Curse God and Die?
"Give us now our daily bread," Jesus taught us to pray. But what if our daily bread is bitter? Sin doesn't just complicate everything; it doesn't just obscure truth. It also hurts, and is a slap in the face of faith. It seeks to put to shame God's claim that He is both perfectly sovereign and perfectly loving.
There is nothing easy about the sight of a person rocking back in forth in incoherent tears.... especially if it is a person whom you love. There is nothing easy about hearing the voice of your beloved--spouse, parent, child, or dear friend--speak words like "I have no strength," or "I feel absolutely alone," in a tone that reveals a shattered heart. Oh, my soul, there is nothing easy about hopeless eyes. Oh, my soul, why are you not flogged to death by the lashes that evil multiplies on your bare and quivering nerves? At what point, oh my soul, will you curse God and die?
Gentle reader, what do you do when it seems that there is no other recourse but to curse God and die? Dear and gentle reader, do you know what it is to hear a groan too deep for words? Have you ever heard the cry, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" Do you know the tone in which such a cry is voiced? It is the tone of unendurable suffering, and it kills the soul.
What would you do, gentle reader? What would you say to such a groan or such a cry? Would you ever respond, as Job's wife did, "Curse God and die"? Would it ever seem to you that such advice is the only honest word to give to a soul drowning in its own blood?
What innocents we are until the moment when we see the grinning face of evil in our own terrified eyes, as in a mirror--how naive we are until that hour of crisis! Then, if ever, faith is tested. Then, if ever, we choose either to curse God or to bless Him.
I have known several such hours: one very recently. Shall I describe it for you? The mind, which has been scrambling perhaps for days after any shred of comfort, logic, or reason, ceases to function at all. From somewhere in the pith of being, a keening wail rises to fill the sudden silence. There may be tears, but the tears are incidental; what is felt is beyond such ordinary expressions of sorrow. There is nothing but the lament. There is nothing to know or experience except the deepest conviction of evil's presence and comfort's absence: a sense of total forsakenness.
Are you frightened by this picture, gentle reader? I assure you, it is a faithful one. But see, in such a dark night of the soul there are only two things that one can do: curse God and die, or bless God and go on living. Of the two, the latter seems not only supremely idiotic, but also infinitely more painful. To live is not a great adventure, at such a moment; it is an unendurable torture.
I said it is a dark night of the soul; a stormy night, whipped with burning acid instead of rain and lightning that never misses its mark. Blind, lacerated, and left alone in the howling stillness, the soul is ready for slaughter. Only one thing is needed to damn it to Hell.
And there is a certain voice in the stillness. "Curse God," he says. "Do it. Say the words and give yourself some satisfaction. They are true, aren't they? Say them and die."
Your soul opens its bleeding lips, unexpectedly filled with a question: "Why should you be so eager to have me curse God? Why should I not just die?"
"For the sake of justice. Tell everybody the truth about Him." Comes the persuasive reply.
Your soul wonders, "If it is true that God cares nothing for me and that He has forsaken me... if this is really so self-evident a truth, why need I say it? Doesn't this whole world's suffering condemn Him sufficiently?" The voice tries to say something, but your soul sweeps past it: "Or is it just barely possible that I should not curse God? Why did Job reply 'The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord'? What does such a statement mean?
"It must mean that, to Job, the circumstances of suffering were insufficient to prove that God had forsaken him. It means that he was unwilling to accept the mere giving or taking away of concrete physical entities (from life itself down to leather thongs for his sandals) as evidence in the case against God. It means that he considered such things irrelevant, actually irrelevant, to the situation."
Your soul is staggered by this conclusion, which not only shocks but also spreads a thrill through every filament of your being. The thrill is hope. Perhaps... perhaps all the suffering you have known is not proof that you are forsaken and unloved. Perhaps it is only proof of something you have long known: that God's ways are mysterious and His means of loving are not like yours.
And then your soul begins to see how it could be possible, even inevitable to bless the name of the Lord. For the Lord has not forsaken--He has only chosen another route. He has not ceased to love--He has only chosen another way of expressing that love. And He may be as tirelessly concerned as ever with His stated end of bringing your soul to utter radiant gladness.
But then your soul asks: "If all this is so, and I think more and more that it must be so, then why must I bless God any more than the voice urged me to curse Him? After all, it now seems self-evident that God is both perfectly good and perfectly loving even when I suffer. Why need I say it? Isn't it perfectly obvious?"
Recently, a dear friend said something to me that answered this question. She said, "I think that I have never seen anything more beautiful than a Christian who is suffering and yet chooses to bless God."
I smiled. "So it all comes back to beauty, does it?"
But isn't that the point, gentle reader? To bless God in the midst of suffering--to line up every lash of pain, consider and weigh each, and then reject them all as utterly unworthy of the title "evidence against God's claim of loving sovereignty"--is to declare that God's ability to do what is best, desire to do what is best, and knowledge of how to do what is best for His children far exceeds such petty considerations as circumstances.
