A God for All Circumstances

"You, too, be patient and stand firm, because the Lord's coming is near. Don't grumble against one another, brothers and sisters, or you will be judged."
-James 5:8-9

As my truck rolls around a thick clump of bramble bushes and acacia trees, a rare and awesome sight unfolds before me and my guests. Atop a kopje, maybe fifty feet ahead and ten above us, a lioness climbs on a rock and stands majestically, perfectly silhouetted in the blinding white of the diving sun. She is one of God's masterpieces, a pure example of feminine tirelessness, power, beauty, and vulnerability, and in this brief moment I know I should be blessing His name for this breath-taking creation. I should be aware of all of this Creator-Creation business as I slow the vehicle to about one mile per hour; I should be squinting into the sun just to catch a glimpse of God's personality and character as it is displayed so fearlessly. But instead, I'm taking this moment to reach for a wet rag and run it across my dripping face and neck for the ninety-eighth time. The setting is indeed perfect for the lioness to put on her show -- but I've been driving this truck, or a truck just like it, for a good seven hours now, off and on. The atmosphere is holding hot air like a sauna. Direct sunlight can immobilize and demoralize instantly. The saliva in my throat turns to vapor each time I open my mouth to catch my breath. Welcome to Florida -- I mean, Africa -- in the high of July.

The situation here is ripe for exhaustion, hunger, thirst, and discomfort. In the moment, I really wonder if the manager who scheduled my shift would have been willing to work it herself (11.25 hours, most of it on a truck with little-to-no air conditioning). During my last break, my complaints of heat exhaustion seemed to be futile as my request to be released early were merely inserted into the matrix of managerial decisions based on my shift's start-time and when I entered the request into the computer. And beyond the situational frustrations, the day was carrying a bag of drama too heavy even for Santa Claus, just like every day in "Africa". I am always finding ways to nose into other people's business. Conversations frequently turn to the things that make us uncomfortable, the things that make our jobs frustrating and stressful. Our support staff. Managers. The Company. Other safari drivers. And, of course, our high-paying guests, and the fact that pleasing the guests (the Company's highest priority) is 99% our job (though I doubt we are paid 99% percent of what our managers and the executives take). As is the case in any customer service or hospitality job, serving our guests is often difficult to do, especially since the heat is no more comforting to them than it is to us. Many of them (especially in the summer) do not speak English. Folks on vacation are rarely running on all cylinders, and part of our service is doing quite a bit of thinking for them. When I'm not driving that truck, I'm probably standing in one location for two hours, answering the same question three hundred times only to repeat the answer, like a master to an errant puppy, slowly and stupidly, to eventually be frowned at or treated like a doorman. Such is the job of a "safari driver." Welcome to Flori -- never mind.

We all do work that annoys us or become mundane. There will always be tasks that are never our favorite. Part of having a job in America seems to be hating it, at least at times. So much of what I've just described can easily be transfered to any other profession in any other location. Odds are I've probably done something like it, too. Landscaping and yard work. Running a cash register. Bringing people food or drinks. Teaching in the classroom. Cubicle hell. All of these environments and responsibilities have ways of getting under our skin and making our lives uncomfortable and often inconvenient. And when we get to know something, like a company, a co-worker, or the typical "customer" pretty well, suddenly it becomes an easy target for an activity I am very good at: complaining.

Before I go any further, we all must do something that requires a bit of honesty and a lot of humility -- we must admit that we are hellishly skilled at this. Literally defined, to "complain" means to "express dissatisfaction." Complaining is something I do when I am just that -- dissatisfied -- with whatever you will: my job, my personal possessions, my living situation, my family, my friends, my weight, my behavior, my church, my boss, my love life, my god, my customers, my vehicle, my current situation -- anything that I can think of to be dissatisfied with. Like my situation that day on the faux savanna of East Africa, nothing was as I thought it should be. So I did what was most natural and adequately expressed my dissatisfaction: I vented (which is really fancy way of saying that I cussed, swore, kicked, screamed, pounded the steering wheel, mocked those I felt were responsible, cleverly disguised my hatred through sarcasm in front of co-workers, and wished in silence, which is merely cowardice, that certain folks in upper management were pushing pansies at that moment).

