“Will you now restore the Kingdom to Israel?” Is today the day you’re going to fix everything, cut the powers that be down to size and show them that Love and Mercy are the true powers and that Love itself is You?
I think not…and for that very reason I am angry with you. I don’t understand your choices, I don’t understand how you claim to Love so powerfully yet allow us to continue in our foolishness and idolatry day after day. Sure you’re self-emptying and all-loving, but this makes no sense. If you loved us, wouldn’t you rather set all things right as soon as possible?
What reason for the delay? Is it some divinely ordained plan to just wait until we’re so exhausted that we can no longer continue? What majesty is there in silence, in weakness, and in being trampled upon? What power can there be in allowing the world to fall ever increasingly into chaos? What justice is there in a world where money rules and corporations decide the events of our lives?
What justice can there be in a world where those who bear your name don’t bear your likeness? What justice can there be in a world where we are persecuted, abandoned and destitute? We are forgotten, just like you.
Men sing your praises with their lips and women clap their hands in exultation, people rejoice at your magnificence, but there are starving people down the street, abandoned buildings in our midst, and suffering children’s cries in our ears.
And yet, you sit in perfect passivity. You contemplate your own glory, and your perfection is unceasing. Maybe we should praise you for being the most contented narcissistic being ever. Mayhap we should be content that everything that happens is in your divine will, and that you’re just a beneficial dictator. Maybe you’re the all-loving Hitler in the sky, at least that’s the way that they paint you. They show you to us as a cloud of glory, an all powerful yet wholly apathetic and unsentimental being, so unmoved that we might burst for the compassion you’ve given us that you seem to lack, because everything is in your plan.
Your words do not rage in the hearts of the prophets, instead, they are drowned out by hushings and sighings. Your cries for justice on the lips of the autistic child are silenced or put out, your cries of love reach deaf ears when they come from the hungry and the poor. The woman in that pew is not sure how she will feed her children tonight, and the couple next to her is sated beyond their ability to spend, what manner of family is this? What honor can be had among a people mighty and sated with their own power?
Your “prophets”, your “apostles”, they ask us to believe that we too should be empowered, powerful, mighty, successful, monetarily wealthy. They tell us to seek these things, and as an afterthought mention that we might want to seek the kingdom first, because these things are irrelevant in so many ways. Your prophets maintain the status quo, they hold fast the barriers, and they’ve made a mockery of you. They’ve cast lots for your garments, but only to exchange them with an american flag. They no longer clothe you in purple, they clothe you in the seamless garment of patriotism. They crown you with lady liberty, and place the declaration of independence as a sign above you. They give you the sword, and nail it to your beaten hands, they take your beaten teeth out of your mouth and replace them with bullets, they take your wounds and fill them with the ichor of bitterness and pride. They give you to drink hypocrisy and mix it with the blood of their enemies. They lay you in the tombs of their great heroes, they inscribe your name on their war memorials and fail to see that you undo their idols. You yourself are the weakened voice that in its very weakness and suffering destroys all idols.
You do not raise your voice, you do not defend yourself against these abusers, these pilates, these caesars.
NOTHING makes me angrier than the words “It must be the will of God”. As if you haven’t clearly shown us that which you desire. I am angered, furious at your lack of standing up for yourself at times. You just sit there on your beaten tree, breathing, gasping, blood in your eyes, and you ask for our forgiveness. Let me join you, in praying for this broken world, for I cannot bear to stand outside it another moment, and at least in joining you, i may find life and hope. If all I see is darkness, at least I know you gave your life that they might have life, and that your will is life, over against the chaos of death that has usurped your good creation.
Teach me to forget my anger and forgive, that we might have heaven on earth.
Let us bear this together, for your body is life, let me be found in your wounds, and let your wounds be found in my body. Teach us to rightly stand with you, not in power, but in weakness. Teach us to surrender our power, frustrate all our plans, show us we’re all pretentious, that we might experience the joy of being dependent children, utterly lost without you.