And at that, for no reason, Sample said, “Praise God.” It reminded me of a cat yawning. They do that all of a sudden for no good reason, either. It left me even more uneasy. I know there is nothing wrong with saying “Praise God,” and I certainly heard enough of that sort of thing firsthand, growing up in the South, but somehow it always seemed to me to be terribly bad manners, rather like kissing with your mouth open in public. (from Frank Deford’s, Everybody’s All-American)
“Stripped to a scream, undressed to a cry of pain, he sobbed his anger at God in hoarse words that hurt his throat. He asked for nothing now, nor did he wonder if he’d been bad or good. Such concepts were all part of the joke he’d just discovered. He cursed God directly for the savage joke that had been played on him. And in that cursing Mellas for the first time really talked with his God. Then he cried, tears and snot mixing together as they streamed down his face, but his cries were the rage and hurt of a newborn child, at last, however roughly, being taken from the womb.” (from Matterhorn: A Novel of the Vietnam War by Karl Marlantes)
A friend emailed last week to ask about crying out to God. She said I made it sound simple, but she felt intimidated by the prospect. As I thought through this with her it occurred to me that many of us probably feel scared or awkward about crying out to God. I wondered why this should be. If God isn’t the great comforter then what is He? If we can’t run to him in our sorrow, where can we go? And then it struck me; we do run to him, we do cry out to him, we do expect him to comfort us, but we also expect him to keep us from needing comfort! Isn’t he supposed to protect us??? Isn’t he supposed to stop the pain dead in its tracks??? How can we run to a God and cry to a God who didn’t keep us safe and didn’t guard our hearts? If we let ourselves rest upon this idea for a moment I think we might discover that instead of crying out to God for comfort, what we’d really like to do is to cry at God in pain. We’d like to ventilate our anger at not being protected. And that is scary for a lot of reasons. Is it ok to be angry at God? Is our theology big enough to allow for this? Is our morality in the way? Religion leaves no room for God-anger, it only lets us account for self-anger or others-anger. Either we messed up and we are getting what we deserve or someone else (the bad people) are doing what bad people do and God will get them eventually. But we do not blame God for our mistakes or for bad people being bad. God stays lilly white. He stays above reproach.
This is not Christianity. Christianity is a God who gets dirty. The gospel is a God who, while remaining fully God, allows himself to become reproachable; who, while remaining completely faultless, accepts the blame for every fault. If we look upon the cross long enough we will not find the answer to our suffering. We will not see why our tears fall, or why we were not protected. But we will see this – we will see that the real God did not run away from our anger or the anger of God the Father. We will see that the wrath of men and God were not great enough to destroy Jesus Christ. And we will see that the one thing we know about suffering is that God willingly participates in it with us. He doesn’t stay lilly white. He becomes darkness itself. Jesus was not protected. Jesus was not comforted. Jesus cried out and was unanswered. My heart can sometimes not contain itself when I look on this, even in my own suffering. I know I cannot accuse my God, the real God, of apathy toward my low estate. The cross contradicts me. Perhaps we do not begin to speak with God until we cry in pain and anger at him. Surely he is not afraid of it, just as I was not afraid to hear my children cry themselves to sleep when they were infants, knowing I’d provided all they needed and that they were safe and secure in my house only needing the crying in order to sleep well.
“This, then, is how you should pray: “Our Father in heaven”” (Matthew 6:9)
I’m old enough that when I played high school sports our team would actually pray together before games. All of us, agnostics, atheists, Jews and Gentiles and who-knows-what-else in a huddle reciting the words together in a huddle. Psalm 23 was popular. It usually started slow and low, got loud and fast by the “shadow of death” part and then worked into a disjointed war cry by the end. We also did the “Lord’s Prayer” or model prayer. This felt more like a magic incantation mumbled by pimply priests ready to enter the basketball, football, or baseball sanctuary. We knew the words. Someone said “our father” and everyone jumped in, marching in rhythm to the never ending end: “forever and ever amen.”
I don’t know when I learned the words, but I know it was long before I knew them. I still don’t know them. I still fall into one word and swim until I admit I can’t find the bottom of it. So I guess my title is more than a little presumptuous. I don’t really know how to pray the Lord’s prayer, I just know more than I used to know, and I know that what I know is wonderful. And I’m not a guy who uses “wonderful” to describe much. It is wonderful. It is wonderful. It is wonderful. It is so wonderful that I’m going to have to write just a little at a time. Do this with me; pray the Lord’s prayer every day out loud and let it be whatever it is to you. Out loud is important. Form the words with your mouth not just your heart or mind. Lesson one is that Christianity is not spiritual or supernatural. Christianity is Jesus; a real man with a real body and a real mouth making real words. The earth is his and everything in it. All things belong to him. Christians or those who want to know the real God do not need to retreat from the physical in order to find him. Everything is spiritual and supernatural. Either God made your mouth or he didn’t. If he did, it is a miracle and every word miraculous. Speech itself. Rhythm. Resonance. Feel it. Try to explain it without God if you’d like, but as for me, I’m going to let the sound itself declare the glory of God.
If anyone loudly blesses their neighbor early in the morning, it will be taken as a curse.
For the record: I am very glad for the folks who get up early in the morning to instruct my spinning classes and boot camp classes and tabata classes at the Y. It takes a lot of energy to get up and be in front of people; mostly half-awake grumpy people at that. And I appreciate that there is no one brand of work out music that suits everyone. Some like it hot and some like it light and pop and some like a little hair band action.
Personally, I have eclectic tastes in music. At 9, 10 or 11am or at 1, 2, or 3pm you could find me twanging or rocking or rapping, or even head bangin’. But at 5am…at 5am I’m not ready for some things. For instance, I can sit down to watch Zombieland in the evening and totally rock out to Metallica’s “For Whom the Bell Tolls” during the opening sequence, but it makes me want to break things and say bad things when its playing during boot camp warm up the next morning. Really.
Words are not always appropriate. True words. Blessing words. Lyrical words. There are words and then there is context and they go together. The apostle Paul wrote that we are to “speak the truth in love” to each other and that would help us to grow up. We get that right? Someone who tells us our haircut looks stupid with a huge sneer on their face is like Metallica at 5am; not helpful or welcome. But someone who says the exact same thing with genuine concern for the way we look, is like music to our ears. Its in rhythm. It helps us get better; to grow up. I admit I am not always saying my words to help someone find the beat. Often I am just dishing out a beating. I don’t want to be that way, though. I want to get the right words in the right context. This is why I try to say this prayer every day: Jesus you are welcome here. In all my life you are welcome. In my going and in my thinking and in my feeling and in my saying. You are welcome here. To me, when I do this I am inviting the right context into my life. I am inviting Love himself into my life. His presence is love and loving words can find their proper place in me through him.
Oh God of the North wind, God of earth and sky, God of seasons and trees. Please send your strong winds upon my yard. Blow all day with your breath hard enough to push all the leaves into my neighbors yard, but gentle enough not to disturb the freshly sown grass seed. I will give you glory and honor as I watch others rake their yards. I will rejoice in your goodness and mercy that saves me from another three hours worth of reaping a harvest of dead brown things from my pitiful looking yard. I thank you in advance for all you will do and have done. And yes Lord, I am serious (maybe not the part about blowing them all into my neighbor’s yard…)