In scanning the internet the week, I ran across the following article that appeared this past Thursday in something called Canada.com by a Monique Polak:

Not enough sleep? Kids not helping around the house? Can’t keep up with all your work? Quit your griping, says Will Bowen in his new book, “A Complaint Free World: How to Stop Complaining and Start Enjoying the Life You Always Wanted.” Only the Kansas City minister says so in a kinder, gentler way. Bowen, a media darling since he appeared on the Oprah Winfrey Show, believes complaining only makes our lives worse. “If you complain,” he writes, “you’ll receive more to complain about.” Bowen is behind the Complaint Free World program. His organization has distributed millions of purple bracelets worldwide. The people who wear the bracelets commit to going 21 days without griping. Not only that, but they also swear off gossip and criticism. “What’s left to talk about?” you might ask.  Bowen understands complaining is rampant; he calls it “our default setting.” He also acknowledges that sometimes, complaining makes sense. He warns, however, that it’s essential to express what we want rather than complain about the way things are. “Focus,” he advises, “beyond the problem.” Bowen’s little book is an eye opener. Even readers who think they seldom complain may catch themselves in the act. And if Bowen is right, complaining isn’t doing us any good. In fact, he’s convinced complaining serves only to maintain the status quo; it prevents us from moving forward. Complaining also fatigues those who have to listen to us because, as Bowen points out, there’s nothing more draining than hanging out with a complainer. Bowen recommends finding a “Complaint Free Buddy” – someone who can support us as we kick the complaining habit. (Canada.com “When Complaining Only Makes it Worse, 9/18/2008)

            Well, can you go 21 days without complaining?  I guess most of us complain a little too much, and after observing Dasa and Klara now for six weeks I have decided that maybe it is a trait of spoiled Americans.  They both are so grateful for everything and never complain about anything.  Just being around them is a breath of fresh air and you feel good about the human race.  I am really not much of a complainer, but I have my moments.  In fact, I want to get it all out in the open this morning, so I have complied a list of things I am complaining about or tired of complaining about:

1. Political banter – I am sick of it, and it has not even kicked into high gear yet

2. I am tired of any remarks that have anything to do with lipstick – from either party

3. I am tired of high gas prices and tired of filling up my mobile refinery, AKA my GMC Yukon

4. I am tired of crummy Razorback football

5. I am tired of great Florida and LSU football and I am tired of LSU beating Auburn!

6. I am sick and tired of those stupid Cavemen insurance commercials on TV, ditto for the ones with the talking lizard

7. I am tired of hurricanes wiping out my favorite beach vacation spots

8. I am tired of the now heavy traffic in Maumelle

9.  I am tired of being tired of stuff.       

10. I am tired of complaining, so I will stop at ten

            Well, complaining and negativity can become malignant, so I will stop there and try to be more grateful when possible, although gratitude is not nearly a contagious as grumbling.  I will never forget going to Florida after Hurricane Francis in 2004 to do crisis response work.  I was amazed at the devastation, and at the many remarkable people who lost it all.  But the ones I heard the most complaints from were not the ones who lost everything (many of whom took it in stride and were thankful that they still had their lives), but those who were simply inconvenienced by not having electricity for a couple of weeks.  What a bunch of whiners!  I complain too about such small inconveniences as I have been without power several times lately, but frankly those loses pale in comparison to our neighbors to the south that lost their entire homes in Gustav or Ike.

            In our lectionary passage today, we have a most unbelievable story about a bunch of griping, complaining, ingrates. The children of Israel had just been freed from slavery in Egypt and freed from the whips of their evil taskmasters where their lives were not worth dirt.  But that was now behind them, they were heading toward a land that God has promised, a land of milk and honey.  They got another chance at a good life, and their ancestors never had such hope.  They had witnessed the power of Jehovah God firsthand in the most dramatic of ways.  Without any additional loss of their lives, Yahweh slapped the tar out of mighty Pharaoh and destroyed his army.  Heck, they could see the Almighty in their midst from the cloud that led them by day and the pillar of fire at night, described as the “Shekinah” or dwelling place of God. And because of seeing the salvation of the Lord firsthand in a visible way that most of us could only dream about they were as happy as clams.  NOT!!! 

            Amazingly, they gripped and complained every step of the way. And after what they had been through, that was pretty unbelievable. Our text says in verse two and following, “There in the desert they started complaining to Moses and Aaron, “We wish the LORD had killed us in Egypt. When we lived there, we could at least sit down and eat all the bread and meat we wanted. But you have brought us out here into this desert, where we are going to starve.”

