Good and Angry

What am I bringing to the Cross today?

A big steaming heap of anger.

YES! I AM MAD AS HELL! This isn’t what we were promised! A twinkling of the eye and the entire world changed, many years ago. And the promises handed down from mouth to mouth, through books and street preachers and priests and mothers and nuns and fathers. Follow Jesus up to the Cross and everything will be All Right, Baby.

Yeah, yeah, injustice in the world, riots in the streets of some far-off country, small children dying alone somewhere, that hurts. I can’t worry about that, though. Not when I’m barely holding on here, now, huddling against the darkness that threatens to enroach, the cold winds blowing around me bringing no sounds of life, anywhere.

Metaphorically, of course. Anyone who looks over here at me sees a woman working hard, typing something important while listening to Neil Diamond on her iPod.

What is there, though, out there for me? More importantly, what the hell am I doing here?

And why, dear God, did you give me this hope?

Because without this stupid thing called ‘hope’, I would so be able to just go on with a grey little life, here in the darkness, not expecting something better. I’d nurse these wounds and not cry out and complain about them, because I wouldn’t have this accursed hope that someday, somehow, it will be All Right, Baby.

No, because of this stupid hope, I have to get up on my tired feet and stumble through this dark desert, groping around for the Light and Truth I know is somewhere out there.

And then, today, I stumble up another hill, like all the others out here, and I squint through the dark, and keep climbing because it looks like there’s something up there.

And there You are, looking down at me with sightless eyes as I’m looking up at You.

I’ve got nowhere else to go. And my feet hurt.

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