Joel Shickman, my friend and seminary classmate, died this week. He was 37, with a wife and three young boys.
What can I possibly say to God at this moment?
Quite a lot, actually.
Currently, I'm living in Jerusalem. On Wednesday night, four days after Joel's death, friends and colleagues came to visit from the United States. They invited us on a tour of the tunnels under the Temple Mount . A bit of background - the retaining walls of Herod's Temple in Jerusalem make the Temple Mount. The mount encloses the site of the First and Second Temples built to God by the kings and rulers of biblical Israel. The Temple compounds were build around the stone where Jews believe Abraham nearly sacrificed Isaac (Genesis 22). That platform was the site of the "Holy of Holies," God's home on earth. Jews do not enter the mount itself, in fear of unknowingly walking on that holy ground. By taking the tunnel tour, you are able to get as close as possible to the Holy of Holies.
After I waited for our tour group to pass, I stood in that spot and spoke with God. With silent screams, I poured out my rage. I shook and I punched that retaining wall. I told God that I thought very little of God, and that God was cruel and foolish and I hated God. I said that God was lousy at God's job and at that moment, I wished that I could kill God.
Alone with those stones, I felt something very real. I felt God there with me in a way that no human being can be if we're angry. I was pounding God's chest, and God was holding me tightly, even as I tried to hurt God. With each scream and accusation, I knew that God was saying, "you are right. I am sorry." God takes my anger and says that I am right to be angry. God can't change what's happened and God can't explain it to me, but God knows my pain and feels the same thing.
God can handle our rage. Don't ever let grief make you think that you have no part in God. You are still here - a part of this universe. Even at our worst, God can take it. What I realized, and I see now even as I write, is that as much as I hate God, I am having a relationship with God. It's better to hate God that to leave.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Thursday, November 08, 2007
does study lead to action?
In 1980 one of my mentors, Rabbi Elliot Dorff, wrote a paper called "Study Leads to Action." The main idea was in the title, and this came from the the Talmud, a collection of rabbinic writing and customs from the first centuries of our time. Unfortunately, it seems to me that study - and the Talmud meant religious study - often just leads to more study.
There's a problem in religious life, and it's a problem I see very often in the Jewish world. I don't know if this problem exists in other communities, and I'd love to hear some comparisons. The first part is that people are entering study as if it were a game. The game has a few variations, but the goals are roughly: show how smart I am and put on a public face that's louder, bolder or just faster than other people's.
But study isn't just talk. We aren't rolling the words of a religious text around our lips like so much expensive wine, to see who can come up with the best description of the wine or compare it to another wine which only they've tasted, and then spit it out. The religious experience, the experience of God, has to be drunk and it has to affect us right down to our bones. Isn't that the best part of wine, too?
Religion, whether in study or in prayer, has to lead to something. Studying the Bible, Talmud, a Hadith, or the church fathers should lead to action. That action might be visible or it might not be. It may be making meals for AIDS patients, reflecting on your relationship with your children, joining the church budget committee, or just feeling calmer in a way that makes us able to be nicer the next morning at work.
Study can't be a substitute for action. When you study with people, you can't each be reflecting on a text without also reflecting on each other. Study (or prayer for that matter) can't be the proxy for intimacy. Religious life craves real intimacy with our study partner, other congregants and God. The ultimate goal of religious life isn't to create a tool for finding God - it's to find God without a tool.
There's a problem in religious life, and it's a problem I see very often in the Jewish world. I don't know if this problem exists in other communities, and I'd love to hear some comparisons. The first part is that people are entering study as if it were a game. The game has a few variations, but the goals are roughly: show how smart I am and put on a public face that's louder, bolder or just faster than other people's.
But study isn't just talk. We aren't rolling the words of a religious text around our lips like so much expensive wine, to see who can come up with the best description of the wine or compare it to another wine which only they've tasted, and then spit it out. The religious experience, the experience of God, has to be drunk and it has to affect us right down to our bones. Isn't that the best part of wine, too?
Religion, whether in study or in prayer, has to lead to something. Studying the Bible, Talmud, a Hadith, or the church fathers should lead to action. That action might be visible or it might not be. It may be making meals for AIDS patients, reflecting on your relationship with your children, joining the church budget committee, or just feeling calmer in a way that makes us able to be nicer the next morning at work.
Study can't be a substitute for action. When you study with people, you can't each be reflecting on a text without also reflecting on each other. Study (or prayer for that matter) can't be the proxy for intimacy. Religious life craves real intimacy with our study partner, other congregants and God. The ultimate goal of religious life isn't to create a tool for finding God - it's to find God without a tool.
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