Complaint Department
Commentary
A woman who works at Weight Watchers said that a new client had begun her diet. When she came in to be weighed after the first stressful week, she stepped on the scale and found that she had lost a couple of pounds. The dieter wasn’t too happy, however. She complained, “My friend comes here to Weight Watchers, and she said she lost ten pounds her first week! She told me I’d lose ten pounds in the first week too! But look at this!”
The leader at Weight Watchers was a little disturbed. She knew that you don’t lose weight overnight, so she tried to comfort the woman by reminding her that the ideal was a slow weight loss. That kind of diet was more likely to produce permanent weight reductions. She asked the dieter, a little indignantly, “Who told you that she lost ten pounds in her first week?! Is she a doctor?!”
The woman shook her head.
“Is she a nurse?!”
No, said the woman.
“Well! Is she a nutritionist, or another Weight Watchers leader?!”
Negative again!
“Well who is she?!”
“I think...,” said the newcomer, “I think she’s a liar!”
Most of us complain more than we appreciate complainers. We are quick to point out the faults in others, or the failings of organizations and government, but we deflect challenges to our own sins and missteps as if they matter not. Today we engage complainers, either in ancient Israel or surrounding Paul in Rome, or in the mirror of ourselves as Jesus points a few fingers.
Exodus 16:2-15
The plagues upon Egypt, that take place shortly before this wilderness grumbling conference, originally served not as gory illustration material for modern Sunday school papers, but rather as the divine initiatives in an escalating battle between Yahweh and the pharaoh of Egypt over claims on the people of Israel. The plagues were a necessary prologue to the Sinai covenant because they displayed and substantiated the sovereignty of Yahweh as Suzerain not only over Israel but also over other contenders. Israel belongs to Yahweh both because of historic promises made to Abraham, and also by way of chivalrous combat in which Yahweh won back the prize of lover and human companion from the usurper who had stolen her away from the divine heart. Furthermore, Yahweh accomplished this act without the help of Israel’s own resources (no armies, no resistance movements, no terrorist tactics, no great escape plans), and in a decisive manner that announced the limitations of the Egyptian religious and cultural resources.
Therefore, the final plague is paired with the institution of the Passover festival (Exodus 12). The annual festival would become an ongoing reminder that Israel was bought back by way of a blood-price redemption, and that the nation owed its very existence to the love and fighting jealousy of its divine champion. In one momentous confrontation, Egypt lost its firstborn and its cultural heritage, while Israel became Yahweh’s firstborn and rightful inheritance.
These things are further confirmed in the reiteration of the importance of circumcision (Exodus 13:1-16). The rite of circumcision was practiced by a number of peoples of the ancient near east, but invariably as either a mark of elitism (only those of a particular class in the community were circumcised) or as a rite of passage (boys or young men who did heroic deeds in battle or the hunt would be circumcised to show that they had become part of the adult warrior caste). What is unique about the commands regarding circumcision for Israel is that it is egalitarian (all males are to be circumcised, and through them all females gain the right to be called the people of Yahweh), and that it is to be done typically on babies or young boys prior to any efforts on their part to perform deeds of valor. This transforms a regional practice that had been identified primarily as a badge of honor earned, into a mark of ownership given, as expressed in the patriarchal antecedent found in Genesis 17. It is through this lens that the New Testament practices of baptism must also be viewed; John’s baptism (along with many purification rituals among, e.g., the Essenes and Pharisees) carried with it the flavor of a ritual of passage leading to earning the colors of heightened spiritual maturity, while the use of baptism in the church followed the ownership markings of Israel’s practice of circumcision (see, for instance, Jesus’ command regarding baptism in Matthew 28:18-20 and Paul’s connection of baptism and circumcision in Colossians 2:11-12).
Related to this divinely initiated ownership theme is the miraculous deliverance of Israel through the Red Sea, coupled with the annihilation of the Egyptian army and its national military prowess in the same incidents. While Exodus 14 narrates the episode in the nail-biting urgency of a documentary, chapter 15 is given over largely to the ancient song of Moses, which unmistakably identifies the entire exodus event as divine combat against Pharaoh over the possession of Israel. Furthermore, the victory ballad also clearly anticipates the effect of this battle on the other near eastern nations, with the result that Yahweh is able to march the Israelites through many hostile territories, and eventually settle the nation in Canaan as an ongoing testimony to Yahweh’s rightful prestige. So it is that the exodus itself is not the divine goal, but only the first stage toward something else.
