Anger

Yesterday, my mom and I went to church for the first time since. I don't really think I need to put anything after the "since." Since THEN. That's enough.

Anyways.

In the middle of some random song about how God Reigns, I became absolutely furious. I was seething. Next to me, my mom was crying and some lady was hugging her and praying, and I could have seriously punched someone. It was pretty strange. I wasn't mad at anyone. I wasn't pissed about something someone said, or even about the words in the song. I don't know what set me off; I only know that suddenly I was totally incensed. It's almost funny (except that it's not)--during a lovely prayer given by a lovely old man in our church, I could have burned holes in the wall behind him with my Evil Glare.

I suppose I was mad at God. I got my first taste of the anger of grief--How dare you? How dare I be expected to "Rest in God's Comfort" or to "Trust in His Will"? How dare this situation? How dare these people stand there, all moved by the Spirit? How dare those stupid saxophones blare away when my dad is GONE? I started thinking about how much the words of that song would have meant to my dad...how he truly trusted in them, how he was empowered by the strength and encouragement he gathered from them. Let me be clear--this wasn't one of those moments where you think, "Ha. He believed those words, but clearly they didn't save him. They must be just a bunch of meaningless feel-good platitudes."

I mean, I don't know if I'll have one of those moments in the future. Probably.

But it mostly made me sad, because I feel like I've gained a more clear understanding, since he has died, of how important his faith was to my dad. I was saddened to imagine what he might have felt if it had been a normal Sunday, and he was standing next to my mom, rather than just me. (I'm a pretty poor substitute.) And somehow, that sadness was translated into anger. I just couldn't believe. this. all. was. happening.

I don't really have a resolution to this story. The anger faded away about as quickly as it had come on--I laughed along with the skit involving the children's pastor and the monkey puppet as much as I would have otherwise. I tried to listen to the sermon as best as I could.

After the service though, someone in the congregation came up to my mom and me. (Oh gosh, I can't remember his name.) He said he hoped he wasn't overstepping himself, but he just wanted to say that sometimes everything anyone says, entire church services even, can just sound like, "blah, blah, blah." All the "We'll be praying for you's." All the "Thinking of you's." That they can all sound like nothing more than white noise--all the things about God's faithfulness, or his strength, or even that verse in Amazing Grace about how 'twas Grace that brought us safe this far, and Grace will lead us home. It's just "blah blah blah" in the face of the grief that we're feeling. And that that's okay. We just need to leave a door open in our hearts. Someday, he said, we'll be able to hear the words, and someday they'll make sense.

And I thought...hmm, maybe I did hear a pretty relevant message this morning.