Originally posted in my old newsletter, “It’s Hard Being Human,” on August 13th, 2021
I used to want to throw rocks at God’s face.
Every time I imagine myself doing this, I see myself on the beach in Hawaii at sunset, because I lived in Hawaii the first time I had this felt-need to throw rocks at God’s face, and He felt the closest at sunrise and sunset.
Mary, not Mother Mary — another Mary — threw herself at the feet of Jesus, crumbled, broken-hearted, and grieved. She said to Him in a choked whisper, “If You had been here, my brother would not have died.”
If You had been here, there wouldn’t be this unnecessary loss.
If You had been here, I wouldn’t be so broken.
If You had been here, You would have protected me.
If You had been here, my body’s alarm system wouldn’t be malfunctioning.
If You had been here, I could trust You.
If You had been here, I wouldn’t feel so needy and small.
If You had been here, You wouldn’t let all this be happening.
If You had been here, life wouldn’t be this way.
I still want to throw rocks at God’s face sometimes. I think Mary probably did, too.
I said this to a friend a long time ago, and it made her uncomfortable then. It probably still would. How dishonoring and irreverent to not only feel, but to also admit the desire to throw rocks at God’s face. What kind of Christian would do such a thing?
What kind of Christian can’t accept the mysteries of God?
What kind of Christian can’t keep her faith together?
What kind of Christian doesn’t say the right things?
What kind of Christian throws herself at the feet of Jesus in front of a crowd of people, completely wrecked with sorrow?
How can anyone expect me to be holy and good when I’m gripped and choked with so much anger and grief?
I think God’s okay with my felt-need to throw rocks at His face sometimes. He knows how small I am, and He’s kind enough to take it, like a merciful punching bag.
He’s really, really kind enough.
Someone told me recently that feeling this way means I’m still seeking God.
“I am?” I asked, surprised. “Even though I’m really pissed off?”
“Yeah,” she said with a kind of gentle familiarity to her voice, like she knew exactly what I was feeling. “That’s part of relationship.”
I think that’s why Mary could fling her heavy, grief-strewn body at Jesus’ feet and say to Him,
“If you had been here…”
He wept right along with her when she did that. It says it right there, the shortest verse in the Bible: “Jesus wept” (John 11:35). Not a rebuke, a strong-face, or a disgusted back-hand to the cheek to be seen. Even while Jesus knew that Mary’s brother would live again, I bet in reality, He fell to His knees with her.
I wonder if He’d ever throw rocks right along with me, just so that I don’t have to do it alone.
I can picture it, right on the beach at sunset in Hawaii. We’d throw rocks at the cotton-candy sky until our bodies couldn’t take it anymore, the waves of the sea just kissing our toes. I’d probably drop into the sand then, feeling resignation course through my body, like Mary did at Jesus’ feet. And He’d take a seat next to me.
And we’d just watch the sun go down, knowing that God would still be kind enough to cause it to rise again the next morning.