            Indeed the story of the Exodus and in their continued adventures in the book of Numbers, we see grumbling and complaints at every turn.  Now maybe it is human nature to complain, but come on, they had seen the evidence of God’s leadership like no others in history.  So I ask you this morning, how could they go from gratitude to grumbling so quickly?  This is amazing that after what they had witnessed.  It makes no sense. This is worse than those Floridians who complained about no electricity when their neighbors were blown completely away.  How ungrateful can you get?  It makes no sense, whatsoever.  No one could be this spoiled who had gone through what they had experienced in slavery and bondage.  This story just doesn’t add up.  We complain in America because we have so much, and we have a strong sense that we are entitled to so many things because every other American has so many things. And in a twisted sense you can understand why some people complain who should otherwise be grateful.  But in our text today, there is no logical reason for them to be so ungrateful.  But the point of the story is that they were, and once again God has to do something miraculous to get them back on board. Once again Moses has to say “shut up and pay attention”; yet again Yahweh is going to let you know how the cow eats the cabbage.

            Lest we be too hard on the chosen ones, I would suggest to you that the children of Israel’s problem was not an intellectual problem but an emotional one.  Were they grumbling for a good reason? No, of course not.  But they were grumbling, and I would suggest to you today that if we had been in their place we would have been to, and here is why: Their complaints took on the form of hard questions. They had questions that had to be asked that were not based on reason or experience, but on some emotional or spiritual need.   God had always provided, God had come through in a mighty way in the nick of time, but the children of Israel were still afraid, they still didn’t have as smooth of path as they would like.  God freed them, they wanted more.  So in the end, in spite of all the supernatural events that they witnessed, the children of Israel still grumbled, complained, and rebelled. Yes, they had hardships: living in the desolate wilderness; sometimes enduring starvation and extreme thirst; not being able to see where their next meal and their next drink of water would come from; those times must have been extremely difficult. However, whenever they reached the limits of their endurance, God never failed to provide. Again and again, God performed a miracle on their behalf, in their time of greatest need. 

            But whatever object lesson God was intending to convey, they didn’t get it. So they did what any of us would do when we are confused and afraid– they ask questions, and they complained. 

            Their questions were similar to the ones we all ask but we already know the answer to but we only feel better if we ask them.  Questions of the heart and not of the mind. Questions that are born out of hardship and not ones from peace or prosperity.  And when we are frightened, alone, sad, in crisis, in transition or grief stricken we too have such complaints.  Does these complaints make sense?  No, not intellectually– but yes, they do emotionally.

            Some years ago, maybe 20 years ago (but I remember it well), I was called to the hospital when Med-Flight went after a patient.  It seems that this young man who would be our patient had made some poor choices.  He was Hang gliding off of Petit Jean.  Do you know what Hang Gliding is?  It is where you strap a big Kite to your back and jump off a high spot and try to soar like an eagle and pray you don’t flop like a turkey.  This man was more like the later as he made a few logistical errors.  Number one, it was his first attempt at Hang gliding and he chose the highest spot on Petit Jean, right near her grave for his descent.  Secondly, he was highly intoxicated, and thirdly it was after dark.  It was a recipe for disaster, and that is why he woke up in our Surgical Intensive Care Unit.  I went by to see him; he was a mess and connected to about every life support device we can connect someone to.  Although conscious, he was unable to speak due to the respirator tube down his throat.  So I would faithfully go by everyday and simply poke my head in the door and say the following script: “Hi, I am Stan the chaplain, and I know you can’t talk right now, but I just want you to know that I am thinking about you and praying for you.  God Bless.”  He usually would just aim his penetrating eyes in my direction and any other emotion was hidden by his inability to physically express them.  I went by day after day and repeated this same scenario. Then one morning, I walk in his room and he was sitting up in the bed and he had the respirator and much of the other equipment removed.  I said, “Well, look at you, you are looking better.  I am the chaplain, do you remember me?” He said, “Oh sure, thanks for coming by.  But I want to ask you a question.”  “Let me have it,” I replied.  I will never forget his question as I must have looked dumbstruck: “Why did God do this to me?”  I thought to myself, what an idiot.  God didn’t do this to you man, you did it to yourself.  You were hangliding – stupid.  You were hangliding drunk – stupid. You were hangliding for the first time off a high mountain highly intoxicated and after dark – you idiot, you are lucky to be alive; you ought to be asking instead why you deserve to have God spare your life.  But I didn’t say any of those things.  What did I say?  “I don’t know the answer to your question. You have been through a lot; I know it doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

            You see his question was not one of intellect, but one of emotion.  No one asks “why me God” who doesn’t care about God to begin with.  If you don’t care about God, then you don’t ask that question.  He knew that he had made poor choices, and in the end he knew that he brought it all on himself.  But you see his question was emotional, not intellectual because he was grieving.  And when the question is emotional the question is always more important than the answer.  Always.  And if you haven’t asked these kinds of nonsensical questions, you will.  That is not a threat, it is reality.