In short, to bless God in such a case is to display His utter worth and beauty. And, according to certain footnotes on the prophet Isaiah, to glorify God is an idea synonymous with the idea of displaying God's beauty. To demonstrate God's love and loveliness is to glorify God.
And my end is to glorify God as well as to enjoy Him forever. When I can bless Him out of my pain, I glorify Him; and more, the feeling of foresakeness is abolished. How can I feel forsaken when I am drawing attention to God's inability to forsake me? How can I feel alone when I am shouting of His nearness? And how can I not rise swiftly from the depths of woe to the very heights of adoring enjoyment when I am fixing all my spiritual senses on His excellence?
That is why, gentle reader, I choose to bless God. Bless the Lord, oh my soul! That is why I choose to live, and find living transformed in an instant from joyless pain to an almost painful joy--almost painful because of its exquisite intensity. Curse God? Oh, may my soul never entertain the thought! Spirit of God, you indwell me; you prompt me to ask why I should curse God; you lead me gently by step and step to the other end of the Valley of the Shadow of Death; you show me the swift sunrise and the healing light. Comforter, Helper, you are one more proof that I am not forsaken. How can I say "forsaken" when you are with me? And you are with me always, to the end of the age.
Blessed be the name of the Lord.
There is nothing easy about the sight of a person rocking back in forth in incoherent tears.... especially if it is a person whom you love. There is nothing easy about hearing the voice of your beloved--spouse, parent, child, or dear friend--speak words like "I have no strength," or "I feel absolutely alone," in a tone that reveals a shattered heart. Oh, my soul, there is nothing easy about hopeless eyes. Oh, my soul, why are you not flogged to death by the lashes that evil multiplies on your bare and quivering nerves? At what point, oh my soul, will you curse God and die?
Gentle reader, what do you do when it seems that there is no other recourse but to curse God and die? Dear and gentle reader, do you know what it is to hear a groan too deep for words? Have you ever heard the cry, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" Do you know the tone in which such a cry is voiced? It is the tone of unendurable suffering, and it kills the soul.
What would you do, gentle reader? What would you say to such a groan or such a cry? Would you ever respond, as Job's wife did, "Curse God and die"? Would it ever seem to you that such advice is the only honest word to give to a soul drowning in its own blood?
What innocents we are until the moment when we see the grinning face of evil in our own terrified eyes, as in a mirror--how naive we are until that hour of crisis! Then, if ever, faith is tested. Then, if ever, we choose either to curse God or to bless Him.
I have known several such hours: one very recently. Shall I describe it for you? The mind, which has been scrambling perhaps for days after any shred of comfort, logic, or reason, ceases to function at all. From somewhere in the pith of being, a keening wail rises to fill the sudden silence. There may be tears, but the tears are incidental; what is felt is beyond such ordinary expressions of sorrow. There is nothing but the lament. There is nothing to know or experience except the deepest conviction of evil's presence and comfort's absence: a sense of total forsakenness.
Are you frightened by this picture, gentle reader? I assure you, it is a faithful one. But see, in such a dark night of the soul there are only two things that one can do: curse God and die, or bless God and go on living. Of the two, the latter seems not only supremely idiotic, but also infinitely more painful. To live is not a great adventure, at such a moment; it is an unendurable torture.
I said it is a dark night of the soul; a stormy night, whipped with burning acid instead of rain and lightning that never misses its mark. Blind, lacerated, and left alone in the howling stillness, the soul is ready for slaughter. Only one thing is needed to damn it to Hell.
And there is a certain voice in the stillness. "Curse God," he says. "Do it. Say the words and give yourself some satisfaction. They are true, aren't they? Say them and die."
Your soul opens its bleeding lips, unexpectedly filled with a question: "Why should you be so eager to have me curse God? Why should I not just die?"
"For the sake of justice. Tell everybody the truth about Him." Comes the persuasive reply.
Your soul wonders, "If it is true that God cares nothing for me and that He has forsaken me... if this is really so self-evident a truth, why need I say it? Doesn't this whole world's suffering condemn Him sufficiently?" The voice tries to say something, but your soul sweeps past it: "Or is it just barely possible that I should not curse God? Why did Job reply 'The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord'? What does such a statement mean?
"It must mean that, to Job, the circumstances of suffering were insufficient to prove that God had forsaken him. It means that he was unwilling to accept the mere giving or taking away of concrete physical entities (from life itself down to leather thongs for his sandals) as evidence in the case against God. It means that he considered such things irrelevant, actually irrelevant, to the situation."
Your soul is staggered by this conclusion, which not only shocks but also spreads a thrill through every filament of your being. The thrill is hope. Perhaps... perhaps all the suffering you have known is not proof that you are forsaken and unloved. Perhaps it is only proof of something you have long known: that God's ways are mysterious and His means of loving are not like yours.
And then your soul begins to see how it could be possible, even inevitable to bless the name of the Lord. For the Lord has not forsaken--He has only chosen another route. He has not ceased to love--He has only chosen another way of expressing that love. And He may be as tirelessly concerned as ever with His stated end of bringing your soul to utter radiant gladness.
