Wrestling With God

Near the beginning of June, I started reading through the Psalms. One psalm every morning, along with the corresponding commentary from the New International Commentary on the psalms by Craig C. Broyles.


Psalm 1: the Lord watches over the righteous. Good stuff, Lord!

Psalm 2: You are my child, today I have begotten you! Yes, Lord!

Psalm 3: You, O Lord are a shield around me. Thank you, God!

Psalm 4: The Lord hears when I call. Thanks again, God.

Psalm 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11 and 12: Thank you. Help me. Be gracious to me. I’m here, God, and I’m doing my best to follow in Your way. In you I take refuge. Protect me.

Psalm 13, my translation:

Where are you, God? Have you forgotten all about me?
You’re not answering my phone calls.
You’re ignoring my texts and emails.
I’ve even knocked on your door, and you’re not answering.
Are we through, God? Have you given up?
Everyone’s laughing at me, calling me a fool for believing in you!

Call me back RIGHT AWAY, God.
Show me you’re there, or my life won’t be worth living any more.
The scoffers will say, “Ha, ha! Your so dumb, believing in a God who isn’t there!”


Did the psalmist really say that to God?

Broyles says, “Were we to hear someone praying in this fashion today, most of us would take offense at such irreverence against the holy and faultless God.”

And yet…

How many of us have prayed like that in the silence of our hearts? How many of us have wanted to pray like that, but we’re too nice? We’ve been taught not to rebel against authority, especially not against God’s authority! If we do, we’re sure to be struck by lightning!

I’d guess that we’ve all lived through times that have tested us and our faith to the utmost. We’ve all wanted to scream, “I’ve had enough, God!”

I’ve spent years building those churches, and now that horrible giant comes along and rips out all the church bells!

Those snakes and elves were my friends, and that wicked St. Patrick chased them all away!

God, I can’t take it anymore! All my friends have gone away, all my enemies are laughing at me. Make it stop!

What kind of a prayer is that?

We’re good people. Obedient to God. We’re not supposed to get angry at God.

Even when our son is diagnosed with a disability that is lifelong. Even when our sister kills herself. Even when our father lives out his last years unable to speak, the victim of dementia which has shut down a once highly intelligent mind. Even when our mother is told that the pain in her jaw is angina, and that even after losing seventy pounds and exercising and eating right, she’s going to have to undergo open heart surgery. Even when our friend, who never smoked a day in his life nor lived with anyone who did, is diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer that will kill him within a year.

We’re not supposed to get angry at God when forest fires consume our cities, or floods and earthquakes devastate whole countries, or when droughts or poverty cause parents to choose which of their children will eat today, and which ones don’t.

We’re not supposed to get angry at God.

But anger is an appropriate response to the scenarios above, and to many others in life.

But who are we supposed to get angry at?

Should we get angry at ourselves?

Anger directed at ourselves is extremely harmful. Alcoholism and other forms of substance abuse, suicide, eating disorders, broken relationships—all of these are the result of internalized anger. All of these do nothing to solve the problem. They don’t even make us feel better.

Should we get angry at others?

We can blame others, or humanity in general, for a lot of the world’s ills, but again, it doesn’t solve any problems. Getting angry at my sister for killing herself won’t bring my sister back, and it won’t help me live my life in such a way that no one else in my family feels so cut off that they want to die.

Getting angry at the weather or natural events is even more useless. And getting angry at those who visit violence on others, while it may seem justified, only perpetuates the violence, which is maybe why Jesus told us not to do that.

So that leaves God.

And as we read through scripture, we discover a curious thing.

When people get angry with God, or question the fairness of God’s actions, or wrestle with God instead of other people or themselves, God answers.

We read only a part of Jacob’s story this morning. Here’s some of the rest of it:

With his mother’s help, Jacob has managed to trick his father into giving him the blessing and birthright meant for his elder brother.

Esau gets angry, and plots to kill Jacob. Jacob runs away. Jacob marries, and works for his father-in-law Laban for many years, and chooses as his wages the black sheep and the spotted and speckled goats. He then selectively breeds the flocks so that that stronger animals produce coloured offspring, and the weaker ones produce white offspring. He grows rich, and his brothers-in-law get angry.

So Jacob gathers up what is his and runs away again.

Laban catches up to him, and after a heated discussion, Jacob makes peace with his father-in-law and makes a covenant with him.

He travels on, and desiring to make peace with Esau, he sends his servants ahead to speak with him. The servants return telling him that Esau is coming to meet him—with a force of four hundred men.

