Intercessory Prayer or Senseless Rage?

I have this weird thing that happens sometimes. It happens when I know someone I care about is hurting or at risk. Sometimes I am so motivated by another person’s troubles that I would like to speak to someone about it immediately. This is not the small sort of thing that happens when a steak is cooked too rare at a restaurant and needs to be sent back, nor when the incorrect amount of change is given and needs to be settled. I am speaking of the type of senseless outrage that inspires me to kick open the gates of Heaven, calmly walk past angels and beauty, approach the throne of the Almighty upright with shoes still attached, and politely ask the Lord of Hosts just what the fuck He thinks He is doing to my friend’s life. And as senseless as I know it is, and as outrageous as it appear to others, I think God actually likes that about me. In fact, I think He made me that way.

My favorite story in the Bible is probably about Jacob wrestling God. To sum up, Jacob wrestled God for an entire night and, despite the Lord disabling his hip during the match, Jacob holds on to Him and states, “I will not let you go unless you bless me,” which He does. Abraham also did this by saying to God Almighty, “Far be it from you to do such a thing,” while they fought over the fate of Sodom. Stubborn. As. A. Mule. Nothing really sums up the Lord’s power and compassion to me like these stories.

I would absolutely love to wrestle Jesus. The closest I can get now is to simply yell at Him about an issue. I do not argue, I tastelessly express my displeasure, because there really is no arguing with God. I mean, I do argue and reason, but that is not the point. No, I merely take out my frustrations on Him and I do not tire until He responds. I am honestly quite surprised that I am not struck down by lightning during these times, but that is a part of the lesson. My God listens.

At first, I am like a challenger entering the ring. I have a score to settle and I do not care about having an objective opinion on the matter. There is no person on earth I could do this with, because I would, frankly, hurt them badly. It goes beyond venting. I wouldn’t stop until I had destroyed either them or myself. And that’s pretty much what happens when I challenge God to a wrestling match. We tend to roll around with the aggressiveness that would traumatize any mother to watch. I pound Him with, “Why would you do this?!” “Some love you have!” “At what point did you not expect me to be upset?” “How can you just sit there while this happens?” I pull no punches, leave no doubt unturned, and throw low blows. I fight dirty, bringing up my personal past hurts and questioning just why He hasn’t learned to meet those needs in people yet. In a sense, I fight like an angry child.

At the time, I simply do not care. I have no morals, no authority, no allegiance to any set standard of behavior. I give no fuck. I am enraged about the issue and the only thing I can do is take Him to task about it. I have listening long enough to know how I feel and I bring that to the Lord with an aggressive agenda for our meeting. I am General Custer, one of the 300 Spartans, a nerd approaching the playground bully, David running at Goliath.

I cannot help but think that during these times He is simply playing with me. He is toying with me, but not in a condescending sense. It is more like when a dog owner plays tug of war with their dog, or when two puppies threaten each other with open but soft biting jaws. The dogs fight with all their might, but are not capable of injuring the other. I guess it is best described in the serious events of a son challenge the authority of his father, or when two brothers must wrestle to test their strength. I need to be deeply reminded of my personal relationship to God. We are unique, and my relationship to Him is like no other. I must know that He cares about me, about what I care about. I need to feel His concern, His resistance, His response; and so I push Him and press Him for it. I need to know where we stand with each other, if He still cares, if He still loves me, and if I still love Him. I am overwhelmed by the need for Him and He must know it.

As we fight, I learn. He makes me feel His concern by pressing further how much I need Him. He emphasizes my need, so that I am like a helplessly crazed lover saying to the beloved, “I need you.” No other relationship would accept this dependence, but He invites, even pursues my need. It is the basis for every good thing in my life. It is here that I stop fighting, and I simply break down. The arms or paws or jaws or whatever I have been threatening with ungodly harm become my refuge, my retreat, and my pillows. A cloud to hide behind, a pillar of fire to shield me. It is a sweet surrender. I love these calm moments after everything has come out. The thunder and rain has just stopped and I am left damp and calm.

Once I am understood, and He has given me an audience, I feel confident again. I am confident because I know I will be coming back to do the same thing soon, but He is ready and willing to take me on. There was never a more caring father, brother, or friend.


Here is an exerpt from The Magician’s Nephew by C.S. Lewis showing an exchange between Fledge the horse, and Polly and Digory the children, concerning Aslan the Almighty Lion:
“I am hungry,” said Digory. “Well, tuck in,” said Fledge, taking a big mouthful of grass. Then he raised his head, still chewing and with bits of grass sticking out on each side of his mouth like whiskers, and said, “Come on, you two. Don’t be shy. There’s plenty for us all.” “But we can’t eat grass,” said Digory. “H’m, h,m,” said Fledge, speaking with his mouth full. “Well–h’m–don’t know quite what you’ll do then. Very good grass too.”
Polly and Digory stared at one another in dismay. “Well, I do think someone might have arranged about our meals,” said Digory. “I’m sure Aslan would have, if you’d asked him,” said Fledge. “Wouldn’t he know without being asked?” said Polly. “I’ve no doubt he would,” said the Horse (still with his mouth full). “But I’ve a sort of idea he likes to be asked.”