But then your soul asks: "If all this is so, and I think more and more that it must be so, then why must I bless God any more than the voice urged me to curse Him? After all, it now seems self-evident that God is both perfectly good and perfectly loving even when I suffer. Why need I say it? Isn't it perfectly obvious?"
Recently, a dear friend said something to me that answered this question. She said, "I think that I have never seen anything more beautiful than a Christian who is suffering and yet chooses to bless God."
I smiled. "So it all comes back to beauty, does it?"
But isn't that the point, gentle reader? To bless God in the midst of suffering--to line up every lash of pain, consider and weigh each, and then reject them all as utterly unworthy of the title "evidence against God's claim of loving sovereignty"--is to declare that God's ability to do what is best, desire to do what is best, and knowledge of how to do what is best for His children far exceeds such petty considerations as circumstances.
In short, to bless God in such a case is to display His utter worth and beauty. And, according to certain footnotes on the prophet Isaiah, to glorify God is an idea synonymous with the idea of displaying God's beauty. To demonstrate God's love and loveliness is to glorify God.
And my end is to glorify God as well as to enjoy Him forever. When I can bless Him out of my pain, I glorify Him; and more, the feeling of foresakeness is abolished. How can I feel forsaken when I am drawing attention to God's inability to forsake me? How can I feel alone when I am shouting of His nearness? And how can I not rise swiftly from the depths of woe to the very heights of adoring enjoyment when I am fixing all my spiritual senses on His excellence?
That is why, gentle reader, I choose to bless God. Bless the Lord, oh my soul! That is why I choose to live, and find living transformed in an instant from joyless pain to an almost painful joy--almost painful because of its exquisite intensity. Curse God? Oh, may my soul never entertain the thought! Spirit of God, you indwell me; you prompt me to ask why I should curse God; you lead me gently by step and step to the other end of the Valley of the Shadow of Death; you show me the swift sunrise and the healing light. Comforter, Helper, you are one more proof that I am not forsaken. How can I say "forsaken" when you are with me? And you are with me always, to the end of the age.
Blessed be the name of the Lord.
posted by Praelucor at 9:51 PM
2 Comments:
Yes, Christy. This is the valley of the shadow of death. And God is still with you.
I read this today: "For his anger endureth but a moment; in his favour is life: weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning."
And this: "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning."
And this: "My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations; knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience. But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing."
And this: "Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean: wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. Make me to hear joy and gladness; that the bones which thou hast broken may rejoice. . . . Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation; and uphold me with thy free spirit. Then will I teach transgressors thy ways; and sinners shall be converted unto thee." (That is the purpose of suffering.)
And this: "Truly my soul waiteth upon God: from him cometh my salvation. He only is my rock and my salvation; he is my defence; I shall not be greatly moved."
Christy,
Not only does it come back to beauty--one of the most easily seen and appreciated attributes of God--but it comes back to relationships.
I despise that word--relationships. It has been used and soiled and frustratingly marred by so many different meanings. But what I really mean, what I'm trying to say, is that Love--love of a mother, a father, a sister, brother, friend, even a stranger--will often be the reason for resisting the temptation to "curse God and die."
Unfortunately, I immediately think of a movie which calls to mind this very principal. Worse yet, it is an Indiana Jones. Perhaps this is "light and fluffy" stuff, compared to the pain that is being suffered. Yet, I find often when things overwhelm one with their magnitude, often the best response is to find the response to a lesser suffering of the same type, and magnify it to the occasion.
And so, in this scene I remember:
After a thrilling sequence of events even acquiring the Holy Grail, it now falls into a deep and treacherous crevasse and is stuck on a ledge. Indiana Jones grapped Elsa as she reached for the grail, but she pulled away, grasping after her hearts desire, and fell down into the blackness below. As she falls, he is pulled down as well. In the last possible moment, his father catches his hand and holds him up from certain death. Indiana does not respond to that grasp so much as use it, turning to see the Grail he stretches away from the saving hand of his father and says, "I can reach it--I can reach it!" just like Elsa had a few moments before. His father speaks into that writhing and thunderous moment of agony and says softly, "Indiana--Indiana. Let it go." In that moment, their eyes lock, and all the pain that has built up from all the suffering along the road Indiana had undergone to reach the Grail, which his father now asked him to let go forever, was evident. "Let it go." His father repeated, and the thunder and calamity of all they were experiencing faded into a silent eternity as Indi paused in indecision. And Indi saw in his father's eyes the same pain--but more--and the same loss--but more--and he turned back to his father and was pulled back into safety.
I guess in the same way, the relationship we develope with our mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters in Christ, not only will they hold us back from falling into, may I call it, the pit of despair, but also they will give us godly counsel and insight, like your friend who brought you back to the beauty of faith through pain.
And of course, the most important relationship is with our Heavenly Father.
I don't usually write comments, Christy dear, but I have a friend who is going through that pit--and she has lost hope to such depths that--well, depths to which I hope to never sink. Something which I continue to notice throughout this whole affair is the lack of those relationships--loving family and friends in her life. I can only point to her Father and say, "He knows, He cares, and He loves you this much."
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