I HAVE A COMPLAINT! Our Exhausting World of Grievance...

"The whole congregation…complained against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness….‘If only we had died…in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the fleshpots and ate our fill of bread; for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger.’"             --Exodus 16:2-3

Humans have been complaining about as long as, well…as long as there has been something or someone to complain about. Take the ancient Israelites.  Please!  But seriously….

According to the bible story, Israelites were enslaved in Egypt for 400 years until God, with help from Moses and Aaron, freed them. The liberated community fled into the desert to find a new home.  So far, so good.  But then, seemingly, in little time on that journey, the complaining started and not just complaining but world class kvetching, to use a favorite Yiddish word.  The Israelites were so complaint-filled that they told their leaders they’d rather have been enslaved again, back where they came from, even dead (!), for at least in Egypt, their bellies were full.

The whole of the Exodus story is chockful of complaining. We’re hot! We’re cold! We’re out of food! There’s no water! God doesn’t listen to us! Billy took my football! Okay, maybe not that last one but aggrievement does mark our human story. 

Because, I guess, to be human is to complain and to complain is to just be human.

Yet, lately in our culture, I think we’ve raised the art and the practice of complaining to a whole new level, especially on social media and in our political life. For example…have you ever read a public neighborhood online forum, ala “Next Door ______”? (Fill in your town or city.) 

Spend a few minutes scrolling thereon and it can seem as though the main thing that folks do in “our town USA” is complain.  About the neighbors. About town services. About animals. About Amazon trucks. About town meeting. This week I read one complaint by a patron of a local burger joint. He was livid that the restaurant closed five minutes early! The writer upbraided the establishment and even noted how the employees made silly faces at him from behind the locked door. I kid you not.  

But then the commenting by commentators on the complaining comment, began and yes, you guessed it, they complained too, about restaurants that had left them unhappy.  A local pizza joint. A fast food place. An upscale mall establishment.  It was a pile on, a complain-a-thon. Who could top the other by being more miserable and more outraged? And all because someone couldn’t get a late-night burger.   

Oh, the horror!

It’s not just locally that some wear resentments like badges of honor. Many candidates for high office are complaint factories too, folks who base their whole “platform” on complaining.  About how if they lost, someone must have cheated. About how if they won, someone must have undercounted the votes for them. They complain about the press if the media does not offer fealty to their overblown egos. They complain that their opponents just hate America and want to destroy it. 

We are living in an age of grievance politics. Whiny politics and whiny candidates and whiny voters. To win, I guess all you must do is talk about how terrible the other guy or gal is, how corrupt, how perverse, etc., etc.

I am exhausted by all this negativity and complaint. It’s forced me to look at all the ways I fall into the trap of complaint in this life. That person isn’t driving fast enough! They are out of my favorite diet soda at Marketbasket! And how ‘bout those Red Sox!? Patriots?! They stink!

But here’s the truth about chronic complaint and complaining. It’s toxic. It can ruin relationships. Who wants to be around someone who is constantly tearing things down? Not me. Compliant make us see only the bad and not the good. Complaint make us weary and cynical. Complaint is a spiritual killjoy. Do it enough and it will parch your spirit and exhaust those around you.

Except, I suppose, folks who can’t wait to jump on to Facebook or X (can I complain about Twitter’s new name?!) or Next Door to lodge their latest complaint. And our leaders, the one’s addicted to complaint and anger. All aggrievement, all the time. Who can I attack now?

When I fall into the habit of haranguing and harassing, I lose gratitude for the life I live.  Which for all my temptation to complain is in fact a good life. I have enough food to eat. A safe and comfortable home. I have wonderful job (most days) that pays me to do good in the world. People to love and who love me. And all through the grace of a generous God, who dares me to look for the good each and every day, share that good with others, and always say, “Thank you!”

Kvetching. Complaining. Whining. Grumbling. Murmuring.  Nit-picking.

It’s human nature, heck, my nature, but there is a deep spiritual and communal price to pay for a life built upon grievances. Life’s too short to spend it aggrieved.

Instead, let’s look for the good. Thank God for the good. Leave complaint to others.

The Reverend John F. Hudson is Senior Pastor of the Pilgrim Church, United Church of Christ, in Sherborn, Massachusetts (pilgrimsherborn.org). He blogs at sherbornpastor.blogspot.com and is a resident scholar at the Collegeville Institute at Saint John’s University in Collegeville, Minnesota. For twenty-five years he was a columnist whose essays appeared in newspapers throughout Massachusetts and Rhode Island. He has served churches in New England since 1989. For comments, please be in touch: pastorjohn@pilgrimsherborn.org.

