3 Ways to Complain When You are So Over It (and 3 Comforts too)

Reflections from Psalm 6

O Lord, rebuke me not in your anger,
nor discipline me in your wrath.
Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am languishing;
heal me, O Lord, for my bones are troubled.
My soul also is greatly troubled.
But you, O Lord—how long?
Psalm 6:1-3

I’ve been hiking through the Psalms, less on a schedule, more like Ferdinand the Bull ambling about, getting distracted, and plopping down for a few days in a verdant section of Psalmic blooms and greenery. What initially starts as casual interest, evolves into multi-layered questions, thoughts, and endless creative strands—in short: a pathway to reflection, depth, profundity, and prayer that perfunctory Bible-reading just can’t approximate.

This is not Read-the-Bible-in-One-Year! friendly. There are some things you cannot discover quickly. There are some things you cannot gain through efficiency or frenetic checklisting. You already know this in your own specialty projects: the best things take some time to develop. The very best things move at the pace of eternity. This is especially true with reading Scripture; it will always taste dry, opaque, strange, and cold to those expecting fast-food delivery. They often end up with soggy bag-fries and deep-fried remorse wondering if there is an unpublished menu somewhere in Christianity.

But good things also need to be shared. So, in an amusing example of spiritual irony, let me give you some distilled thoughts from Psalm 6, packaged in a time-friendly format: Three Ways to Complain When You Are So Over It.

No. 1: “I Feel Like You’re Being Harsh”

If you talk to anyone who has played college sports, they will almost never tell you that they wished they had an easier coach. In fact, they will tell you how they thrived and grew under constant, daily rebuke and discipline (vs 1.) A good coach will get in your face and let you know about it. Every day. A bad coach will say nothing or just be shaming or derisive. A good coach will provide unwavering discipline. A bad coach will punish indiscriminately without an eye toward incremental development. David didn’t play college basketball, but he understood the dynamic that happens in martial training. If you have ever played a team sport at a higher level than middle-school, you’ll get this too: you actually want to get better. David doesn’t want the rebuke or discipline to stop. He doesn’t say that. No one gets better without rebuke or discipline. He just doesn’t want the anger. He doesn’t want the wrath. He doesn’t want to hear it if the coach is simply in his feelings. He can handle the rebuke and the discipline, but only if he is convinced that he is loved. Our first complaint is simple: we don’t know if God is against us or for us. Friend or foe? And so we say: “I feel like You’re being harsh, and I think that You might be against me.”

No. 2: “Can’t You See This Is Affecting All of Me?”

Why does David ask that God’s training not happen in anger? Because he admits that it would crush him (vs.2). He admits that the difficulties aren’t just emotionally abstract ideas. He admits that conflict and anxieties aren’t just limited to our mind-palace. He admits that the toll is physical. His rest is not restful. And getting no rest perpetuates a cycle of greater fatigue, a deeper deficit. His appetites fade. Exercise wanes. His physical body begins to feel the effects. He’d rather lay out on a couch.

We don’t like to admit this. We like to believe that only sticks and stones will hurt the physical body. We don’t like to admit that words pummel. We like stoicism, coping, numbing, working, distraction. But David’s complaint is a prayer of physical turmoil, too. He's admitting that wholeness in humanity does not exclude the body. He wants to sleep again; he wants to drink without drowning.

His body is a barometer of his internal anguish: “All of me—both body and soul—are getting crushed.

No. 3: “When Will This Be Over?”

David’s question, “How long?” is ambiguous. Is he saying, “How long will I be languishing?” Is he saying “How long will I feel God’s displeasure?” Is he saying, “How long until I get fixed/better?” Is he saying, “How long do I need to be in this place of difficulty?”

David is looking for an answer: “How long until there is an answer to any/all of this?”

“When will there be a satisfying answer?” This is a good complaint.

Christ Our Comfort in Complaint

David’s complaints are good: Are you mad at me? My body can’t handle this much longer! How long until I get an answer?

The complaints are good, and the comforts of Christ in our complaints are even better.

David was longing to know if there was punishment in the difficult training program. Is this because God is mad? But Christ. All of the anger of God has been aimed, directed, and blasted onto Christ. There is no wrath for those in Christ. You can know that the difficulty is not retribution or payback. God is not angry with you, child. He is transforming you, not fighting you.

David was worried about the toll on his body. The effects were real. His troubles were starting to touch his blood pressure, sleep cycle, his energy levels. Christ is comfort here. He, too, has a body.  But He was crushed so that in Him we could experience healing. I Corinthians 15 tells us that His resurrection is a preview for how your story ends. You will not be destroyed. The troubles will not overcome you; they won’t end you. That means your body, too.

David wanted to know how-long? How long until there is a satisfying answer?

Christ has become the satisfying answer. The trouble brewing around you is not God’s anger. The story has not veered from the version that delivers the perfect you. You are not being rejected by God; God was rejected on your behalf. You will be transformed; you will become better, because Christ for you is true. Christ is satisfaction for all of God’s demands. You may feel that God wants more from you, but He has all He wants from Christ’s performance. Would you believe this?

The difficult story happening to you, to me, is not a horror film. There are no mistakes.

In the purest definition of coach—transport from one place to another— a loving, wrath-absorbing coach is carrying the truest, most beautiful version of you. To Himself. Including your beaten down body.

And the very best things move at the pace of eternity, because the very best things take some time to develop. Take heart, you. He has overcome the world.

by Tim Lien