This seems to inform the inclusion of these grumbling stories in today’s lectionary reading. Trust, rather than lack of supplies, seems to be the point of the tales. Israel had belonged to the pharaoh of Egypt, who, although tyrannical and capricious in his dealings with this enslaved work force, nevertheless provided consistent subsistence provender. Now all bets were off. Life was happening at the edges of existence, in the wilderness places, without a dumb-down daily work routine.
So, the Israelites balked. Could they trust this unknown God? Was faith and freedom and flight and fortune better than enslaved predictability? Murmuring about hunger was not the problem but the symptom of deeper disease. Can we live in the wild winds of unpredictable trust and faith?
Philippians 1:21-30
Despite its brevity, Paul’s letter to the Philippians contains a number of notes about Paul’s changing situation and the people who are in and out of his social circle. Paul is “in chains” (Philippians 1:13), and around him are several preachers who testify about Jesus (Philippians 1:14-18), some for more noble reasons than others. Paul may have been depressed about his circumstances (Philippians 1:22-24), and maybe even thought at one time that he was about to die (Philippians 2:16-17), but he believes there is still a future ministry ahead of him in this life (Philippians 1:25-26). Recently the Philippians had sent their pastor or key leader, Epaphroditus (Philippians 2:25-30), to bring a gift of food and clothes to Paul (Philippians 4:18), along with their warm wishes. Now Paul is sending this letter of thanks and will soon commission his trusted associate Timothy to bring Epaphroditus home to Philippi (Philippians 2:19-30).
Pulling together these bits of information, a reasonable chronology surrounding the writing of Paul’s letter to the Philippians might look like this: Sometime in the spring of 57 A.D. Paul arrived in Rome. While he was clearly a prisoner awaiting adjudication before Caesar himself, Paul was also a Roman citizen with rights and freedoms. And since the charges against him were sectarian (related to Jewish religious practices) rather than capital crimes, Paul was able to establish his own living circumstances within the larger palace precincts, while remaining under a type of house arrest.
Probably late in 57 A.D. or early in 58, Epaphroditus, who had been serving as pastor or congregational leader in Philippi, brought Paul a rather significant gift from that church (Philippians 2:25; 4:10). It may have included both money and supplies; in any case, it greatly enhanced Paul’s comfort in his limited circumstances.
Epaphroditus stayed on with Paul for some time, assisting him as a servant. Unfortunately, Epaphroditus became ill and nearly died (Philippians 2:25–30), and only very recently had returned to full health.
Paul believed that homesickness for Philippi and the congregation there might have contributed to Epaphroditus’ grave malady and vowed to send him back home as soon as he was able to travel. Of course, a letter of appreciation and encouragement was a necessary part of all these things, so Paul penned Philippians, probably sometime in early 58 A.D.
Paul’s letter to the Philippians is the most joyful and uplifting note of the entire New Testament. Even in Paul’s confinement, he is filled with delight in his relationships, and amazed at what God is doing (Philippians 1). Almost without needing to do so, Paul reminds the congregation of the great example of Jesus, who gave up everything to express the love of God to us (Philippians 2:1–18). Another example of this selfless care is found in both Timothy and Epaphroditus, each of whom had sacrificed much to serve others, especially the faith community in Philippi (Philippians 2:19–30). More encouragement to serve follows, with Paul reflecting on his own changes of behavior and value systems once he was gripped by the love of God in Jesus (Philippians 3). A few personal instructions and notes of appreciation round out the letter (Philippians 4).
Today’s lectionary reading is at the heart of both Paul’s difficult circumstances and his freeing connectedness with Jesus and Jesus’ magnificent people. While complaining might have been the natural tendency, it is faithfully resigned hopefulness which reigns in Paul, and which inspires his wonderfully joyful message to those who have freedom and ease and surplus, but who wish to share in Paul’s want so that all might thrive as Body of Christ.
