I’ve got it bad and that ain’t good.
Etta James
The Problem
Between a long hallway and the playground of our church used to be an old door with plate glass windows in it. My son showed us just how dangerous those old windows can be.
Nathan, age seven, and a friend were running down the hallway to go back outside after a trip to the bathroom.
The two were racing.
The door was locked.
Nathan got to the door first, pushed hard, trying not to slow down.
The door didn’t move. His hand went through the window. He ran for help.
Applying pressure, afraid he had severed an artery, we called an ambulance. We went to Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital where Nate received, among other things, eighteen stitches.
In the days following, I struggled with how to talk about Nathan’s accident and what language to use. His wound was really bad, but not really, really bad. It was really bad that the cut was so deep, but not really, really bad because he didn’t sever the tendon. It was bad that he cut his arm, but good that he didn’t cut an artery.
Nathan said often, “I wish this didn’t happen.” We agreed. If given the choice, we would rather it didn’t happen, but we were glad, since it happened, he wasn’t hurt worse. So we said to him, “Son, we’re sad it happened too, but we’re glad it wasn’t worse. It was bad it happened but good it wasn’t badder, we mean worse.”
Nathan looked at us and said, “Huh?”
I have to concur. When I hear myself, and others, speak of situations and circumstances, experiences and outcomes, using the language of good and bad labeling, then I, like Nathan, often reply, “Huh?”
Labeling good and bad on our experiences is difficult, complex, and even more so once it becomes theological. We add the God question, “Where was God? Where was God when Nathan shoved his hand through the window?”
When things happen which we perceive as good, people of faith often say we are blessed meaning that God is watching kindly over us. But what about when we suffer pain like with Nathan’s accident? Where was God? Would we say God was watching out for him that he didn’t do more damage, or God wasn’t watching out for him that he had to have 18 stitches? Were we blessed that he didn’t do more damage or were we cursed that he did any damage at all?
Nearby our home at the writing of this chapter, many residents in Murfreesboro (forty miles away) were hit by tornadoes. We struggled with what language to use. We weren’t the only ones. I saw a minister interviewed on television. The people from his church were doing a lot for those who lost their homes or experienced great damage from the tornadoes.
He was asked, “Was your home hit?”
“No,” he said, “praise God.”
I wondered, “Is that it? Praise God for looking out for our homes, but you and yours… well… sorry.”
The thinking was clear to me, “Those who weren’t hit… we’re blessed.” But the converse was left unspoken, “Those who were hit… are cursed.” Clearly, we think, “Homes not hit by tornado… that’s good. And homes hit by tornado… that’s bad.” But how God is involved is not so apparent. I have two masters degrees, twenty years of full time church ministry, and I often struggle with good and bad and God.
The struggle with good, bad, and God isn’t a new struggle for me, though, when younger, it was funny. When I was a Boy Scout, we told a campfire story that illustrates how tough labeling experiences good and bad can be. Read it with me. Your lines are in italics.
A pilot went up for a solo flight in his airplane. Before he left, he made sure the airplane was in good condition and everything was in working order.
That’s good.
But there was a kink in the motor’s design which the pilot couldn’t see, and the motor gave out.
That’s bad.
He decided to abandon the plane and found a parachute.
That’s good.
He jumped out of the plane but the parachute wouldn’t open.
That’s bad.
There was a haystack.
That’s good.
He headed, as best he could, toward the haystack, and then saw a pitchfork pointed up in the haystack.
That’s bad.
He missed the pitchfork.
That’s good.
But he also missed the haystack…
Oh,…
Yeah, oh….
Consider also this story. Again, your lines are in italics…
A friend was driving to his church in Michigan in January…
That’s good. Going to church is good.
But the roads were icy, his car slid and he crashed into a tree.
That was bad.
Along came another member of the church.
That’s good.
But he slid on the same spot and crashed into the man’s car.
That’s bad.
But then came a policeman.
That’s good.
