The Monster

God is in our monsters and our demons

I was talking to a friend about freedom and grace the other day. In her spiritual journey, she is moving out of law. She is doing what folks like to call, “deconstructing” .

As we talked it became obvious that she is afraid. Afraid that if she removes all the rules, she will self destruct.

You see, she has been told she was bad.

That’s what religion tells us.

And she’s done things in her past that she regrets. So, the “bad person” narrative was validated.

She’s afraid of this bad person inside her. This “sinner.” This monster.

This monster has been caged and subdued for years by her religious beliefs and rule systems. And she is afraid of grace because if she strips away the rules, the monster will be set free.

But what if the monster is god?

If there is such a thing as god, most folks - atheists and believers alike agree that god must be that which is infinite.

Which means there is nothing god is not and nowhere god is not.

God is in light, and love and beauty.

God is in darkness, and apathy and ugliness.

God is in our monsters and our demons.

The picture I chose for this post is a monster that was found in Borneo. No one knew what it was. They put it in a cage because they were afraid of it. It was wild and tried to chew and claw its way out of the cage. The image and story went viral. Finally, there were those who recognized this monster was just a bear that was sick with an illness that had caused it to lose its hair and look grotesque.

We are like that.

We encounter pain and suffering and it makes us sick. We lash out and act in monstrous ways. We look scary and grotesque to ourselves and to others. Our impulse is to cage that monster, to tame that monster. With laws, with religion, with dogmas and rules to follow and deeds to do. We can’t see the pain behind the monster. We can’t see that the monster is no monster at all. Just a lovely, suffering creature that needs food and nourishment, love and healing.

One of the metaphors of the crucifixion is that god is not separate from suffering.

God is the monster.

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The shame of suffering

We become resilient not by denying the reality of brokenness or our feelings of vulnerability and shame but by naming them within relationships of safety and empathy.

This article is about a little girl that died. And about how her parents and her church could not accept their grief. And for six days they prayed for her body to be resurrected.

It says so much about power, religion, lament and shame.

“…shame is the primary biological force that evil uses to disrupt and disconnect us from one another and the reality of God’s love. When our faith isn’t strong enough to remove suffering or conquer death, we often feel deep shame over our insufficiency, an experience that gets reinforced by Christian culture’s over-emphasis on the power of faith to produce healing. Suffering is often treated like something worth praying away rather than a meaningful experience through which we might all better know the God who chose to suffer. When suffering lingers, we often become isolated in shame, suffering silently and privately instead of being pitied or further shamed by endless prayers for healing.”

Read it here:
https://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2019/december-web-only/wakeupolive-heiligenthal-bethel-church-miracle-doesnt-come.html?fbclid=IwAR1QiBmWbm_OSiv4Mmq0VG5AM2m0qSMybYmZr2zYK9oEDIkkiZTOMvPT5VQ

My God my God, why have you forsaken me?

In death, God is riven from God’s very self.

“From noon until three in the afternoon darkness came over all the land. About three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eli, Eli,lemasabachthani?” (which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”).

When some of those standing there heard this, they said, “He’s calling Elijah.”

Immediately one of them ran and got a sponge. He filled it with wine vinegar, put it on a staff, and offered it to Jesus to drink. The rest said, “Now leave him alone. Let’s see if Elijah comes to save him.”

And when Jesus had cried out again in a loud voice, he gave up his spirit.”

Elijah didn’t come to save him.  God didn’t come to save him.

It was finished. 

In death.

This is one of the profound elements of the Christian story and one that is overlooked. 

Many people have rejected the idea of a God of life and love due to the tremendous suffering we see all around us.  If there is a loving God, why doesn’t God do something about suffering?  It’s a question we have all heard, or asked, or wondered about.  Maybe we have decided it’s an unanswerable question.  Maybe we have set it aside.  Maybe we have found answers that satisfy us.  Answers like: evil and suffering isn’t from God, but from satan, or from mankind.  Answers like: suffering is due to the falleness of creation.  Answers like:  suffering is what transforms us into the likeness of Christ, therefore it is part of God’s plan.   Answers like: it’s my fault, I didn’t have enough faith. 

But if we are honest, when we are in our darkest hour of pain and suffering, we cry out, “my God, my God WHY have you forsaken me?!”    WHERE IS GOD IN THIS?!?!?   Is God insensitive to my pain?  Does God hear me?  Does God exist? 

Perhaps the answer is not “no, God has not forsaken you.”  But rather, “yes – God has forsaken you.” 

When God forsakes you, God forsakes God’s very self.  

That is one of the profound truths  being revealed in the crucifixion.  In death and in suffering – God forsakes God’s very self.

If God is life and love then every incident of death and evil is God forsaking himself.   Every incident of  pain and suffering is life and love forsaking itself, forsaking you, forsaking all that is life and love.  

But God is not JUST life and light and love because life cannot exist without death.  Death must occur for life to occur and that is the second profound truth in the crucifixion.   Without death there is no life. So in the very nature of life itself, death is built in.  So God is life.  God is death.  And in death, God is riven from God’s very self.   

At the core of God is a forsaking, a giving over to death in order that there may be life.  

“Listen carefully: Unless a grain of wheat is buried in the ground, dead to the world, it is never any more than a grain of wheat. But if it is buried, it sprouts and reproduces itself many times over. In the same way, anyone who holds on to life just as it is destroys that life. But if you let it go, reckless in your love, you’ll have it forever, real and eternal.”  John 12:23-25

“What you sow does not come to life unless it dies.” I Cor 15:36

“If anyone wants to be a follower of mine, let him take up his cross and follow me. Whoever wants to save his life must lose it” Matt 16:24-25

I used to read these types of verses thinking they were about living a life of self-denial and sacrifice.  Now I see them as verses that tell us that life and death are bound up together.  Without death, there is no life.  We see this clearly in nature and accept it readily.  It’s harder when it’s our life and the things or people we love dearly.  

Wherever there is good – evil is right there.

Wherever there is life – death is.

The plant dies to produce the seed.  Plants die as they are eaten as food.  Animals die as they are eaten as food.  Crazy weird beetle larva paralyze their prey and eat them alive.  A parasite called a strepsiptera eats its mother from the inside out to be born.

In death, life springs forth.    

A couple of years ago I was on a silent retreat.  One of the exercises was to write down all the things in my life that had been pivotal, transformational, life changing.  What had made me who I was today?  It was interesting to see that most of them were painful things.  Suffering.  And yet, most of the suffering had produced life in me, growth, goodness. 

In death, life springs forth.

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