Jacob is terrified. His flocks, his wives, his children—all are at risk. He divides them into two groups, thinking that if they’re attacked, at least one group will get away. He picks out from among his flocks and herds a huge number of goats and sheep and camels and cows and donkeys, and sends them with his servants as a gift to Esau, and sends them ahead of him, hoping that Esau will accept the gift and become reconciled with him. He sends his wives and maids and all his children across the ford, and he’s left alone in the camp.

Where he wrestles all night with a man who won’t name himself.

Jacob won’t give in, won’t give up, even when he’s struck on the hip and it’s put out of joint.

The man says, “Let me go! It’s getting light now,” and Jacob says, “No, not until you bless me.”

I think at this point, Jacob understands that he’s not really wrestling with another human being, but with God.

And God does not strike Jacob down, punishing him for his insolence. Instead, God blesses him. Gives him a new name, and a new destiny. He has become Israel, the father of both a new nation and a new faith.

That’s some blessing!

Our Gospel reading is no less curious. A Canaanite woman asks Jesus to heal her daughter and Jesus replies to her plea by calling her a dog!

Does she slink away in embarrassment? Does she try to correct Jesus?

No, she gets angry. “Even the dogs get scraps! Don’t I deserve at least a scrap?”

And Jesus blesses her, calls her faithful, and heals her daughter. Whenever I read this story, I can’t help but wonder if Jesus said what he said deliberately, trying to get a response from the woman beyond resignation at her fate.

Time after time in scripture, it’s not the quiet, obedient, “good” people who are blessed, but very often the angry, the questioning.

Even Jesus prays to God to have the cup of suffering taken away. Even he cries out, “Why have you forsaken me?”

Even Jesus feels the need to rail against God at his fate, even at a fate freely chosen. Life is hard, and sometimes, the only thing you can do is scream out to God in pain.

In my own life I’ve found this to be true. When I’ve reached my limit, when I can take no more, I find it helpful to yell at God.

“I can’t take any more, God! This is it! Make things better now!”

And oddly enough, without fail, I find that one of two things will happen. Either the situation will resolve itself, or I will find new strength, often in the form of angels disguised as friends.

I’ve found that it’s okay to scream out to God. To pound my fists against the divine. To say, “If you care about me, show it!” To challenge God. To wrestle with God.

And when I’m exhausted from the struggle, I am finally empty enough to hear the whisper that was there all along.

“I love you. I’m with you. I bless you.”

Our psalmist discovers this, too. Psalm 13 ends with this: “I will sing to the Lord, because he has dealt bountifully with me.”

At the end of our struggle with God is not blame, but blessing.


Reflecting on the Message

 Has there ever been a time in your life when you have hurt so badly that you wanted to lash out at everyone and everything?

What did you do? Did your actions and thoughts make the situation go away, or make it worse?

Have your trials helped you to understand how blessed you are? How?

Read Jacob’s story in full. (Genesis 25:19-32:32)

It’s obvious that Jacob’s problems were in a large part due to his own actions. Has there ever been a time in your life when you’ve done something of which you aren’t proud?

Did getting angry at yourself help the situation at all, or did it make things worse?

When Jacob wrestled with God, was he also perhaps wrestling with his own conscience? Have you ever done likewise?

Time Alone With God

(Preached at Alma United Church, September 24, 2017)

So I read a news story on Tuesday that was a classic kind of “good news, bad news” story.

The good news was that I didn’t have to worry about making up a bulletin for today or writing a sermon or practicing my viola for orchestra rehearsal tonight.

The bad news was that someone had read the Book of Revelations, done some calculations, and had predicted that another planet would strike earth yesterday, wiping us all out.

So I guess we can all go home, because apparently, we don’t exist any more…

Would you pray with me and for me please…

Most of  you, maybe even all of you, have heard my daughter Allison play the cello. Hopefully, you’ll be hearing her play again on Thanksgiving Sunday.

She’s good, but it wasn’t always that way. A lot of people have the idea that musical talent is somehow innate, and you either have it or you don’t. I’ve heard reports of people who have said they’ve been told, some as early as kindergarten, that they would be better off in the audience.

It’s a good thing that Allison didn’t have any of those misguided folks in her life, because as a child, she was tone deaf. It took her two years to learn  how to play the first variation of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.

But by age eight, she knew she wanted to be a cello teacher. By the time she was in middle school, she knew she was going to go to Wilfrid Laurier University, and that she would be in an orchestra as well as teach.

And now that tone-deaf, slow-starting child teaches cello and is the Assistant Principle Cellist of the Cambridge Symphony Orchestra.

And then there’s me. I don’t think anyone here has ever heard me play my viola. In fact, I’m wondering just how many of you knew that I play viola?