Matthew 20:1-16
This is one of Jesus’ most maddening parables. If we sit with it long enough, we realize that the message is one of grace — all are blessed by the unlimited resources of the estate holder, and this is a great thing, because all are in need.
Yet we all tend to focus on two things. First, we assume we can and ought to identify ourselves among the early workers in the field, and therefore more desirable, better qualified, and deserving of more pay. Second, we tend to believe that even gracious and undeserved gifts are somehow merited, and that we are the best students in the class. We are like the boy who came home from his first school day, proudly announcing to his parents that he was the best-looking boy in the class. When they asked whether his teacher had told him this, he said, “No! I looked around the class, and I could see that no one looked as good as me!”
So, we complain. We complain when others get breaks we think they don’t deserve. We complain when our good experiences are dwarfed by the windfalls of others. We complain that we are overlooked or disappear in the faceless crowd. We complain when God doesn’t respect us as much as our egos demand.
But maybe no one deserves work or pay or dignity. Maybe grace is the only air we breathe. Maybe we are not at the head of the line but slipped in last minute only because God held the door when it should have been shut. Maybe we are not loved because we are worthy, but worthy because we are loved.
Suddenly, complaining sounds hollow. The only person at the head of the line in the kingdom of God is Jesus. Thankfully, he brings all of us with him.
Application
Complaining seems to be an essential element of the human condition. One of Bishop Berkeley’s “Principles of Human Knowledge” is this: “We have first raised a dust and then complain we cannot see.” Sound familiar?
In 1770 Edmund Burke published a little treatise called Thoughts on the Cause of the Present Discontents. His perception sounds quite contemporary: “To complain of the age we live in, to murmur at the present possessors of power, to lament the past, to conceive extravagant hopes of the future, are the common dispositions of the greatest part of mankind.”
Some complaining seems justified. Take the situation of a weary traveler at a New York City hotel. World-famous violinist Jascha Heifetz was in town for a Carnegie Hall recital. Heifetz’s musical perfection owed much to constant practice. At midnight on the eve of his concert, he was still sawing away in his hotel room.
The telephone rang. It was another guest, whose musical appreciation stopped much earlier in the evening. She demanded a little quiet.
“But I am Jascha Heifetz,” said the violinist.
“I don’t care if you’re Lawrence Welk,” came the sharp reply. “I want to get some sleep!”
We’ve probably all made that phone call at one time or another. Or wished we had.
Sometimes our complaints seem excessive. British poet Matthew Arnold was neither kind nor gracious. He was known for his overly critical eye. One time he stayed at the home of an American family while on a speaking tour. His hostess offered him pancakes for breakfast. Arnold took one, tasted it, and then passed the plate to his wife. “Do try one, my dear,” he said. “They’re not as nasty as they look!”
When he died, one of his neighbors said of him, “Poor Matthew; he won’t like God.”
Probably much of our mean-spirited whining is sacrilege. But consider this: sometimes our excessive complaining is actually a reflection of the excessive evil that surrounds us and even spills out from our own hearts. Perhaps if we ever stop complaining about that, we won’t have a prayer left.
Alternative Application (Exodus 16:2-15)
One medical study seems to indicate that chronic complainers tend to live longer than people who have a mild and pleasant disposition. In other words, if you are irritable and cranky you have a better chance of living to be a hundred.
But one person, at least, has questioned those findings. He says complainers do not necessarily live longer; it just seems like it to those around them! One woman who prayed for patience found her world suddenly inundated with clumsy and trying people. Patience is not something one can order up on demand, but a choice that grows out of difficult relationships.
That is probably why, in the New Testament, James points to the prophets of the Old Testament as an example of the practice of patience (James 5:10). Moses, of course, is the greatest among these, and his leadership, as in today’s passage, garnered him a tumult of complaints. But think also of Jeremiah who argued with God about not wanting to be a prophet. He just wanted to live with his family and friends. Yet the urgency of love for God and his community demanded that he speak the truth. For his efforts, he was dumped into a slimy pit and barely kept alive on moldy bread. And then there was Isaiah, who felt the passion of care, speaking of “comfort” (Isaiah 40:1), was eventually hacked to death with a sword. Amos, too, found his name on the king’s “most wanted” posters. And Ahab and Jezebel were forever making the lives of Elijah and Elisha miserable.