            And these questions are very simple, but haunting. Some are difficult, perplexing, frustrating, disappointing, and even anger producing. They are enough to make you complain loudly, even in the wake of a great miracle or two.   As a minister, I am often almost daily asked questions by people who are experiencing grief or some other kind of significant suffering.  These questions may be very specific, or they may be very general.  They may be aimed at someone or they may be directed at no one in particular.  They may have obvious answers, or they may have impossible answers.  They may be rhetorical or they may earnestly desire an answer.  They may come from the heart or from the head.  Yes, we have questions. Hard questions. Unanswerable questions.  You might have to fight extreme doubt and challenges to your faith.   You might experience regrets and have feelings of missed opportunities.

            So today I thought I would share with you my favorite three questions of the heart, just in case you are ever stuck out in the middle of nowhere with no manna to be found. The first question: What if?  The poet Shell  Silversteen wrote: Last night while I lay thinking here, some what ifs crawled inside my ear, and pranced and partied all night long, and sang their same old what if song. The what if question is one that results from anxiety, anxiety such as grief.  This question is the question of the second guess.  If only I could have done something differently.  If only I could go back in time.  What if I had gotten him to the doctor sooner? What if I had decided differently? What if she had just done this or that?  The what if question is difficult on us because the person is second guessing themselves or perhaps taking responsibility for someone else’s life.  It is frustrating because you can’t ever turn back the clock and live in yesterday, you can only live in today.  While we would give anything for things to have turned out differently, the what if question is one that reminds us of our finitude and our powerlessness over lives and destinies.  It gnaws at our sense of peace and hope by undermining our personal strength and resources.  And because of its nature as a second guesser, it is particularly aggravating and persistent.  It is a question that can’t be realistically answered.

            The second question is just as difficult and just as common. The second question is: How Long?  We find these verses in Psalm 13:

            “How long, O God?  Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?  How long must I bear pain in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long?”

            We don’t know exactly why the psalmist was in such a bad place, but his pain was unmistakable. He paints a dark picture of despair and of being overcome with depression.  He is haunted by memories of better times and finds himself with the lingering questions of crisis.  Why me? Why now? And the especially piercing question, How long?  How long O lord do I ask and do you not answer?  How long must I suffer and hurt?  How long before things are better and life returns to normal?  How long, O Lord, How long?  These certainly seemed unanswerable to the psalmist.  For his was a spiritual crisis as well as an emotional crisis as well as a physical crisis.  The how long question is usually directed toward God.  It is a frustrating question because you can’t ever turn forward the clock and live in tomorrow, you can only live in today. It too, is a question that can’t be realistically answered.

            The third question may be the hardest question that you’ll never see on Jeopardy.  The third question is the age old one: Why me?   The what if question causes us to want to live in yesterday.  The how long question points us toward tomorrow.  But the question of why me is a question framed in today, which may be why it is the hardest for many people.  And we who have somewhat less than the strength and patience of Job find ourselves dealing with this question none the same.  Philosophers and theologians have written volumes on trying to answer this question and its variations.  And whatever answers that they have come up with leave us unsatisfied.  There must be a reason we say for this to have happed this way.   Sometimes this simple explanation suffices, sometimes it does not.  The truth is, that even if we had complete understanding it still would probably not be enough.  Because this question, like the other two, and the many others you may have thought of, are questions of the heart, not questions of the mind, despite what the world’s great thinkers would suggest to us.  Whatever answers there are to these questions are also of the realm of the heart and it is precisely there that we must look for relief.

            So what do we do with the Children of Israel, and what do we do with our own questions as well?  We simply asked them.  Our pain and grief often begins with questions that plague us and answers that elude us.  And our pain often ends by coming to grips with the ambiguity of life–from realizing that the questions and the permission to ask them are way more important than the answers anyway.  After all, answers only raise more questions when you are hurting.  And when you follow your heart you often discover a companion for the journey by finding God was there at your side all along.  Because chances are, God has provided manna in our own wilderness as well.   He doesn’t always take away all of our problems, and he doesn’t always answer our prayers like we think they always should be answered, but in the book of Exodus we do learn this:  He always hears our cries, always.  And he always walks with us through the wilderness, always.  And just when we think we are going to starve to death, he gives us manna.  Always.  And that may not be the answer we are looking for to our own hard questions, it is an answer that I am learning to be grateful for, because when life is hard, God’s guiding presence is the best good news one could ask for.  Thanks be to God! Amen.