God, I was taught to honor your omniscience. You see and know everything. You knew me before I was formed. You knew the results of your hands would be the moon and stars. You know what is best for me because you situate those rewards in their place for me to experience in due time. But if you know all, if you see all, if you made water leaked from rocks and manna fall in times of famine, if you knew to place Esther in the King’s court to stop the massacre of her people, if you knew David was meant to be king even as all other just saw him as a lowly shepherd, if you knew the fate of your son on the cross, then … just, then…
I’m supposed to trust your all-seeingness and all-knowingness at all times. Because the Bible tells me so. But then if I question you about nineteen children being slaughtered inside of their school or Black people being targeted in the bread aisle, then am I out of line?
I’m reading Job. Job didn’t waiver until he got to the point where he could no longer understand.
I’m at that point with you. I don’t waiver in my love for you but I don’t understand how you work.
Especially on days like today. You start and stop famines. You feed thousands and loosen devils. You knock down symbols of oppression. You punish crooks and liars. You say that I shouldn’t fear flesh but only power and principalities. But the flesh I’m told you knew of before its creation is walking into safe spaces to slaughter the other creations you commissioned at one time.
But I should trust that you know and see everything after 19 children are called home to meet you by the hands of someone broken and worn? You, the mighty power, the Shield, the creator of hedges, the one who enlarges territories, the one who brings justice to evildoers. You. You didn’t stop this. You didn’t pretend to stop this. Because you surely knew of Texas, right?
I can’t put on blinders to your wonders. Not right now.
I just ask why you couldn’t perform one at this moment? This isn’t fair.
Maybe I’m being unfair to you. I’m in a season where I need your signs and wonders. You know my Babylon, you know my Dagon. You know what trips me, what aches me, what hurts me. I need your providence to rain down on me. I still trust you to right my sail. I still believe in your wonder-working power as the true folk would say. Even in the midst of chaos created by me and exacerbated by forces I cannot explain, I still believe that you care enough to help me.
Omnipotent. That is you.
I just wonder why carelessness runs our land. Why violence races through us like blood. I wonder why we’re so quick to shield corporations and the crooks who run them. I wonder why we let sexual violence run rampant inside of our church steeples and greed blot out our eyes from your Son’s grace. I wonder why we think we can kiss the king of the land’s ring and wash Jesus’ feet at the same time. You can’t serve two masters, right? I wonder why we see women’s bodies as political ploys. Women first saw your Son rise from the dead and I know you do all things with intention. I wonder why we tweet thoughts and prayers but move dead with our work.
I know you see all and know all. I know you are able to do everything. So you tell me.
ciara roslyn-james 