People can be cruel to people. Brothers get in a tiff about family money and don’t speak to each other for years. Sisters-in-law become spiteful and mean. Business associates use gossip to destroy each other while competing for honors at the office. Husbands abuse their wives and children push the sarcasm buttons that dig at their parents.
In the sixteenth century Dr. Thomas Cooper edited a major new dictionary of the English language. For eight years he worked on it, collecting notes, writing definitions, and researching sources. Then one day, while he was out of the house, his wife decided to finish a fight they had been having by burning every paper in his study. People can be cruel to each other.
Sometimes people mistake patience in others as a sign of weakness. Ambrose Bierce, in his famous Devil’s Dictionary, defined patience as “a minor form of despair disguised as a virtue.” In other words, patience is for wimps, for the helpless and the hopeless, for those who have no backbone. They pretend to be patient, but really, they are just too weak to fight back.
Biblical patience, however, isn’t weakness. It is, rather, a kind of strength that chooses the weapons of combat, determining to fight cruelty with love and mean-spiritedness with compassion. The prophets were no wimps. Hosea chose to love a woman who was unfaithful to him, echoing God’s passion for his wayward people. Jeremiah chose to stay with the poor people of Jerusalem even though they ridiculed him, simply because he cared so much about them.
I know a couple whose only son was killed by a drunk driver who was driving without a license and had no insurance. Friends and lawyers urged them to sue the man and his wealthy parents for all they were worth. The courts would gladly judge this travesty in their favor.
“No,” they replied. “We refuse to live that way.” Instead, with patient love, they slowly built a relationship with the young wastrel. Eventually they took him from prison into their home and allowed him to become another son to them in place of the one who was lost to them under this man’s car.
Is patience weak? Certainly not in these quiet folks. They have proved it to be stronger than revenge. Patience is not putting up with something because we have no way out; rather it is choosing to stick with people and continuing to love them even when we could become angry or mean or hurtful, even when we could just turn our back and walk away. Somehow that sounds a lot like God!
The leader at Weight Watchers was a little disturbed. She knew that you don’t lose weight overnight, so she tried to comfort the woman by reminding her that the ideal was a slow weight loss. That kind of diet was more likely to produce permanent weight reductions. She asked the dieter, a little indignantly, “Who told you that she lost ten pounds in her first week?! Is she a doctor?!”
The woman shook her head.
“Is she a nurse?!”
No, said the woman.
“Well! Is she a nutritionist, or another Weight Watchers leader?!”
Negative again!
“Well who is she?!”
“I think...,” said the newcomer, “I think she’s a liar!”
Most of us complain more than we appreciate complainers. We are quick to point out the faults in others, or the failings of organizations and government, but we deflect challenges to our own sins and missteps as if they matter not. Today we engage complainers, either in ancient Israel or surrounding Paul in Rome, or in the mirror of ourselves as Jesus points a few fingers.
Exodus 16:2-15
The plagues upon Egypt, that take place shortly before this wilderness grumbling conference, originally served not as gory illustration material for modern Sunday school papers, but rather as the divine initiatives in an escalating battle between Yahweh and the pharaoh of Egypt over claims on the people of Israel. The plagues were a necessary prologue to the Sinai covenant because they displayed and substantiated the sovereignty of Yahweh as Suzerain not only over Israel but also over other contenders. Israel belongs to Yahweh both because of historic promises made to Abraham, and also by way of chivalrous combat in which Yahweh won back the prize of lover and human companion from the usurper who had stolen her away from the divine heart. Furthermore, Yahweh accomplished this act without the help of Israel’s own resources (no armies, no resistance movements, no terrorist tactics, no great escape plans), and in a decisive manner that announced the limitations of the Egyptian religious and cultural resources.
