Where is God in all this?

Sigh.

So.

My first thought is related to Night, Elie Wiesel’s memoir of his time spent in death camps during the Holocaust.

In section 4 of the book, there are two hangings. The first man who is hanged stole something. He is proud and fearless as he marches toward the gallows. The prisoners think little of the hanging and just want to get it over with so they can eat dinner. The hanging is ended by all the prisoners marching past the dead man's body and then onward to soup. No one, in the book, questions where God is when that man is hanged.

The second hanging is a child—10, 11, 12 years old. Young. He, along with his master, were caught stockpiling weapons for what can be assumed was a plan to overthrow the Nazis at the camp. When the child is marched to the gallows, he is shaking. Scared. Crying. 

So are all the prisoners who are forced to watch the hanging. They don’t want dinner afterwards. They are appalled, broken, let down both by the loss of hope (for there will be no uprising) and let down by yet another reminder that life sucks and there is no divine intervention on behalf of the small, the meek, the justice-seeking.

The chapter ends when Elie heard someone behind him say

"For God's sake, where is God?"

 

And from within [himself], [Elie] heard a voice answer:

"Where He is? This is where—hanging here from this gal-

lows."

 

At this moment, the boy was not yet dead--he was too small for the hanging to be effective--but was almost there.

Which can be interpreted a few ways.

One, God is *almost* dead to Elie.

Two, God is found in the small, the meek, the rebellious justice seekers.

So, why does God let this happen? That’s a great question. One only she or he has the answer to. I definitely don’t.

But we would be foolish to say God is not present--God is everywhere. 

I see God in the activists. In the fighters. In the protestors. And, yes, even in some of the looters. I see God active and moving in the vast expanse of white people who are finally fucking learning what their privilege is and being humble enough to learn how to use their voices to amplify the generations of cries and screams of their brothers and sisters of color.

I see God in the fragile, breaking spaces. The hurt, aching people. The tense, pregnant moments ready to deliver change.

I also think of a post on the Progressive Methodist Facebook group I’m a part of. Sure, Jesus turned tables at the temple when the poor were being played and upcharged for their annual sacrificial lambs and doves. We're all familiar with that and should emulate that expression of righteous anger and destruction.

But what many aren’t thinking about is the 10 plagues. Moses tried and tried to liberate his people from Pharaoh, but Pharaoh’s hard, hard heart just wouldn’t break. So God intervened. Sent the plagues. And it took every single plague to eventually break Pharaoh, and even then--even after his own first born child died—he STILL chased after the Israelites into the sea.

Maybe God’s just waiting until our pharaoh’s last straw to intervene in miraculous ways. Maybe God's waiting for the issue of racism, prejudice, systemic injustice to reach closer to home for the rich, straight, white men in charge. 

Or maybe black activists and white pocketbooks and the minority vote are meant to be the miracle.