A friend recently referred to something that had happened in her life as a “Hey, God!” moment, as in “Hey, God, what’s going on?” or “Hey, God, can You explain why this is happening?” I’ve been thinking a lot about that since.
In the religious tradition of my family, one did not question authority. As God was deemed the Ultimate Authority, one definitely did NOT question Him (and yes, He was definitely considered male, although sometimes the clarification was offered that He has no gender, but the male pronoun was still used exclusively). Questioning God was viewed as lack of faith. One was expected to accept whatever happened in life as “God’s will”, and further to “simply trust that it is for my good”.
In this environment, faith was implicitly linked with certainty. If one had faith, then one had no questions. If one allowed oneself to question, then one’s faith was deemed shaky and inadequate.
As I grew into my adult journey of faith, I fell in love with the Mystery of the Divine. It both delighted and comforted me to realize that it wasn’t necessary, or even possible, for me to understand everything about the Source of All. Embracing Mystery felt, to me, like stepping out of a tightly confining box into a great boundless and welcoming … something.
This sense of Mystery has been particularly comforting to me during times of heartache and difficulty. My mother passed away from cancer in the same summer that my spouse was serving with the Canadian military in Afghanistan. I was halfway across the country from my parents, caring for two young children who spent those months passing chicken pox and other childhood ailments back and forth like a favourite toy. It was conversations with a compassionate priest that helped me stay connected to my soul and to a source of strength beyond myself. He never once said “God has a plan” or “this is meant to make you stronger in your faith”. He simply listened, and affirmed that what I was experiencing was wrenching.
As I shared my feelings, worries, and grief, I came to realize I didn’t want answers. I didn’t want a belief system that told me how to feel and what was “right”. I wanted to know I wasn’t alone. Father Joe reminded me of that often, mostly in his compassionate listening, but also occasionally in words. After our conversations, I returned to my daily, difficult life with a sense of peace and support that defied description.
During that same period of time, a dear friend gave birth to a stillborn child. I remember telling my spiritual director that this loss, even though it wasn’t mine personally, felt like just too much to bear and that I wanted to be angry at God for allowing my friend and her husband to suffer so deeply. I’ll never forget his quiet response. “Go ahead and tell God. He knows you are grieving, and wants you to let Him hear your heart.”
It was a profound moment for me. It was the first time I’d ever considered that God welcomed my heartbroken messiness, even my anger in suffering. As the days unfolded after that conversation, I found myself quietly marvelling again and again that I didn’t have to hide my hurt from the Divine, that They actually wanted to share my grief and confusion, even welcomed my tear-drenched declarations of “this is too hard!” and even “this isn’t fair!”
This is the image of Spirit that I continue to walk with, over two decades later. Scripture tells us that the Divine is “sheer mercy and grace, not easily angered, rich in love.”
That sounds to me like a Divine One who won’t rebuke me for my “Hey, God!” moments. In fact, I feel in those words an invitation to be my authentic self in Their Presence. As I let all that is in my heart by witnessed by all that is Love, I can feel myself being loved, and even healed, in response.
This is the kind of Spirit with whom I want to relate, with whom my soul desires ever deeper connection. As I know myself to be loved with that kind of embrace, I feel ever more motivated to reflect that compassion and care to the humans with whom I have contact. As I grow in relationship with Mystery, I feel the mystery of my own soul as beloved. I, then in turn, can relate to others as beloved mystery.
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