Therefore, the final plague is paired with the institution of the Passover festival (Exodus 12). The annual festival would become an ongoing reminder that Israel was bought back by way of a blood-price redemption, and that the nation owed its very existence to the love and fighting jealousy of its divine champion. In one momentous confrontation, Egypt lost its firstborn and its cultural heritage, while Israel became Yahweh’s firstborn and rightful inheritance.
These things are further confirmed in the reiteration of the importance of circumcision (Exodus 13:1-16). The rite of circumcision was practiced by a number of peoples of the ancient near east, but invariably as either a mark of elitism (only those of a particular class in the community were circumcised) or as a rite of passage (boys or young men who did heroic deeds in battle or the hunt would be circumcised to show that they had become part of the adult warrior caste). What is unique about the commands regarding circumcision for Israel is that it is egalitarian (all males are to be circumcised, and through them all females gain the right to be called the people of Yahweh), and that it is to be done typically on babies or young boys prior to any efforts on their part to perform deeds of valor. This transforms a regional practice that had been identified primarily as a badge of honor earned, into a mark of ownership given, as expressed in the patriarchal antecedent found in Genesis 17. It is through this lens that the New Testament practices of baptism must also be viewed; John’s baptism (along with many purification rituals among, e.g., the Essenes and Pharisees) carried with it the flavor of a ritual of passage leading to earning the colors of heightened spiritual maturity, while the use of baptism in the church followed the ownership markings of Israel’s practice of circumcision (see, for instance, Jesus’ command regarding baptism in Matthew 28:18-20 and Paul’s connection of baptism and circumcision in Colossians 2:11-12).
Related to this divinely initiated ownership theme is the miraculous deliverance of Israel through the Red Sea, coupled with the annihilation of the Egyptian army and its national military prowess in the same incidents. While Exodus 14 narrates the episode in the nail-biting urgency of a documentary, chapter 15 is given over largely to the ancient song of Moses, which unmistakably identifies the entire exodus event as divine combat against Pharaoh over the possession of Israel. Furthermore, the victory ballad also clearly anticipates the effect of this battle on the other near eastern nations, with the result that Yahweh is able to march the Israelites through many hostile territories, and eventually settle the nation in Canaan as an ongoing testimony to Yahweh’s rightful prestige. So it is that the exodus itself is not the divine goal, but only the first stage toward something else.
This seems to inform the inclusion of these grumbling stories in today’s lectionary reading. Trust, rather than lack of supplies, seems to be the point of the tales. Israel had belonged to the pharaoh of Egypt, who, although tyrannical and capricious in his dealings with this enslaved work force, nevertheless provided consistent subsistence provender. Now all bets were off. Life was happening at the edges of existence, in the wilderness places, without a dumb-down daily work routine.
So, the Israelites balked. Could they trust this unknown God? Was faith and freedom and flight and fortune better than enslaved predictability? Murmuring about hunger was not the problem but the symptom of deeper disease. Can we live in the wild winds of unpredictable trust and faith?
Philippians 1:21-30
Despite its brevity, Paul’s letter to the Philippians contains a number of notes about Paul’s changing situation and the people who are in and out of his social circle. Paul is “in chains” (Philippians 1:13), and around him are several preachers who testify about Jesus (Philippians 1:14-18), some for more noble reasons than others. Paul may have been depressed about his circumstances (Philippians 1:22-24), and maybe even thought at one time that he was about to die (Philippians 2:16-17), but he believes there is still a future ministry ahead of him in this life (Philippians 1:25-26). Recently the Philippians had sent their pastor or key leader, Epaphroditus (Philippians 2:25-30), to bring a gift of food and clothes to Paul (Philippians 4:18), along with their warm wishes. Now Paul is sending this letter of thanks and will soon commission his trusted associate Timothy to bring Epaphroditus home to Philippi (Philippians 2:19-30).
Pulling together these bits of information, a reasonable chronology surrounding the writing of Paul’s letter to the Philippians might look like this: Sometime in the spring of 57 A.D. Paul arrived in Rome. While he was clearly a prisoner awaiting adjudication before Caesar himself, Paul was also a Roman citizen with rights and freedoms. And since the charges against him were sectarian (related to Jewish religious practices) rather than capital crimes, Paul was able to establish his own living circumstances within the larger palace precincts, while remaining under a type of house arrest.
