Pause in Lent 2

Categories: a-pause-in-lent

Date: 03 March 2013 08:44:19

(though in reality, it should be No. 3!)

A Pause in Lent_1024

And quite frankly, I think Angela has said what I was thinking, but in a much better way thanI would have done!

She has been struggling with her knee, recovering after an operation; I have been struggling with my back. And I have been trying hard to be as positive as I can about it: thank God that I can move, albeit slowly, that I can work; that I have MrD to do the things I can't; that we have warmth, food, clothing; that when the cats jump on me and jar my back...well, they want to cuddle and be stroked.  But sometimes I am tempted to just swear and be self pitying.

Why me?

But equally, why not me?

It is tempting to think that being a Christian means that every thing is easy. But it isn't. Life is indeed shit sometimes: loved ones die, we are in pain, damaged, in dire straits. And it is still shit. And it feels shit too. But somehow we still have a rock to cling onto. And sometimes cling on is all we can do.

It is often said that The Psalms are a good place to go when things are hard. I remember a well-respected pastor in Milton Keynes, who was going through cancer, saying that he always found something in the Psalms that was relevant to his day-to-day experiences.

This interpretation of Psalm 88 from The Message is one that speaks of complete and utter desperation. It is a cry of abandonment, of a belief that God has given up on us.

God, you’re my last chance of the day.
    I spend the night on my knees before you.
Put me on your salvation agenda;
    take notes on the trouble I’m in.
I’ve had my fill of trouble;
    I’m camped on the edge of hell.
I’m written off as a lost cause,
    one more statistic, a hopeless case.
Abandoned as already dead,
    one more body in a stack of corpses,
And not so much as a gravestone—
    I’m a black hole in oblivion.
You’ve dropped me into a bottomless pit,
    sunk me in a pitch-black abyss.
I’m battered senseless by your rage,
    relentlessly pounded by your waves of anger.
You turned my friends against me,
    made me horrible to them.
I’m caught in a maze and can’t find my way out,
    blinded by tears of pain and frustration.

 I call to you, God; all day I call.
    I wring my hands, I plead for help.
Are the dead a live audience for your miracles?
    Do ghosts ever join the choirs that praise you?
Does your love make any difference in a graveyard?
    Is your faithful presence noticed in the corridors of hell?
Are your marvelous wonders ever seen in the dark,
    your righteous ways noticed in the Land of No Memory?


         I’m standing my ground, God, shouting for help,
    at my prayers every morning, on my knees each daybreak.
Why, God, do you turn a deaf ear?
    Why do you make yourself scarce?
For as long as I remember I’ve been hurting;
    I’ve taken the worst you can hand out, and I’ve had it.
Your wildfire anger has blazed through my life;
    I’m bleeding, black-and-blue.
You’ve attacked me fiercely from every side,
    raining down blows till I’m nearly dead.
You made lover and neighbor alike dump me;
    the only friend I have left is Darkness.

This really is a Psalm of desperation crying out to a God who doesn't seem to be there. As Christians, we believe that he is there: he hears us and he comforts us. And while we might be desperate for him to reach down his almighty hand and pull us out of the mire, he doesn't work like that. He's not a "magic answer" that takes away all our problems (however often we might want him to be) But he is there, with us, in our moments when we feel we cannot bear any more.


I'm blessed that, in all honesty, I've not really suffered complete despair. I pray that I won't, but I fear I may. I trust that if/when I do, I will be able to cling to God, and that even when I am at my furthest from him, I will still be able to scream, and cry, and rage, knowing that he is there, in the darkness with me.

I'm not sure how - or even if! - this fits with the Fasting:Feasting theme of this year's Pauses. I'm not even sure if it makes sense, but it seemed to flow through my finger tips to the keyboard, so maybe it's meant to speak to somebody who reads it. If it's you: let me say that He's there. It may not feel like it but he is. Trust him.