This morning, long before daylight, I woke to the sound of someone crying. It was God. She’d been crying quietly all night, but as the wee hours waned, her sobs grew louder. The darkness just before dawn is a tough time for a lot of us. Years ago, when I first heard God crying, I was shocked. If anyone should be able to cheer themselves up, wouldn’t it be God? Just go make another planet or something, I’d thought, wanting to get away from that oceanic, gripping sorrow.
But if you’ve ever loved anyone or anything at any time, you know that backing away from the sadness only twists and distorts—it doesn’t make it go away. So after I realized I wasn’t going to abandon God or hide from the grief, we made a little deal. God doesn’t back away when I’m sad, and I try my best to stay present when God’s heart is breaking. The roughest times are when she considers how much hatred is leveled in her name, how much suffering we inflict on each other, or how trashed this stunning little planet has become. These things catch up with her sometimes.
I often find comfort in the lap of God. It’s far more awkward when God tries to fit on mine, but that’s what needed to happen. My lap expanded to the size of a mountain range, my arms grew a million miles long, and I wrapped them around her, nice and snug. Then I swayed to the subterranean beat of the cosmos, murmuring the bits of hope I could muster, singing fragments of lullabies that came to mind.
“Sweet Lord,” I whispered. “You try so hard. You love so deeply. You’re a worthy, excellent God.”
Her head was tucked, body curled. Her vibrations were pulling me to pieces. She was in real pain.
“Gentle God,” I said. “Remember the good old days? When you were having so much fun, setting earth in motion, and sprinkling stars everywhere. Remember that? It must have been awesome.”
“Yes,” she said, her voice murky with grief. “So much I remember. So much I hoped.”
“And you can still hope, right? I mean, it isn’t over yet, is it?”
“I don’t know, my friend,” she said, with a deep, unsteady breath. “I honestly don’t know. You tell me.”
Dawn arrived. God wrapped herself in light, splashed her face in the falling snow, and thanked me as she became the song of the great horned owl, calling it a night. Heading for bed. This was good. We both desperately needed some rest. And then, it’s clear, I have work to do. We all have work to do.
Wow! This kind of surprised me, but it feels authentic. I cried; it was just what I needed. Thank you.
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Yeah. I think we are all surprised at some awful level. And crying is important. Thanks for your comment.
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Lament, and then get to work. Both are so needed right now. Thank and bless you, Rita.
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And bless you, Jean. Your support is greatly appreciated.
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Beautiful, Rita. We do all have work to do.
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Thanks lovely Liz. I hope we get to do some of the work together. Peace.
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This, as with many of your blogs, are so moving. I can see myself in your conversations with God. I feel the sadness and many other emotions but more importantly I value how you have given them to God. Showing the humanity and love, approachable, grandiose and yet frail. Thank you.
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Thanks Evelyn. It is a little bit like channeling, either from something deep inside me, or someone deep in all of us.
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Thank you, my internal Mother God needed this after facing the loss of 37 (and counting) young lives in my country Guatemala. All the pain brings out the anger towards a corrupt, ambiticious irresponsible system that not even She can fix. Was this some Sodom and Gomorrah circumstance before the wipe out, can’t we live without fear, without hatred? Can’t young girls, women, be given a chance?
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Gladys, I am so sorry for the great losses you face. I hope you can find some kind of inner peace in the midst of such sadness.
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Beautiful!
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Thanks Joyce–love your enthusiasm and spirit.
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Thanks, Rita, this is beautiful!
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And thanks to you for taking time to comment. Helps with the risk-taking!
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I wonder how life would change if God’s grief became a more vivid part of our theological/spiritual imagination than God’s power….or anger…or even love? Thank you, Rita.
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Yes. I wonder that too. If great sadness is part of being human, then it is part of being God…hard to get my heart around all that. Much love and big thanks to you, Jean…and continued healing too…
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