Paul StuligrossI’ve got something to admit. I’m a blessed man. But sometimes, I struggle to realize that. OK, it’s out. The high school theology teacher sometimes struggles to understand God. I’ve told this, more than once, to my students. And they’ve shared their struggles, too.
I’m reminded of a conversation I had with them before. I asked them: “Do you think it’s OK to be mad at God?” As they glanced tentatively at one another, I could tell they wanted to answer, but were afraid. Slowly, a few hands edged up. Then I told them a story I heard from a priest friend.
He was working in a parish and hadn’t seen a particular woman in some time. The woman had previously been very involved. One day he paid her an unannounced visit. When she opened her door, he asked her where she’d been. Then he stepped inside and it became clear to him something had changed. She’d taken down all her crosses, holy pictures and statues. The walls and tables were empty. The priest asked her why she’d done this; why she hadn’t been to Mass. She told him about a tragedy that had stricken her family. Then she admitted something else: she was mad at God. She coiled as she awaited his response, certain it would be harsh. It wasn’t. Instead, he looked at her and said: “That’s great.”
“How could that be great?” she asked. He looked at her, without regret, and said: “You can’t be mad at God … unless you love Him first.”
At the heart of this woman’s plight is the condition with which we all deal in the deepest recesses of our souls. In order to be angry at someone, we have to love them. God’s big enough to deal with our anger. What He can’t work with is indifference; the type of “luke-warmness” of which Jesus speaks in the Gospels. It’s been said before that anger is really love disappointed. And the Psalms are chock full of laments of this nature; people crying out to God, grieving over His seeming absence. It’s been going on for ages.
M. Scott Peck opens one of his novels with the statement: “Life is difficult.” He could have probably ended it at this point and it would have sold just as many copies. Nowhere in the Bible are we promised paradise on earth. It just doesn’t happen. Please, somebody remind me of that the next time I grumble. What we are promised is that we will all endure suffering of some kind — that it’s part of the human condition, part of a fallen world. But we can all take heart in the next promise; the one that says if we’re faithful, we will come to a place where there will be no suffering.
There are those whose reasons for being angry with God are far greater than mine. I hope I never have to flirt with those minions. Yet in the midst of our muddled lives, I believe God can assuage our brokenness better than anything on this earth. Nor do I think a prerequisite to God’s comfort is complete understanding. Any God small enough to fit into our minds is too small. God is more than our reasoning can hold.
St. Teresa of Avila once wrote: “Lord, if this is how you treat your friends, no wonder you have so few.” I get what she means. Being Catholic doesn’t give us immunity from suffering. Rather, it allows us the comfort of knowing God is by our side through it all. But that doesn’t mean we won’t question.
Sometimes I pray for things, and rather than getting better, they get worse. It’s then I’m forced to confront my struggles; either God doesn’t hear me, or He’s got something better brewing in the wings. Or maybe … the things we take for granted, someone else is praying for. One thing’s for sure; lamenting at God is probably better than not speaking to Him at all.
Paul Stuligross teaches theology at Livonia Ladywood High School and is a former police officer.