But he slid into the cars and crashed into them and my friend got injured.
That’s bad.
The ambulance came, after it crashed into the cars it took my friend to the hospital.
That’s good.
But they said his leg was broken, and my friend would have to have surgery.
That’s bad.
But he fell in love with his nurse…
Well, that’s good.
And when he got out of the hospital, they flew to Vegas and got married.
That’s good.
(Pause.)
That’s good, isn’t it?
Maybe… yesterday, she, her six kids, two dogs, three cats, a gold fish, and a gerbil moved into his two bedroom apartment.
Oh…
Yeah, oh…
Determining what’s good and bad can be a twisting and turning ride, in an instant, what you thought good now seems bad and what you thought bad suddenly seems good.
With labeling experiences good or bad being so difficult, a rational mind might conclude that we would attempt such classifications less, but not so, not for me. No matter how hard, no matter how incompetent I am at it, I want to label things, experiences, and people as good or bad. I want in all confidence to boldly say, “This was good.” “This was bad.” So, I tag frequently and often.
I label meals. “How was dinner?” “It was good.” I label worship. “How was worship? The music was wonderful, but the sermon was bad.” I label things I do. “Carrie,” I say, “I did something bad.” “What did you do?” she asks. “I backed into the mailbox and dented the bumper.” Fender benders are bad.
I label not only experiences but whole days. “How was your day?” Carrie will ask. I’ll sum up the whole day’s experiences as either “I had a good day,” or “I had a bad day.” Ask me about the weather? “How’s the weather out there?” “Great!” or “Nasty!” I can sum up whole years as good or bad. Ask me, “How is life at the church?” I’ll likely tell you, “It’s been a good year,” or “It’s been a challenging (bad) year.”
I label my children’s behavior, “Why can’t you be good?” “What are you acting so badly?” In my world, labels abound.
It seems my quest to sort through life labeling experiences, days, weeks, months, behaviors, and events as good or bad. My quest seems common. I know others who label as I do. It gives us something to talk about, rejoice about, or complain about. If you meet someone and don’t know what to talk about, find a common dislike and you can talk for hours on how bad the schools are, the government, the coffee at church, the coach of the local sports team… on and on…
Labeling is a common trait of humanity. We label, tag, brand, classify, pigeonhole, and catalog. We name good or bad frequently and often. Apparently, we have for a long, long time. Consider the age old story of Adam and Eve.
Adam and Eve are walking along when they come across a snake at the tree of knowledge, “Step right up,” the snake says. “What we have here is a nice piece of fruit that will give you what you’re looking for. One bite and you’ll no longer worry about what’s good or what’s bad, you’ll know. You’ll have the God-like knowledge to give you the power to know good from evil, good from bad… Say, you look like a fine couple… how would you like to have the power that can change your life?”
That’s what we want. God-like power to be able to label things as good and bad. “Give us that knowledge! Give it to us now!”
But God won’t. Consider Jesus. If you are looking to Jesus for the power to label your life’s components as good or bad then watch out. He won’t do it. When you look for certainty, Jesus is like a guy who says to you, “You want a safe spot? Come stand out here in the middle of the room. Come stand in the middle on this carpet. Feel safe, yet? You do? Good.” Then he’ll pull the rug right out from under you.
Consider his life. Labeling good and bad is extremely problematic.
Jesus comes into Jerusalem and the crowds are all for him screaming Hosanna!
That’s good. People are cheering for him. They seem to get it.
But the leaders of the day don’t like it, and the Roman authorities are nervous.
That’s bad.
Jesus gets away, and goes to a safe place. And the leaders don’t know where to find him.
That’s good. Jesus is safe. Safe is good.
But one of his followers has betrayed him.
That’s bad. Betrayal by someone you love is always bad.
But Jesus knows about it ahead of time.
That’s good. Jesus had choices. Choices are good.
But Jesus washes his soon-to-be-betrayer’s feet, gives him something to eat, and then lets him go.