But I do. I started when I was eleven. I’m actually one of three original players in the Cambridge Symphony, seeing as how it was started by Anne Green, who was at that time the music director of Zion/St. Andrew’s Pastoral Charge, where I was the Student Minister.

Yet for all my experience, I sit in the back desk, miss almost as many notes as I play, and hope that the audience doesn’t really hear the notes I do play, as they’re not always the right ones.

I love what I do, but I’m not really all that good at it.

The difference between me and my daughter isn’t inborn talent, it’s discipline.

She practices regularly, and I don’t.

I think sometimes we have that idea about being Christian—that it’s a character trait, rather than a skill, and that some people are just more saintly than others. We see our own sins in sharp relief, our frustration, our anger, our less-than-charitable desires, and we see others who always seem serene and calm and trusting of God, and we think, “That’s just who I am and I can’t change it. I don’t want to change it! I can never be like that, and it’s okay, because God loves me just as I am.”

And we fail to see that being a better Christian, being a better person, isn’t about our personality, it’s about skill, and if it’s a skill, that means it can be improved by deliberate practice.

But how do you “deliberately practice” to be a better Christian?

In their book bullseye, Jamie Holton and Debbie Johnson say that the first marker of a Christian life is using spiritual practices. Some call them “disciplines” a word I like even though some mistake “discipline” with “punishment.”

But discipline isn’t about punishment, it’s about learning self-control, an aim that is actually incompatible with punishment. Which is why, if you choose to try one or more of the disciplines I talk about, I’m going to suggest that you allow yourself to be less than perfect, and less than regular, without beating yourself up about it. And to not be wedded to the idea of doing spiritual practices in the same way as me or anyone else, just because it works for them.

An extrovert isn’t going to get much out of a week of total silence. Trust me on this—I had an extremely extroverted friend who tried it once. They kicked him out of the retreat on the second day, I think. Some of you may prefer to journal, some may prefer to read scripture, some may prefer to pray.

And I find that the time spent is an issue, as well. A personal story in the book by Sue Woollard tells of a daily discipline that involves twenty minutes of meditation on the name of Jesus twice a day, followed by scripture and personal prayer.

Um, not quite the cup of tea for me, but if that’s you, then go for it.

I think what’s important here is not how long you do it for, at least at first, but to develop a regular habit of spending time alone with God.

I like to read scripture in the morning—just a single psalm, maybe two if they’re short ones, and write in my journal a verse or two that grabs me. Maybe look the psalm up in my commentary if there’s something I don’t understand or that seems particularly intriguing.

Some people read daily meditations online or in booklets like My Daily Bread. Some go for walks in nature, some going so far as to hike the 800 kilometer Camino de Santiago in Spain.

What’s important here is not so much the method, though some have proven, over time, to be more fruitful than others, but that we set time aside each day to be with God and with God alone, to allow God to whisper to us in silence.

Because through the ages, from the prophet Elijah onwards, humans have found that God rarely yells. God whispers, and we need quiet, both in our physical surroundings and in our hearts, to hear the still, small voice of God.

The book bullseye lists the four main spiritual practices as prayer, reading of scripture, silence, and meditation. The authors do mention that other activities such as going for a walk, with or without a dog, listening to music, and serving others can absolutely draw us closer to God, but my own feeling is that unless we discipline ourselves to open our hearts and mind to God as we’re doing these activities, they’ll act more like my weekly orchestra rehearsals. While those absolutely make me a better player, they won’t have nearly the effect that regular daily practice on my own would have.

So my own take on the four disciplines that they’ve singled out:

Silence and freedom from distraction is something I’ve found necessary in order for any of the other three to work well. I don’t really consider it a separate discipline.

Meditation, I have understood from reading studies, has all sorts of beneficial health effects, and it’s a great practice, but one must be careful, if one is going to take this up as a specifically Christian discipline, that God and Jesus are incorporated in there somehow. Susan Woollard has as her “sacred word” the name of Jesus, and incorporates that into her daily 20 minute sessions.

However, by far the two most usual, and to my mind the most fruitful, spiritual practices are scripture reading and prayer. In fact, they’re so important, that they’re a universal part of pretty much every Christian worship service. They are THAT important.

I’ll start with scripture reading.

I think that reading scripture, getting to know not just the few verses read in worship every Sunday, or the single verses used in meditation booklets. Not that there’s anything wrong with going to worship or reading those booklets, but they’re not enough.

