It was the anger which took me by surprise.
I had anticipated sorrow, tiredness, and questions, but not anger.
I hadn’t really known what to expect on my return to Romiley after a pilgrimage to Auschwitz-Birkenhau. I was partly afraid that my emotional journey might take the familiar path of numbness to guilt and self criticism for being ‘shut down’.
It happened as I set off in the car to the Peaks to find space with God to process and pray. The usual necessities had taken up time, few people knew I was unavailable this week and I had a flood to texts and voicemails to ignore and feel guilty about. I remembered a trivial practicality and pulled over to call my wife, when she answered, I exploded. Furious that my precious prayer day had been invaded, frustrated that the world felt it needed me when I was unavailable, judgmental on those who were carrying on normal lives, serving others.
There was no rational reason for my anger, no one had wronged me, no crisis had invaded my protected time. Raw and slightly afraid at my outburst, I detoured to Mellor Cross,
a wonderful place of prayer for me. The mists cut out the glorious views and the farmer’s no parking signs were officious, but that didn’t get to me. The 20ft Mellor Cross has lost its top bar and we, God’s church in our area, have not yet restored it. (another job to feel burdened by) The symbolism pierced my bubble and provoked the question I was avoiding:
“Is it all derelict? – even this cross is desecrated, is there any good left in the world?”
That was when it hit me, my anger was grief.
In that moment, I could see no good in the world. If I looked outwards I could only see tensions, unresolvable problems or hollow frivolity; If I looked inwards, I saw fear, guilt and heard the agonising screams of the victims of Auschwitz.
Recognising that my anger was grief, brought perspective, but who was I grieving for?
I had asked the Holy Spirit to navigate my emotional journey this week, what was he wanting to do in this tunnel he was taking me through?
Grief is chaotic, it generates questions, throws them up into the air, bats them around, rarely answers them and then rushes onto the next one. Amongst the many questions my grief generated, were some about prayer which I want to explore here.
‘If my grief anger is at those closest to me – Why am I not angry with God?’
It was an irrational anger with no object to blame, so it spilt on those I had subconsciously calculated will forgive me or be unharmed by my unfounded outburst.
Why not God? Why am I not angry at him?
A skilled psychoanalyst might try to lead me to a conclusion that I am, that I blame God for the mess and pain in the world. Yet as I leant against that headless cross and wept in surrender, all I could feel was gratitude to him, because I know that he really is the present one, with us in sorrow, suffering, martyrdom and desolation. Our teaching in Auschwitz was built on God with us before he is for us. One of the most profound moments of my pilgrimage to Auschwitz was encountering again to a new level of emotional engagement with Jesus, my beloved older brother on the cross, carrying my suffering. Through this trip, I have recovered a profound closeness to him as other preoccupations have been expunged.
In my past experiences of intense grief, I have rarely turned to anger against God, usually I turn away from the assumption that he is to blame. In the Psalms he gives us freedom to express our anger, he is bigger than our emotions and in so doing he opens his arms and invites us to come and pummel him, confident that he can bear it until we punch it out of our system, his unconditional love soaking it up. But this doesn’t answer my question.
If I try to blame God for Auschwitz, somehow I can’t. Because to do so, would be to attempt to place myself closer to the victims than he is. To place me in solidarity with them and have the pride to judge God makes no sense.
He was there and I wasn’t.
He was alive and I wasn’t yet born.
The victims were his family and not mine.
My mind bats away the vast and complex, ’is God powerless?’ but the next question which my grief, in its bleak outlook on the world raises, is terrifying. When I consider how my heart responds to numerous prayer requests, I have to ask, “have I given up on the notion of God being powerful or likely to act? and has this trip further pushed that faith away from me?’