That’s nice, but that’s bad. Send the traitor away. Go somewhere else and hide.
Even after the betrayer leaves, Jesus still has time to get away.
That’s good.
But he doesn’t go away. Instead, he goes to a nearby garden and prays while waiting for those who will do him harm.
That’s bad. Why wait when you can hide?
Some of Jesus’ followers resist.
That’s good. Jesus’ followers love him. They are willing to fight for him.
But Jesus tells them not to.
Again, that’s nice, but that’s also bad.
They accuse Jesus, beat him, make him carry his own cross, and crucify him.
That’s terrible.
Yes, that’s terrible, horrible, one of the worst things we can imagine, and that is on the day we call Good Friday.
Good Friday? On the day Jesus was brutally killed, suffered torture before he died, abandoned by the authorities and his closest friends and followers, do we have any idea what we are talking about when we call it Good Friday? Perhaps not.
Perhaps in all our labeling of good and bad we have no idea what we are talking about.
Perhaps that’s the point.
The Text
On the Sunday following Good Friday, the women went to the tomb where Jesus was buried.
To them, there was nothing good about the previous Friday. They saw only bad with nothing good ahead.
Mark 16: When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him. 2 And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. 3 They had been saying to one another, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?”
Walking to the tomb, wanting to care for the body of Jesus, their loved one, certain a boulder would be blocking their way, feeling as powerless to care for his body as they had felt when they wanted to keep him from being crucified, they saw only bad ahead, no good was possible.
Then they get to the tomb, and beyond imagination, beyond possibility, the stone is moved and no soldiers but an angel.
4 When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. 5 As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. 6 But he said to them, “Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. 7 But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.”
So what did they do after they heard the contradicting angel saying joyously that what they saw as impossibly bad was actually a great day?
8 So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.
They ran and hid.
If we had been there, and heard the angel, what do you think we would have done? Chances are we would have done what the women in the story did, run away and hide. That’s what we do. We label good and bad, and if we can’t figure it out, if it doesn’t meet our labels, we’ll run from it, and Jesus is no help. With Jesus, you can’t count on the bad being bad, nor can you count on the bad being final. Jesus was dead. That’s bad. Surely that’s bad. But then he, according to the angel, was walking around alive, setting up appointments, meeting with people. Jesus, once dead, was alive. It was too much for the women, and us, to imagine.
At the tomb, the women came in afraid and left afraid, they came in grief and left in grief, they came in pain and left in pain. They weren’t ready for anything else.
The women had good, they had bad. To experience a miracle on Easter, they needed another word, a magic word, something more than good or bad alone can give. They needed… Maybe
The Text Revisited
If the women on the way to the tomb had known about maybe, then they could have experienced and rejoiced in the Easter miracle. Consider what might have happened in this retelling…
Mark 16: When the sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him. 2 And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. 3 They had been saying to one another, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?”… And they thought, “All our dreams died with Jesus. Now we are going to finish burying the one we not only followed but loved. That large rock is so big that we’ll never get it moved on our own. This may be one of the best days of our lives!”
Maybe would have allowed them to be present, really present, on Easter instead of blinded by their fear. Maybe would have opened a door of possibility.
If the ones who went to the tomb on Easter had remembered the first chapter from Genesis, they could have saved themselves the trouble. In the first chapter of Genesis, God creates by saying, “Let there be light,” then, God names, “God called the light, Day…” and then God discerns, “God saw that it was good.” God is the one who discerns what is good, not humanity. Good is left up to God.
The women were certain they had the knowledge of what was good and what wasn’t. They were certain both Friday and Sunday qualified as bad and only bad days.
They didn’t see that like Genesis chapter one, God gets the final word on what is good or not. They didn’t see that any situation where any circumstance where God is at work, any predicament, might be good.
They needed maybe. They didn’t have it, but we can. We certainly need it.
