I’ve often heard folks — good, churchgoing folk s— say something like, “I know we’re not supposed to question God, but ….” And then they unload a perplexing theological question or a life situation for which they have been unable to find a rationale. I’m not certain of the origin of this idea of not questioning God. It’s certainly not biblical.
When one surveys the state of the world today, it’s hard not to question God. Consider the recent terrorist bombing at the Boston Marathon, the fatal explosion at a fertilizer plant in West, Texas, or the building collapse in Bangladesh which killed 147 people at last count. Consider the violence and death that happens on a daily basi s— theft, greed, oppression of women, trafficking of young girls, persecution of minorities, harassment of immigrants, poverty, starvation, genocide.
Daniel Glaze
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Is the Lord among us or not?
That’s precisely the question asked by faithful people in Exodus 17. That question echoes the psalmist’s questions: How long, O Lord? My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? It seems to me that our Jewish friends have a robust tradition of openly questioning God and God’s (in)action, yet followers of Christ often struggle to bring themselves to do so.
Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel wrote a play some years ago called The Trial of God. The play is based loosely on Wiesel’s experience as a teenager at the concentration camp at Auschwitz. In the play, God was put on trial by three Jewish rabbis. On the day of Rosh Hashanah, from a place of deep anguish, the Auschwitz prisoners called God to judgment and condemnation for creating a world where such evil and suffering exists — and then not intervening to stop it. Robert McAfee Brown introduces the play this way: “The trial lasted several nights. Witnesses were heard, evidence was gathered, conclusions were drawn, and the verdict was unanimous — the Lord God Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth, was found guilty of crimes against creation and humankind.”
And then, after an “infinity of silence,” as Wiesel puts it, one rabbi speaks up and says, “It’s time for evening prayers.” The people begin to recite the Maariv, the evening prayer service.
Wiesel’s point here is profound — for people of faith, it is possible to question God while remaining faithful to God. Questioning God is not a rejection of God, for the act of questioning God presumes that God is present with us and listening to us.
Moreover, God is strong enough to take our questioning. That’s why, when at our wit’s end, we are able to honestly ask, Why, Lord? As Berish, a character in Wiesel’s play, declares, “I lived as a Jew, and it is as a Jew that I shall die — and it is as a Jew that, with my last breath, I shall shout my protest to God!”
But then what? What shall we do after we’ve let it all out, unloaded our questions, and raised our protest to God?
I love the Gospel story from Matthew 21 where Jesus tells a parable of a man and his sons. This father tells one son to go to work in the vineyard, but the son refuses. Later, however, the son changes his mind and goes to the field to work. The man gives his other son the same request. This son complies at first, but then changes his mind and does not go into the field to work. Jesus asks his hearers, “Which son did the father’s will?” The answer is simple and clear — the son who initially refuses his father’s request, but then obeys.
It seems to me that Jesus is saying that following him begins when you’ve shouted your protest, when you’ve asked your questions, and then get up and go to work.
I believe that authentic faith begins not once God has answered all our questions to our satisfaction. No, real discipleship begins when we cry out to God over the tragedy and death all around us, and then decide to rise and work for good in a world in desperate need.
Daniel E. Glaze ([email protected]) is pastor of First Baptist Church in Ahoskie, N.C.