I’ve found through my own reading that taking in an entire book of the Bible in a chapter-by-chapter sequential reading has opened my eyes to what we don’t hear in church. Some of the psalms I’ve read in the last few months aren’t in Voices United, and some of them have parts cut out. There are parts of the Bible we often don’t want to deal with in corporate worship, but that need examining nevertheless.

If you’re fairly new to reading the Bible, or you haven’t read through it in a while, I’d suggest starting with Mark, followed by Matthew and Luke. A good Old Testament start would be Genesis and Exodus, the stories of the beginning of the faiths of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. If your attention span is short, try reading Jonah, Ruth, or Paul’s letter to the Philippians. If you have a reluctant teenager in the house, try tempting them with the Song of Solomon, which was the first book of the Bible I ever read straight through…

The Bible contains the stories of humanity’s search for God. There’s a lot in there that’s contradictory, and a lot that we modern folks find difficult to understand. There are verses in there that most civilized folks would agree are just plain wrong. If you don’t trust me on this, read Psalm 137, the whole thing, and not just the well-known first few verses.

It’s a very human book, perhaps the most human of all books ever written, because it’s really a library that contains a huge collection of human experiences of God. And because it contains a huge collection of human experiences of God, parts of it will almost certainly speak to each one of us, drawing us closer to the divine.

The second important spiritual practice is prayer.

Our scripture reading from Matthew today, Jesus talks about prayer. He gives us specific instructions on how and what to pray. The Message translation says this:

“Find a quiet, secluded place so you won’t be tempted to role-play before God. Just be there as simply and honestly as you can manage. The focus will shift from you to God, and you will begin to sense God’s grace.”

Jesus tells us that it’s important to open our hearts, our minds, our souls to God. God doesn’t want perfect, God wants us. Our repentant, broken, selves.

Prayer isn’t a “wish list,” where we name what’s broken in the world or our lives and ask God to fix it according to our plans. Prayer is a letting-go, where we name what’s broken in the world or in our lives and give up the need to dictate the terms. “YOUR will be done,” NOT “MY will be done”…

Prayer is important, too to linking what we do to what God does. “Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us…´

I don’t know about you, but praying that particular line always makes me just a teeny bit uncomfortable. I think that’s the way it should be.

Even in a corporate setting like worship, prayer is a private thing. A conversation, if you like, between one person and God. And if you have trouble with prayer, that’s a good way to frame it—as a conversation.

God, I’ve been really worried about…

God, thank you so much for…

God, help me, please! I’m in over my head on this one!

God, I’m so very sorry! Please forgive me for what I’ve done wrong.

I’ve found it more difficult in my own life to say regular bedtime prayers than to do daily morning scripture reading, but that doesn’t mean I don’t pray. At times when emotions overwhelm me, whether sad or glad, I’ll often take just a few seconds to say, “Thank you!”, “Sorry!”, or “Please…

There are, of course, more ways to incorporate deliberate Christian practice into our daily lives, practice that will help us to be more able to sense God at work in our lives and in the world, practice that will help us to be more fit to do the healing work that God sends our way. I enjoy listening to contemporary Christian music, which I do every day when driving. Others enjoy weeks of guided prayer, or silent retreats, or prayer vigils. Reverend John Benham at Trinity United in Guelph came back from a trip out west enthused about a 7 o’clock in the morning service held at a Calgary church every Wednesday, that has about forty regular attendees.

What’s important is that you choose something and try it. If it doesn’t work, try something else.

Holton and Johnson compare living the Christian life to going to a gym. They ask, what if you went to the gym and the following happened:

  • You sat around and watched the instructor work out.
  • You were given a handout on how to exercise.
  • Someone came and talked with you about what it is like to work out.
  • You watched a video about a whole group of people working out.
  • The leader or the instructor then said thanks for coming and welcomed you back to do the same thing next week.

Would you call that a workout?

Yet that’s what many Christians do about their faith. They see their sole responsibility discharged in weekly (or less than weekly) attendance at worship services and from Monday to Saturday they forget they have to practice their faith.

Even those who come to worship and fully participate don’t get the full benefit. Again, comparing Christian living to exercise, if you do go to the gym and work out, then spend the next six days sitting on the couch watching television, it’s not going to do much good. If you spend the next six days just going about regular activities, like gardening and housework and walking, you might get a bit more benefit, but you’ll only get into your best shape if you work out daily or almost daily with the specific aim of getting more fit.

Holton and Johnson tell us that the Christian life was never meant to be a spectator sport. Jesus’ invitation to follow him leads to a way of life that involves us participating.

So this week, you have an assignment. Pick one daily practice that you think you can do for seven days in a row. Pick a time of day you think you can do it. Then give it a try!

If it doesn’t work, all monies paid will be cheerfully refunded!