My Masters Degree in "Complaining, Whining, and All Things Bitching" is practically framed and stapled to my sunburned forehead. And my guess, since we all attend the University of Broken Humanity, is that you have such a degree too, whether or not you display it as proudly as I do. It seems to be my way of reminding God what He's forgetting about what I deserve. I complain as if I can say to God, "I'll show you!" Because the person to whom we always complain is God. Sure, I was furious at the manager who conceived of an eleven hour safari-driving shift in July -- but there, in that sweltering truck, I shook my fist at God. "Why can't you change who I work for?" I screamed, though I'm sure I used more expletives in the moment than I'm typing here. Or I cursed the cast member who put me on a particularly not-air-conditioned truck and of course used a blasphemous use of God's name (or four), just to make sure He knew how royally pissed I was, and how much I deserved better. Every complaint, every curse at another human being, every expression of my dissatisfaction of any morsel of my life, is directed at God, who commands us to live without whining like little children.

I know that some readers will get this far and dismiss what I'm saying as pacifist or a philosophy that permits oppressive practices. They may do so, but they will find themselves enslaved by a self-righteousness that can only be cured by an activity that is the polar opposite of the expression of dissatisfaction: you guessed it, the expression of satisfaction. In a word, "gratitude," or to use a verb, "to give thanks."

"Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus."
- 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

These words, written by the Apostle Paul, don't seem to leave room for the kind of whining I frequently think and speak in order to justify my vision of the world that isn't coming to be. In fact, it prescribes that performing contrasting actions is God's chosen path for me. I am order to rejoice, bringing glory to God for all He has done, is doing, and will do ("Lord, you are amazing in your beautiful and powerful creation."); to pray, communicating with God so that I can be constantly in dialogue with the Creator of the Universe ("Lord, I want to serve you even in this difficult moment so that you may be famous."); and to give thanks in all circumstances, recognizing the multitude of ways Christ is present, through his Spirit, in my life ("Thank you, Lord, for giving me the strength that keeps me going, may you remain with me always."). Paul even says "in all circumstances." Not just in circumstances when I'm comfortable, reading the Bible on a soft couch with a glass of 2% milk in my hand. Not just when I love my job, when I love my family, when everything is as smooth, as simple, as easy as I envision it. But in all circumstances. Perhaps you'll remember that Paul did most of his rejoicing, praying, and thanking when he was starved, thirsty, naked, in chains, and hated by the world. I think a toasty GMC in the thick of the "African" bush hardly holds a candle to the dungeons of the Ancient Roman Empire and the whips of the fiery Jews. My pastor once said: "My circumstances don't excuse my sin, they expose my sin." If I can't wrap my head around that, then I might as well go on imploring God to change my circumstances, rather than my heart. I can't imagine a more self-deceived prayer.

How do we grasp this, then, and really make it the language of our hearts? I'm beginning to sniff out the sources of self-entitlement in my life. How often do I listen to televised messages proclaiming how much I need comfort? Our lives are inundated with thirty-second advertisements and full-page spreads that lather us in self-aggrandizing hype.

"Tired of not getting the sleep you deserve?"
"You deserve a car insurance company that speaks your language."
"I'm not buying that old brand of diapers anymore. My child deserves better."

Capitalism is a good enough economic system. But it is not the same animal today as when the Founders decided to establish a "free country." Now we are coaxed, spoiled, seduced, instructed, yelled at, lied to, and flat out bamboozled so our dollars will be well spent on a very American idol: our comfort. It stands next to Success, Wealth, Acclaim, and Approval in America's trophy case of false gods. If I possess great comfort, then I apparently have lived a good life. And somehow we've accidentally equated the God of Love with the God of Abundance and Ease. Jesus died for me so that I may die, or decrease, for the sake of others. Fairness has never been a part of the discussion.

I'd love to dissect another graven image we tend to worship: our self-indulgent sense of entitlement, or "deservedness." But that will have to wait. For now I must prepare for my next day at work by washing my khaki safari threads, packing a healthy lunch with numerous ice cold beverages, and burying my heart in the Word for awhile. Only Christ can properly reprogram my way of approaching the world. Right now, I believe that the world exists to fulfill my vision, my expectations. I will continue to stack my life's accomplishments against my life's failures and demand what I feel is missing, whether it be a perfect marriage or a perfectly air-conditioned twenty-minute safari. That is, unless, I invite Jesus along for the ride and beg him to wire me to know the truth. In all circumstances.