“I can’t believe God did this to me!” the man shouted loudly after I asked to enter the hospital room.
That was my introduction to the Jewish faith.
As a young, chaplain who had never talked to a Jewish person before, I proceeded to the room with fear, not knowing what a Christian could possibly say to a Jewish man who had suffered the crippling trauma of a car accident. And, as I entered the door, every single fear that I had run through my head came true with his instantaneous shouting. As he screamed, “I can’t believe God did this to me!” I searched for an easy way to exit the room again.
I considered the excuse of suddenly needing to use the toilet.
Apparently, seeing the fearful look of an untrained, innocent clergy toddler on my face, the man laughed a huge laugh and said, “Nah, I was just kidding. Come on in.”
Not only was that my introduction to the Jewish faith, it was also my introduction to Jewish humor.
The rest of the visit went much better. I made certain his rabbi or cantor had been to visit. I made certain his family were aware of his situation. And, I did the one thing we were trained to do for anyone, no matter what their religion: to simply sit and listen, keeping my mouth shut.
As he talked through his struggles, he circled back to his first shout.
“You know, I really am mad at God. Things were going great for me for the first time in my life. My job was great, my girlfriend was perfect, I had just bought that nice car, I had just lost a bunch of weight and was sporting a great look, and now look at me."
The guy held a terrible resemblance to his former self.
"God can be a jerk, you know?”
I did not know what to say on response to that, so I said nothing.
“You know, in the Jewish religion, it’s OK to be mad at God. Too often you Christians will say, ‘Don’t worry God will make it all better.’ Maybe that is true, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be mad about it. Thank you for not telling me that everything will be just fine,” he smiled.
As he talked, I thought about Mary and Martha on that day when Jesus arrived too late to be of any help, or so they thought.
When their brother Lazarus was sick, Mary and Martha had sent for Jesus to come and give Lazarus some healing.
Jesus chose not to come.
Hear that again. Someone was in pain. Two people believed in Jesus and believed that Jesus could do something about that pain. Even with all of that, Jesus chose not to come.
He had his reasons of course. We, who can read the end of the story realize that, but the women did not know the end of the story and they were furious and hurt.
As Jesus entered the scene they shouted at him, "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”
This was not Jewish humor, this was Jewish anger. They were angry at God. They were angry at Jesus for not showing up. They were angry, and guess what Jesus did about it?
He wept.
When you are in pain, so is Jesus.
When you feel forgotten, Jesus understand what that is all about. And, though God may have other, bigger plans like an amazing resuscitation from the dead of a dead brother, that does not mean you are simply a pawn in a bigger scheme.
You are a real soul, with real pain, and Jesus does not back away trying to defend himself. Rather, he weeps.
He shares the pain. He takes on the pain. He carries it to the cross, where it too will die allowing space for new life to come on the third day...or the fourth day...or the whatever day.
When I talked to my chaplaincy supervisor about my experience with the Jewish man, she told me, “One of the greatest strengths of the Jewish faith is that they view God as strong enough to bear your anger and pain. In the Jewish faith, God has broad shoulders.”
And, as I search the scriptures, I find that not only does God have broad shoulders, but God has empathizing ones as well. Far from getting mad at our anger or upset at our pain, Jesus joins in shedding tears for our pain.
Of course, Jesus does not stop there. When the time is right, Jesus walks with tear-filled eyes and orders the tomb of darkness and death be opened so that the fresh air and bright light of new life might enter in.
Jesus walks to the tomb so that Lazarus might be returned to those who love him, and that he might be unbound from the strips of cloth that encase his arms and his legs.
Jesus fulfills the promise that he made to Martha, "I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live.”
In Jesus we do find life again. Jesus does not stop at the weeping. He is able, as Psalm 30 proclaims, to transform our weeping into dancing. He is able to bring us from death into life.
And, that is where we are different than Jesus. As disciples of Jesus, we are not able to bring people out of their pain and darkness. That becomes painfully real for anyone who has ever tried.
We are not the divine light in the darkness. We are not the way, the truth, and the life. We are not the saviors of anybody’s world, but we are able to point to the one who is, Jesus Christ.
Not only can we point to Jesus, but when Jesus is taking longer than expected we are free to share in people's anger and tears.
“I am through with this faith stuff,” another man yelled at me, pain dripping from his eyes. Even after working with a faith-based marriage counselor, this guy's wife literally walked out of his life and the life of his children with a slam of a car door. Unfortunately, it was the door of another man’s car. She drove off into her own dark, self-made sunset.
“I tried all of this faith stuff with her, and it did nothing. If Jesus was present in those meetings, he should have done something! I’m done with faith. I'm done with Jesus!”
He broke into uncontrollable sobs right there in the office of my internship church. I could not help it. As I listened to his heart-breaking story, I could not help but cry with him. So, there we were, two grown men crying, alone.
Thinking back to my Jewish friend, and thinking about Mary and Martha I looked at him and made one simple suggestion. “Rather than leaving your faith, how about you just allow yourself to be angry with God. This whole situation is not fair, and God needs to hear it. Rather than leaving your relationship with Jesus, just be mad at him for a while. It’s OK. Really. A Jewish man once told me God was a jerk. Guess what? No lightning struck him from the clouds. God’s shoulders are big enough to take your abuse.”
And, so he did.
He continued to come to the church and prayed with us. One Sunday he whispered to me after worship, "Don't be alarmed, but during the prayers I kind of swore at God."
And, as he shared his pain with me, one more someone was standing between us: Jesus. Jesus stood with us, tears in his eyes, waiting for the right time to bring new life. And, he did. The man and his children were, indeed, given their resurrection at the right time, in God’s time.
But, in the meantime, it was OK to be angry.
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