When my brother and I were old enough to be left home alone, we always had to clean the house.  As we got older, we fell into our roles as obedient and ‘rebellious’ oldest and middle children.

Which meant by high school I was cleaning the house everyday, even forsaking homework to get it done.  If the house wasn’t cleaned, we were yelled at for not ‘pitching in and being part of the family.’  Sometimes I’d refuse to do any of it, and quickly the house would become obviously lived in.

I vividly remember my mom sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by piles of books and papers, the counters filled with dishes and her complaining about it all.  “Maybe we need to make a chore chart.”

My complaints about how it was only messy because I (not we) didn’t clean it fell on deaf ears.

There was no talk of splitting the chores when I worked, only when I didn’t.  The fact that my siblings or parents didn’t help me was never talked about.  When I did the job, everything was hunky-dory.  When I didn’t, then it was ‘oh why isn’t everyone doing their part?’  I wasn’t given credit for working, only shared blame when I wasn’t.

My complaints and frustrations were never acknowledged.  The unfairness of the situation was never addressed.

When I got married, I didn’t do any housework for a year.

Not only was I not heard, I had always been taught that complaining was a sin.  “Do everything without arguing and complaining.”  And the Israelites were held up as an example of who not to emulate.  “Look at those unfaithful Israelites,” they would say in church.  “God brings them out of slavery, and then they have the nerve to complain!  They didn’t trust God enough.  Thank goodness we know better.”

So I was blown away when Brueggemann not only affirms the Israelite’s complaining, but says that sometimes it’s what we need to be doing!

“Israel does not voice resignation but instead expresses a militant sense of being wronged with the powerful expectation that it will be heard and answered.”

It is an act of faith that they complain.  They expect an answer out of this old-but-new God they trust enough to follow into the desert.

They are thirsty for 3 days before they cry out, and then only after the water they find is bitter.  (And we judge them for this?)  But not only does God heal the water, he brings them to fountains and palm trees.  They are hungry and he says, ‘I hear you.’  They are thirsty again, and ‘is the Lord among us or not?’

They have a sense of what it means to be human.  To be quenched and fed, answered and present.

And it’s all God’s fault, really.  “God heard their groaning.”  He heard and delivered at the beginning of their story.  He responded, and so they trust he will do so again and again.

Should we expect God to act?  Should we expect that he will hear us?  Do we have the right to voice our complaints?

Do we have a sense of what it means to be human?  To be an image of God?  Are there standards of justice and rightness we should be aspiring to?

What happens when you find yourself in the desert, wondering if God is with us?

What do you do when the Pharaoh in your life turns out to be your CEO?  When your family’s provision is dependent on someone who is

sexist (if a woman shows up to an interview in a red car, it means she’s a fast woman),

racist (there was a black person working here….and now there isn’t),

political (if you’re a Democrat, we have ways of making you not want to work here),

dishonest (fudge your timesheets so that your overtime doesn’t affect your bonus metrics),

– and if that wasn’t bad enough, does all these things in Jesus’ name?

What to do when the job and housing markets have you feeling stuck with this empire?

“The grieving cry learns to turn away from false listeners and turn toward the one who can help.”

Deep down you know this is not what God has for you.  This is not his best for you.  Talents are unappreciated, underused, undervalued, and your family life suffers because numbness and apathy are seeping into everything.

“Criticism is not carping and denouncing.  It is asserting that false claims to authority and power cannot keep their promises……real criticism begins in the capacity to grieve because that is the most visceral announcement that things are not right.”

When people say, ‘it’s God’s will’ or ‘God has a plan’, it feels like they are indulging the apathy.  Because what if this is wrong?  What if shit happens and it isn’t what God wants?  What if slavery, bitter water, and starvation actually aren’t God’s design?

If we can give voice to the cry inside of us, then we have found our complaint, our grief that things are not how they’re supposed to be.  But unless we say it, we have no hope of changing things.

It is not a lack of faith to complain.

There is a vulnerability, or as Brueggemann says, ‘a risk’ in choosing God over empire.

Because what if our groanings aren’t heard?  There is no guarantee God will intervene when or how we want.

But do we believe the Lord is among us?  That he is for us?  Do we believe he stands against the -isms that separate and dehumanize?

I’ve been conditioned to think my complaints won’t be heard.  But I’m not crying out simply because I want to be listened to, or because it’s just not fair.  I voice my frustrations because I know we are part of a system that is anti-God.  My complaints are rooted in the character of God, and I fully expect him to hear, and provide relief.

So the people grumbled (and sent out résumés).

 

This post is a reflection on the book The Prophetic Imagination by Walter Brueggemann.  It’s our#transitlounge book for April.  If you’re reading along, what do you think so far?