How to Argue with God

 

"Though He slay me, I will hope in Him. Nevertheless, I will argue my ways before Him. (Job)"

I read a story recently that begins with:

"I once saw a woman, a Russian, standing before the icon of Saint Job of Pochaev. She was not whispering timidly, nor was she hiding her emotion behind a mask of piety. She was arguing with the saint, begging him, reproaching him, pouring out her pain with fire. You could not tell if it was love or anger, but you could tell for sure it was life. Everything boiling within her was poured out there, before the icon."

This summer I had a big argument with God. It was personal, so I won't share the details, but a few weeks later, the topic of how we speak to God in prayer came up among my Christian friends. All of them are very devoted brothers in Christ, but a few had the opinion that our prayers should be respectful and reverent. The idea was that God is powerful, more powerful than anything we can compare with, so we have to respect that power.

I know God is my King and my Judge. But I also know Him as my friend, my Father, my Brother, my Comforter. I know Him as the One who is meek, restraining His power and lowering Himself to me for my benefit. And in familial relationship with the "One Who is closer than a friend", I am free to speak. Is God waiting for an excuse to strike me down? Or is He looking to lift me up? More importantly, does He remain constant in his stance toward me, or does He change, based on my actions. No, God does not change. He is always looking to restore.

As a Deacon friend of mine said, "God is Big Enough to hear us without getting his feelings hurt."

I'm reminded of the account of Jacob wrestling with a man. The text calls this entity a "man" and then "God", and in Hosea, an "angel".

Interesting to me is the way this passage begins: Then Jacob was left alone.

Maybe there are parallels with us at times. Our struggles can be deeply personal—the kind that no other person would understand. The complexities of our own personalities and experiences can make it hard for another to enter into our experience no matter how well we explain it. So perhaps we resign to what GK Chesterton calls "a quiet desperation."

Jacob wrestled all night with God. Sometimes a thing we go through can last weeks or years... or even a lifetime.

Jacob's hip was dislocated by God. Jacob's ability to walk was finally hampered in his wrestling match with God, when the Angel dislocated his hip. Maybe our ability to be like Christ is hampered by our pain.

And here's the clincher: Jacob, alone and struggling all night, smitten by God and unable to walk ... refused to let go. He held on tightly to God. The Man said "Let me go". But Jacob said, "No". He argued with God while holding on tightly to Him. And that's a model for us, not to reject God in our pain or because of our pain, but to open up, to be real, to trust him to hear us without being offended.

Interesting to me is the way this passage ends: Now the sun rose upon him.