He has turned his hand against me again and again, all day long; he has walled me in so that I cannot escape...Like a bear lying in wait, like a lion in hiding, he dragged me from the path and mangled me...He has filled me with bitter herbs and sated me with gall. He has broken my teeth with gravel; he has trampled me in the dust.
-Jeremiah the prophet.
I will not keep silent; I will speak out in the anguish of my spirit, I will complain in the bitterness of my soul...Who are we that you make so much of us, that you give us so much attention, that you examine us every morning and test us every moment?...Does it please you to oppress me, to spurn the work of your hands...Your hands shaped and made me -- will you now destroy me?
I realize that voicing ones struggle with God seems to be more than some people are willing to bear. You can complain about life and especially people and we will eat it up but if you dig into the character of God, it seems to shake us. We don't want to face our fears. We tuck our questions and hesitancies into a nailed shut box and place them under a neat little corner of our faith under the stairs. Hoping that they will rot away in obscurity and not reveal their frightening faces. But like the crate in the movie Creep Show, sooner or later someone or something in life will open up the crate and then all hell breaks loose.
Even Jesus was forsaken.
Whatever that means theologically, it at least speaks volumes emotionally and spiritually.
But the comforting thing to me is, that Jesus had no problem voicing His complaint and accusation publicly. He shouted loud enough for others to hear and for the disciples to write it down.
'Read your complaint,' said the judge...'Enough', said the judge. And now for the first time I knew what I had been doing. While I was reading, it had, once and again, seemed strange to me that the reading took so long; for the book was a small one. Now I knew that I had been reading it over and over; perhaps a dozen times. I would have read it forever; quick as I could...if the judge had not stopped me...At last the judge spoke. 'Are you answered?' he said. 'Yes,' said I. The complaint was the answer. To have heard myself making it was to be answered...I ended my first book with the words No answer. I know now, Lord, why you utter no answer. You are yourself the answer. Before your face, questions die away. What other answer would suffice?-Queen Orual in C.S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces.