The Complaint

The complaint: the overly verbalized dissatisfaction with the way things are in contrast to the way you wish things were.  

            It begins with a singular grunt—the last trace of our pre-linguistic form of communication. At other times, it begins with the slow audible exhale that carries no words but a very similar feeling of dissatisfaction with a hint of defeat.

            We compile words into a nonsensical complaint against any and all obstacles that come our way whether they are related or not to the first obstacle that led to our current state of dissatisfaction.

The world stands in opposition to our very being, killing slowly what we are if we permit it. Is this not the crime that we cry out against?

This thing—concept, project, assignment, task, personal issue—stands in our path, stripping us of the ability to remain the same: whether vile or virtuous.

Even in Christianity we find this. We find this crucified man, this Jesus of Nazareth, hanging on a cross, telling us that we cannot remain the same.

Who do we trust? Do we trust a world that promises wealth and happiness or a King whose kingdom is marked by a cross and suffering? Or do we trust ourselves? Do we trust our inner-self that hungers and thus ravages others to stay filled, leaving those we encountered scarce like pillaged villages?

Why does the King of the Jews, in his crucified state, call me more than the gold and the self? Why does his complain, “Eloi, Eloi, Lama Sabachthani,”* speak to me?

Why does this lunatic, who claimed to be God incarnate, move me both out of world and myself? Why can I no longer complain when I hear his complaint? What sadistic pleasure do I find in the vulnerable image of a crucified God? What satisfaction do I find for my suffering in his?

All satisfaction.

A world that tries to quench my need with gold and objects does nothing for me. The inner-self, which destroys others in order to try to feed itself, remains as hungry and unsatisfied as before. But this crucified man, incarnated God, hanging, bleeding, dying slowly on a cross, strengthens me, encourages me; he speaks to me.

*“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”