than not caring at all. God's big enough to deal with our anger. The hope is that we move beyond our anger to where God wants us to be.
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Why?
Probably the best therapy is to express yourself. Why do you think psychiatrists make you lie on the couch and talk, while all they do is murmur "hmmm", "uhuh", or "go on"? Archives
May 2017
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