Theology, for centuries, has wrestled with one question over and over again without resolution. Theologians call it the Theodicy problem: how can God be good when bad things happen?
Maybe asserts that our assumption is wrong about bad things in the world. Maybe asserts that when it comes to good and bad, we can never be quite sure. Maybe asserts that in this uncertainty is possibility, for even in the most painful and challenging parts of our lives, wonders may abound. So at any particular moment, we can’t know for sure good or bad because our sight and understanding are both limited.
So, the healthier approach to good and bad is the simple, maybe. Consider the farmer in the following story…
Transformation
A farmer lived with his family on a small farm. They were not rich for it was not a large farm. They had a small barn and a good horse they used to plow the fields and ride to town when the occasion arose.
One day, the horse ran away. Then the farmer’s neighbors came by and said, “O’ no! You lost your horse. That’s bad.”
The farmer replied, “Maybe. I don’t know if it is good or bad. Only God can say.”
A week later, the farmer’s horse returned but it wasn’t alone. The horse returned with a wild stallion accompanying it. The farmer took both horses and placed them in the corral. The same neighbors came by and said, “Wow, you have two horses. That’s good!”
The farmer replied, “Maybe. I don’t know if it is good or bad. Only God can say.”
A few days later, the farmer’s son was trying to tame the new horse. The stallion threw the son off its back. When the son hit the ground he broke his hip. Though he healed, he never was quite the same and walked with a limp. Again the neighbors came by. “Oh, your son broke his hip, that’s bad.”
The farmer replied, “Maybe. I don’t know if it is good or bad. Only God can say.”
A year later, the army came through the nearby village. The army was short on troops so they took every young and able man of the village and surrounding area with them. When they came by the farm, they did not take the farmer’s son since he still traveled slowly with his limp. The neighbors came by and said, “The army didn’t take your son. Isn’t that good?”
The farmer replied, “Maybe. Only God can say.” He paused for a moment and whispered, “But I think it’s pretty good.”
After Jesus died, the disciples were without hope. Caught up in the tragedy of Jesus’ death, they had bad and only bad. All they could see was the tragic end and nothing more. Yet, if they had maybe in their vocabulary, then their experience of Easter would have been different. If they had maybe, they could have gone to the tomb, women and men, with an expectant hope, with minds open to what might be.
“Jesus died? that’s terrible!” Maybe.
“Soldiers came for Jesus. They may come for you.” That’s bad. Maybe.
“Jesus’ body is in the tomb. There’s a rock in front of it.” It’s over. This is final. Maybe.
Easter opens every experience to the potential of God at work. What’s true for Jesus is true for us, whatever injustice, whatever evil, whatever tragedy befalls us, good may come from them all, why? Because God says so. Is it good or bad? Maybe. Only God can say. That’s the good news of Easter: any bad can be the setting stage for God at work, any trial may be good unseen.
So, when my son shoved his arm through a window and cut himself, was it bad? Maybe. It sure was painful, but whether or not it was bad is something only God can say.
When the tornadoes hit some houses, was it bad? Maybe. It certainly was frightening, frustrating, and for a few, fatal, but whether or not it was bad is something only God can say.
The gospel story points us to a new reality, a reality beyond simple, fatal, determined good and bad. The gospel story points us to an open, potential, possible reality where even death is not final, where crosses become signs of hope, where tombs become doorways, and where ends become possibilities for new beginnings.
The angel’s message of Easter is that anywhere and everywhere has the working potential of God at play where every outcome is uncertain, and where labels of good and bad, life and death, helpless or hopeless, are futile. Once a dead guy gets out of a tomb and starts walking around, uncertainties abound, and maybes are everywhere. For with God, any situation, no matter how terrible or terrifying may become wonderful.
The angel has come. Do you hear him? Today may be the best day of your life. Today may be the day when some pain, some abuse, or some tragedy clearly becomes a doorway to new life and new possibility. Isn’t it time you gave it a maybe?
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Books and Blogs by David W. Jones