Probably late in 57 A.D. or early in 58, Epaphroditus, who had been serving as pastor or congregational leader in Philippi, brought Paul a rather significant gift from that church (Philippians 2:25; 4:10). It may have included both money and supplies; in any case, it greatly enhanced Paul’s comfort in his limited circumstances.
Epaphroditus stayed on with Paul for some time, assisting him as a servant. Unfortunately, Epaphroditus became ill and nearly died (Philippians 2:25–30), and only very recently had returned to full health.
Paul believed that homesickness for Philippi and the congregation there might have contributed to Epaphroditus’ grave malady and vowed to send him back home as soon as he was able to travel. Of course, a letter of appreciation and encouragement was a necessary part of all these things, so Paul penned Philippians, probably sometime in early 58 A.D.
Paul’s letter to the Philippians is the most joyful and uplifting note of the entire New Testament. Even in Paul’s confinement, he is filled with delight in his relationships, and amazed at what God is doing (Philippians 1). Almost without needing to do so, Paul reminds the congregation of the great example of Jesus, who gave up everything to express the love of God to us (Philippians 2:1–18). Another example of this selfless care is found in both Timothy and Epaphroditus, each of whom had sacrificed much to serve others, especially the faith community in Philippi (Philippians 2:19–30). More encouragement to serve follows, with Paul reflecting on his own changes of behavior and value systems once he was gripped by the love of God in Jesus (Philippians 3). A few personal instructions and notes of appreciation round out the letter (Philippians 4).
Today’s lectionary reading is at the heart of both Paul’s difficult circumstances and his freeing connectedness with Jesus and Jesus’ magnificent people. While complaining might have been the natural tendency, it is faithfully resigned hopefulness which reigns in Paul, and which inspires his wonderfully joyful message to those who have freedom and ease and surplus, but who wish to share in Paul’s want so that all might thrive as Body of Christ.
Matthew 20:1-16
This is one of Jesus’ most maddening parables. If we sit with it long enough, we realize that the message is one of grace — all are blessed by the unlimited resources of the estate holder, and this is a great thing, because all are in need.
Yet we all tend to focus on two things. First, we assume we can and ought to identify ourselves among the early workers in the field, and therefore more desirable, better qualified, and deserving of more pay. Second, we tend to believe that even gracious and undeserved gifts are somehow merited, and that we are the best students in the class. We are like the boy who came home from his first school day, proudly announcing to his parents that he was the best-looking boy in the class. When they asked whether his teacher had told him this, he said, “No! I looked around the class, and I could see that no one looked as good as me!”
So, we complain. We complain when others get breaks we think they don’t deserve. We complain when our good experiences are dwarfed by the windfalls of others. We complain that we are overlooked or disappear in the faceless crowd. We complain when God doesn’t respect us as much as our egos demand.
But maybe no one deserves work or pay or dignity. Maybe grace is the only air we breathe. Maybe we are not at the head of the line but slipped in last minute only because God held the door when it should have been shut. Maybe we are not loved because we are worthy, but worthy because we are loved.
Suddenly, complaining sounds hollow. The only person at the head of the line in the kingdom of God is Jesus. Thankfully, he brings all of us with him.
Application
Complaining seems to be an essential element of the human condition. One of Bishop Berkeley’s “Principles of Human Knowledge” is this: “We have first raised a dust and then complain we cannot see.” Sound familiar?
In 1770 Edmund Burke published a little treatise called Thoughts on the Cause of the Present Discontents. His perception sounds quite contemporary: “To complain of the age we live in, to murmur at the present possessors of power, to lament the past, to conceive extravagant hopes of the future, are the common dispositions of the greatest part of mankind.”
Some complaining seems justified. Take the situation of a weary traveler at a New York City hotel. World-famous violinist Jascha Heifetz was in town for a Carnegie Hall recital. Heifetz’s musical perfection owed much to constant practice. At midnight on the eve of his concert, he was still sawing away in his hotel room.
The telephone rang. It was another guest, whose musical appreciation stopped much earlier in the evening. She demanded a little quiet.
