Yelling at God

A few years ago I was in a bar with some friends of mine. There were a few girls that I had never met before and we were all quite sauced.
Three of us were sitting at the table talking about boys and such when one of the girls I'd never met burst out crying and went on a tangent about an ex of hers.
I mean this girl, she was pissed. She was pissed at the ex boyfriend, she was pissed at mutual friends of theirs and how they don't treat her the same now that she's no longer with him, but mostly she said, mostly she was pissed at God.
She went on to tell Lisa and I that she would lay in bed, or stand in the shower, or pace her living room just screaming and shouting at God. She said all sorts of things to us about why she was pissed at God...and man was she pissed at God.
Then we did a shot.
As cigarettes were lit, this girl fell silent.
It was like one of those moments where you could really feel that something important was about to be said, something that was a big deal.
She looked over at Lisa and I and her eyes were filled with tears, and her just recently animated face was slack and filled with palpable fear.
What if, she said, What if I've yelled and railed against God so much, that it's to late? What if he's done with me because I've been so pissed at him, because I've said such nasty things to him and about him?
She asked us if it was to late. If she pushed God to hard and now he's washed his hands of her.
She wondered if God was able to see past this white hot rage she was throwing at him to see that she was really just terrified and lonely.
This girl asked Lisa and I a lot of things that night, she wondered a lot of things aloud to us in that corner booth.
There was so much hurt there, there was so much desperation and turmoil, grief and doubt.

Lisa and I hugged her, this girl we had never met before. This friend of a friend that was coming apart in front of us with the help of jäger bombs and shots bought by boys with bad intentions.
But most of all, most of all we reassured her that God was rejoicing because she was talking to him at all. God heard her anger, he took her rage and he put it on the back of his Son who hung on a cross. We told her as many times as possible that Jesus' shoulders were large enough for her cross and then some. We urged her to, no matter what or how, keep dialogueing with God.
In the moment, I was so lost for what to say. I had no idea what to say, or how to say, or when to stop talking and start listening, or stop listening and start talking. But Lisa and I both felt this absolute urgency to reassure her that the God that created this world was big enough to hold her when she wailed. He was big enough to take her white hot rage and he could bear the agony that she was feeling in the pit of who she was.

The night ended. I've not ever seen this girl since. I've not even seen the girl that was a friend of a friend that she was a friend of.
But I think of her often. Especially when I feel myself withholding what I think isn't pretty enough for God, when I feel myself depending on my own self to pretty my life up before I go to Jesus.
I thought of this girl (and told a truncated version of the story) to Deano when he and I were talking about random spiritual things.
I wonder sometimes, if that night helped me just as much or more then I hope it helped her.

The other thing this story reminds me of, is the constant vigilance that believers MUST have to not pigeonhole Jesus in a church building. We were at a bar. I had drank a lot that night, I was smoking that night, I was doing any number of other things that religion will tell you not to do. But Jesus was so there that night. Jesus sat with us in that corner booth and he held this girl as she sobbed.
Imagine what a tragedy it would have been had Lisa and I been of the opinion that Jesus is to pure and good to go into bars. Just think if neither she nor I would have gone there and hung out with "those sinners"...I mean I can't even imagine.
That night it still affects me and it's been at least 2 years since it happened.

So whoever you are, talk to God, yell at God. He can and does, and wants to take it. He wants you to communicate with Him, He wants you to take your deepest fears and sorrows to Him, you anger and rage, disappointment and desperation. He wants the good the bad and the ugly.
Because that's how much He loves us.

If you're a person that believes in a separation of some kind between the "saved and unsaved", and I'm not talking like marriage or romantic relationship stuff, there's a time and a place for discussion on that, I'm talking basic compassionate interaction with people that are not believers, or those that aren't sure, or those that are so pissed at God they can't see straight.
Who are those people in your life? Are there any?
If not, why? Is it because you're only going where "godly" people go? Are you not spending time in the gutters, with the homeless, with the tax collectors and lepers? Why not?
Because that's what Jesus did.
Being a believer you know, or should know, that you are called to be more like Jesus. That doesn't mean you should be more externally perfect, that doesn't mean that you should look like you have all your junk together. That means you are to love. Love irrationally (as Ben says), love until you don't have any breath left in your body.
Because I'm willing to bet, that at one point in your life, you felt so unloved, unseen, uncared for, until someone stepped up and loved you, saw you, cared for you. Do that for someone.

You may be the only Jesus they've ever met, and what a privilege that would be.