“You’ve Got a Right to Complain”
What’s YOUR spiritual gift?
Everybody has one.
For some, it’s being encouraging.
Or giving money to the church.
Or praying without ceasing.
For others, running the A/V system.
Or chairing the Worship Committee.
Or joy, or humility, or empathy, or singing in the choir.
Or making sure the Old Codgers Group remembers lunch.
These are important things.
They’re spiritual things.
Everybody has a special, spiritual gift.
What’s yours?
I think one spiritual gift that doesn’t get the credit it deserves is –
Complaining.
That’s right: Complaining.
And some of you are thinking, “Wow! I’m way more spiritual than I thought.”
“Why didn’t somebody tell me?”
First thing we do when we’re born - we scream at the top of our lungs.
“It’s cold and bright out here! Put me back!”
Complaining is the first thing we do.
And some of us never stop.
The Psalm today, Psalm 31, is a long, holy complaint.
It’s a song of complaint to God.
It’s also an expression of love for God.
If you can turn your complaints to God into love of God, then for the love of God, and out of love for yourself and the world,
keep up the good work.
Thank you.
You’re a gift.
All you blessed little complainers.
Last week, it came to me that when we hear someone complaining to us or about us, we should say, “Thank you! For sharing your spiritual gift!”
Confusion is the best defense.
Quick disclaimer here, like on the drug company ads:
Don’t confuse complaint with whining. Whining’s addictive. Whining is selfish. Complaint – is Biblical. See Psalm 31 for details. Ask your pastor if complaining is right for you. And we’ll say, “Damn right it is.”
–
You think you’ve got problems?
Of course you do.
We all do.
Some of you have really bad problems.
Serious problems.
Life or death problems.
And if that’s you, please know: You’ve earned the right to walk out in the backyard and shake your fist at the sky and scream your lungs out.
Or sit in your car with Metallica turned up to 11 – laying on the horn and calling God’s name in your forehead veins until the neighbors call 911.
It’s OK.
Whatever you yell at God, God’s heard worse.
Like Psalm 31.
The writer of Psalm 31 is an artist – a master in the art of complaint.
—
I am the scorn of all my adversaries,
a horror to my neighbors,
an object of dread to my acquaintances;
those who see me in the street flee from me.
I have passed out of mind like one who is dead;
I have become like a broken vessel.
For I hear the whispering of many—
terror all around!—
as they scheme together against me,
as they plot to take my life.
Wow.
This writer’s got it bad.
I was about to say this “guy’s” got it bad.
But bad stuff isn’t into gender discrimination.
It happens.
And it happens to us all.
We deserve our complaints.
We’ve bought and paid the price for them.
Even Jesus did.
Baby Jesus who according to the song, “No crying he makes.”
The song is wrong.
Jesus wept.
And Jesus complained –
Jesus complained all the time.
He complained about his friends.
He complained about his family.
He complained about his preachers, the Pharisees.
And face it.
Who among us hasn’t complained about a preacher?
Robe-wearing know-it-alls.
In the New Testament lesson, Jesus is complaining.
He’s complaining about the Apostle Philip who says,
“Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.”
Jesus shoots back, “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me?”
Philip’s the one who never pays attention in class.
Jesus complains about the Apostle Thomas, who says, “Lord, we do not know where you are going, how can we know the way?”
I picture Jesus talking through gritted teeth: “Thomas… “I AM the way and the truth and the life.”
Adding, “How many times do I have to say it?”
If you just look at the parts of Psalm 31 we read – and there’s a whole lot more –
Google it and read the whole thing –
If you just look at what we read, the Psalmist is crying out to God for relief, over and over and over.
I seek refuge;
deliver me;
rescue me speedily.
save me.
take me out of the net that is hidden for me,
deliver me from the hand of my enemies and persecutors.
save me, save me, save me.
We don’t know what’s going on in the writer’s life, we just know it’s awful.
Whatever it is, this person deserves their good, heartfelt complaints.
Not only is life awful, but God has abandoned him.
God has abandoned her.
She’s complaining TO God and ABOUT God.
Psalm 31 is the voice of the Bible saying,
“You think you’ve got problems?”
“So do I.”
“So do I, brother.”
“So do I, sister.”
“You’ve got complaints?
“Let ‘er rip.”
“Share your spiritual gift.”
—
I think we’re afraid that if we complain, God’s going to get mad at us.
We say, “Can’t complain.”
Yes you can.
And sometimes it’s the only thing you CAN do.
I never know what to say when I’m visiting someone in the hospital and they say, “There are lots of people here worse off than I am.”
Do I say, “And thank goodness for that!”?
Not so pastoral. For the other people.
The competitive part of me wants to say, “Oh no way! You’re Number One! I saw the standings.”
What I think I’m going to say next time is something like,
“Maybe so. There probably are people worse off. But you’re the only one going through this, in your body, in your mind, in this room – today.
“And you’re still here.”
“You’re still here.”
Whatever the situation, to say, “I’m still here,” lays claim to both your suffering, and to life.