“But I am Jascha Heifetz,” said the violinist.
“I don’t care if you’re Lawrence Welk,” came the sharp reply. “I want to get some sleep!”
We’ve probably all made that phone call at one time or another. Or wished we had.
Sometimes our complaints seem excessive. British poet Matthew Arnold was neither kind nor gracious. He was known for his overly critical eye. One time he stayed at the home of an American family while on a speaking tour. His hostess offered him pancakes for breakfast. Arnold took one, tasted it, and then passed the plate to his wife. “Do try one, my dear,” he said. “They’re not as nasty as they look!”
When he died, one of his neighbors said of him, “Poor Matthew; he won’t like God.”
Probably much of our mean-spirited whining is sacrilege. But consider this: sometimes our excessive complaining is actually a reflection of the excessive evil that surrounds us and even spills out from our own hearts. Perhaps if we ever stop complaining about that, we won’t have a prayer left.
Alternative Application (Exodus 16:2-15)
One medical study seems to indicate that chronic complainers tend to live longer than people who have a mild and pleasant disposition. In other words, if you are irritable and cranky you have a better chance of living to be a hundred.
But one person, at least, has questioned those findings. He says complainers do not necessarily live longer; it just seems like it to those around them! One woman who prayed for patience found her world suddenly inundated with clumsy and trying people. Patience is not something one can order up on demand, but a choice that grows out of difficult relationships.
That is probably why, in the New Testament, James points to the prophets of the Old Testament as an example of the practice of patience (James 5:10). Moses, of course, is the greatest among these, and his leadership, as in today’s passage, garnered him a tumult of complaints. But think also of Jeremiah who argued with God about not wanting to be a prophet. He just wanted to live with his family and friends. Yet the urgency of love for God and his community demanded that he speak the truth. For his efforts, he was dumped into a slimy pit and barely kept alive on moldy bread. And then there was Isaiah, who felt the passion of care, speaking of “comfort” (Isaiah 40:1), was eventually hacked to death with a sword. Amos, too, found his name on the king’s “most wanted” posters. And Ahab and Jezebel were forever making the lives of Elijah and Elisha miserable.
People can be cruel to people. Brothers get in a tiff about family money and don’t speak to each other for years. Sisters-in-law become spiteful and mean. Business associates use gossip to destroy each other while competing for honors at the office. Husbands abuse their wives and children push the sarcasm buttons that dig at their parents.
In the sixteenth century Dr. Thomas Cooper edited a major new dictionary of the English language. For eight years he worked on it, collecting notes, writing definitions, and researching sources. Then one day, while he was out of the house, his wife decided to finish a fight they had been having by burning every paper in his study. People can be cruel to each other.
Sometimes people mistake patience in others as a sign of weakness. Ambrose Bierce, in his famous Devil’s Dictionary, defined patience as “a minor form of despair disguised as a virtue.” In other words, patience is for wimps, for the helpless and the hopeless, for those who have no backbone. They pretend to be patient, but really, they are just too weak to fight back.
Biblical patience, however, isn’t weakness. It is, rather, a kind of strength that chooses the weapons of combat, determining to fight cruelty with love and mean-spiritedness with compassion. The prophets were no wimps. Hosea chose to love a woman who was unfaithful to him, echoing God’s passion for his wayward people. Jeremiah chose to stay with the poor people of Jerusalem even though they ridiculed him, simply because he cared so much about them.
I know a couple whose only son was killed by a drunk driver who was driving without a license and had no insurance. Friends and lawyers urged them to sue the man and his wealthy parents for all they were worth. The courts would gladly judge this travesty in their favor.
“No,” they replied. “We refuse to live that way.” Instead, with patient love, they slowly built a relationship with the young wastrel. Eventually they took him from prison into their home and allowed him to become another son to them in place of the one who was lost to them under this man’s car.
Is patience weak? Certainly not in these quiet folks. They have proved it to be stronger than revenge. Patience is not putting up with something because we have no way out; rather it is choosing to stick with people and continuing to love them even when we could become angry or mean or hurtful, even when we could just turn our back and walk away. Somehow that sounds a lot like God!