This is a substantial area of grief for me, a substantial challenge to my faith and ministry and mission. In the face of Auschwitz, Syria and Donald Trump, the painful mess I see in so many churches, the frustrations of trying to share the best news ever with a world that so often shows little interest, and other disappointments, is there any point in asking God to do something? When I look around me right now from a place of grief, the weight of evidence of what I focus on tells me that God is not active, not bringing change, not ruling from heaven and bringing resurrection life in the midst of the decay of this fallen world.
My head might wrestle with the theological constructions, but when I catch a glimpse of my own prayer life and moments of ambivalence in prayer right now, I see that a big chunk inside is tempted to let go of hope, let alone faith, that God acts when we pray.
That is a scary place to be. That is the decay of a central pillar of my life and ministry. To play with this as a percentage game, when I start to believe there is a less than 30% chance of a prayer being answered, then why bother praying it at all? Have I really lost the faith that when I pray, God will act?
What happened in the Holocaust was horrific, extreme and beyond imagination. In so many ways millions of prayers were left on earth unanswered and so it seems that God was powerless or disinterested. We can of course refer to the bigger, eternal story, that God is responding in the long run, some theological answers are satisfying, others not.
But what about day-to-day prayer now? How can I pray for the civilians of Mosul and Aleppo today? How can I pray for America this week? They are facing the alarming historical parallels of a sociopathic populist leader being democratically elected by a protesting disaffected people. Hitler wanted to ‘Make Germany great again’. How can we pray, if we start to feel like God isn’t going to act?
When it comes to prayer, protest and resistance, Auschwitz was not binary. In late 1941 three girls smuggled gunpowder out of the munitions factory and then blew up one of the gas chambers , this raises good questions. 450 prisoners were killed in response to this plot, but it put a gas chamber out of action. That slowed down the killing by 20% for a few months until liberation. Each chamber could kill 2,000 at a time, potentially many thousands a day, maybe thousands of lives were spared because of that?
There are Holocaust survivors, Judaism was not eliminated, there are stories of those who escaped Nazi occupation, there are Oscar Schindlers and Nicholas Wintons. Some prayers were answered. Just because we may not see the whole outcome, we will see more of heaven invade earth if we pray than if we just watch.
Also, perhaps prayer is more instinctive than that? As I consider the reality, I can’t stop praying. We were led in meditations on the Stations of the cross around Birkenhau, one of the most moving parts personally was the prayers of intercession at each station, for women, for children, for Jewish and Romany people, for perpetrators of evil. These were amazing moments, because my heart took over and in wordless cries turned to God for help in compassion for those who are powerless. I will continue to pray and intercede, because I am unable to not pray. I cannot bear the burden of compassion and empathy I feel with those I am otherwise powerless to help, I have to share that burden with God and carry it with him not for him.
“What are we asking God to do when we pray?”
The lectures, worship, reflections and leadership of the trip was outstanding, it was a privilege to be with such exceptional wisdom and emotional intelligence. However there was a moment when a typical litany left me yearning for more. As we travelled around the world in a nicely constructed list of ‘people we ought to pray for’, I found myself deeply dissatisfied. No words or time were available to help us consider what we were asking God to do for these beloved people. The prayers were devoid of verbs, and so the nouns became like tokens. The only lists I write are shopping and ‘to do’ lists, a collection of things I lack, an expression of poverty or pressures. These two words perhaps best describe how I feel about merely listing to God a series of people he is already fully aware of.
And so its redoubled my consideration on how can we encourage one another to pray with verbs. Most (but sadly not all) of our collects manage it. An example from next Sunday
in Christ you make all things new:
transform the poverty of our nature by the riches of your grace,
and in the renewal of our lives
make known your heavenly glory;
through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord,
who is alive and reigns with you…
We urgently need prayer which expects something to happen, prayer which does more than express empathy or train memory, prayer which turns to a powerful God and asks for change.
[Grateful to Richard Frank for his photography]
A follow up post on the dehumanising which happened at Auschwitz is available here. https://romileyrichard.wordpress.com/2017/01/27/dehumanising-a-reflection-on-auschwitz/