A well-earned complaint.
–
Sometimes we say, “Well. Things could be worse.”
One of my favorite movies is still Young Frankenstein. In one scene, Fraunkestein and Eyegore are robbing a grave. Covered in dirt, the Doctor says, “What a filthy job!”
And Eyegor says, “Could be worse. Could be raining.”
And then it does.
Lightning strikes; there’s a downpour.
It’s Mel Brooks’ dark Jewish humor saying, “Cheer up. It’ll get worse.”
Victor Frankl is making a comeback these days - can’t imagine why.
His classic book, “Man’s Search For Meaning,” is his memoir about surviving a Nazi concentration camp.
I listened to it while taking walks on dusty hot South Alabama walking trails.
Context is everything.
Doctor Frankl teaches: There is always a choice.
There is a space between what happens to us and our reaction;
in that space lies our power to choose.
Even when everything else (possessions, health, loved ones) is taken away, a person retains the freedom to choose their internal state — their attitude.
Frankl emphasized being responsible, "response-able" – meaning nothing, not even the worst, can take away our ability to choose our response to circumstances, instead of letting the circumstances choose for us.
Even when we can no longer change a situation (suffering, or death),
Even then we’re challenged to change ourselves by deciding how we will face that situation.
Now if someone who hadn’t been through a living hell on earth said that, you’d want to smack them in the face.
But Frankl survived horrors beyond imagination.
And yes, there were people in the camps who had it worse than he did.
He saw them.
And as a doctor, he tried to care for them.
Life is the way to life.
Helping someone, helps us both.
Being alive with someone is evidence that we’re both still alive.
Even if we feel alone, we can help someone else not be so alone.
We can be – alone together.
It doesn’t cure us.
It doesn’t make our suffering disappear.
But every burden is lighter when it’s shared.
True for the people we help; and true for us.
Complaints make us stronger together.
–
As preparation for this sermon, I opened up Spotify and listened to a playlist of the Blues.
Born from slavery, transfer-portaled into White people’s rock-and-roll, the Blues are a lot like the Psalms.
Of course they are.
We White Christians READ the scriptures.
A Black church FEELS the Scriptures.
A synagogue FEELS the Psalms.
Because there, they say, these are MY people.
This is MY life.
That’s ME in the picture.
Listen to Ella Fitzgerald sing, “I got it bad, and that ain’t good.”
Or Sam Cooke:
“Trouble, trouble, and misery
Is about to get the best of me”
But woven in before you see it coming, he sings,
“But I know that someday, oh someday, darling
I won't be trouble no more”
The Blues are a confession - a complaint that there’s nobody else in this place that’s got it worse than me, worse than us.
But the Blues also has the hope.
I may have nothing else, but I still have a voice to sing the sadness.
And someday I’ll raise my voice in praise.
Psalm 31 is Bible Blues.
I mean, just listen:
For I hear the whispering of many—
terror all around!—
Echoes of, “Trouble, trouble, and misery.”
But without skipping a beat, without getting all candy-coated, the Psalm pivots.
It weaves in God, weaves in life.
Be a rock of refuge for me, a strong fortress to save me. You are indeed my rock and my fortress; for your name's sake lead me and guide me;
My times are in your hand; deliver me from the hand of my enemies and persecutors. Let your face shine upon your servant; save me in your steadfast love.
Make no mistake: It’s still the Bible Blues.
It’s still a complaint.
But it’s not whining.
It’s not happy, skipping Jesus with sunshine and roses, “Don’t worry; be happy.”
It’s more like – despite it all, Jesus could still sing.
Jesus, the artist who brings life by dying on a cross.
The Jesus who knows suffering, the Jesus who “descended into hell,” right here on earth.
Jesus who even in death could sing the lyrics of Psalm 22, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me.”
Which, by the way is one of the few things I remember from seminary: his cry from the cross wasn’t anger at God’s abandonment; it was reciting a Psalm – Psalm 22.
A Psalm OF God, for God.
Maybe the Psalm was a song Mary sang to him as a boy.
Complaint, by the greatest artist.
Psalm 22: Look it up.
–
The line between a complaint and a prayer is very thin.
Porous.
If you can turn your complaints to God into love of God, then for the love of God, and out of love for yourself and the world, keep up the good work.
In the words of John Lewis, take your bad trouble, and make some good trouble.
If you’ve got complaints, let ‘em rip.
Your voice, your choice, your song – is a gift.
A gift to you, a gift from you.
A spiritual gift.
It started with Jesus, it started with Psalmists,
it started with Adam and Eve,
it started way, way back when the first humans were born into the world
opening their mouths and screaming out those complaints for all time.
Your complaints are nothing new.
On the contrary,
You’re just singing the latest verse, your solo,
Your complaints are part of a song people have been singing from the start.
Life hurts.
But as long as we're still singing, we're still hoping.
Don’t be afraid to join the choir of human hope.
And know that, in the words of the Bible Blues someday,
“...someday, oh someday, darling
I won't be trouble no more”
[eos]