            

 

 

 

 

Nazis In My Hometown?! They Came to Attack the Stranger.

“On only one occasion does the Hebrew bible command us to love our neighbor, but in 37 places it commands us to love the stranger. The stranger is the one we are taught to love precisely because he is not like ourselves.”                --Jonathan Sacks, rabbi, philosopher, theologian

One hundred years ago to be exact. 1923.

That’s the year my grandfather, Armand Bolduc, and his brother, Mark, immigrated from Quebec, Canada to rural, Vermont, looking for work and trying to find a new home. To make their way and to make a living in that strange place where folks spoke a different language and had different customs and culture, but also where those strangers were welcomed by those already there.  Someone took my grandfather in and gave him work. Welcomed him.

My mom told me that story just this week, as we drove by a small Christian college in Quincy, in the Wollaston neighborhood, a school called Eastern Nazarene. It was founded by Christians in the early part of the twentieth century to provide affordable and high-quality education. That college then and now is intentional about grounding its mission in the life and person of Jesus Christ, the one who taught many good things.  But the one who famously (or infamously) said, “I was hungry and you fed me. I was a stranger and you took me in.”

That’s just what Eastern Nazarene is doing right now. Welcoming strangers. Helping to feed hungry kids. Providing safe shelter. It’s partnered with the state of Massachusetts to open up a Welcome Center on its campus for migrants.  At present 58 immigrants, mostly from Haiti, are staying at the college in a dormitory. All are in family units with children or expecting a child.  Their stay is short-term; in days they will be moved to more permanent housing.

Now back to the “stranger” part.  As reported by the Patriot Ledger and Quincy police, “[Last] Saturday, 25 to 30 white men in khakis and face masks marched to the site housing the families and ‘stood on a public sidewalk while holding flares, a banner and chanting for the migrant families to 'go home' and that they 'were not welcome.'"  Those men were members of NSC-131, a neo-Nazi white supremacist group based in Massachusetts.  (Why do they never have the guts to show their faces?!)

Never thought I’d have to write these two words together in one sentence. Nazis and Massachusetts. Never thought those fascists would show up in the neighborhood where I grew up, a place of modest homes on narrow streets, nearby to a beautiful beach, home to lots of folks who also have immigrant roots. Irish. Chinese. Brazilian. Canadian. The point being that until that group showed up at the college to intimidate and harass those women, men and children fleeing poverty and violence, I never imagined such hateful and racist storm troopers could be right next door. Ready to reject any who dare to come to America.

Yes, there is a huge migration and illegal immigration problem in our country right now. Actually, there’s been one for more than a generation.  The fault lies not with any one political party—its lies with both sides of the aisle and a handful of demagogues more interested in scoring political points than reaching consensus on sane, compassionate, and prudent immigration policy.

The problem is that folks at the extremes control the debate right now. The ones who want to build a wall. The ones who want wide open borders.  The answers lie in the middle, but not many politicians are staking out space there right now.

Which is a shame and a dereliction of their duty as our elected officials. The odd part is that some of them also claim to be people of faith, even followers of Jesus. They pray on the one hand and then slam the door in the face of the suffering on the other hand. They see no contradiction in this either. I guess for them, politics trumps faith. That sentence is true in more ways than one.

At present there are migrants staying in short term shelters in eighty Massachusetts’ cities and towns.  I hope the Nazis aren’t planning some kind of sick road trip around the Bay State.  No.  It’s up to us, I’d argue, we, the ones who overwhelmingly can trace our roots back to an immigrant, to now stand up for these people in need. Who come to us from a strange land, seeking the promise and challenge of life in the United States.

I don’t think that is too much to ask. And I give a lot of credit and kudos to the people of Quincy for being so welcoming. The night after the Nazis showed up, a group of counter protesters came to campus with signs about love, welcome, and mercy. Kind of like Jesus did when he came upon a stranger, especially one hurting and lost.

I was a stranger and you took me in.

Count me as a supporter of that ethic. May the people of Massachusetts and the rest of the country remember our immigrant roots and care for the one on the road, who is just looking for a new home and a new life.

The Reverend John F. Hudson is Senior Pastor of the Pilgrim Church, United Church of Christ, in Sherborn, Massachusetts (pilgrimsherborn.org). He blogs at sherbornpastor.blogspot.com and is a resident scholar at the Collegeville Institute at Saint John’s University in Collegeville, Minnesota. For twenty-five years he was a columnist whose essays appeared in newspapers throughout Massachusetts and Rhode Island. He has served churches in New England since 1989. For comments, please be in touch: pastorjohn@pilgrimsherborn.org.