God gave me a stone

In Carrion Comfort, Hopkins alludes to a Biblical passage in which Jacob wrestles overnight with a stranger. Neither can get the upper hand, but Jacob is left with a limp. Hopkins interprets Jacob’s struggle as a metaphor for his own, and in the morning after the struggle, both Jacob and Hopkins understand that at its core their struggle was with God.

It will be clear to readers of this blog that I approach my failed marriage from a Christian perspective, and yet that presents more of a challenge than a comfort. I hope that my story is relevant to all men whose wives have left them, and that my Christian faith does not obstruct a feeling of solidarity about such loss. But each of our stories is unique and it is inevitable that mine is infused with God.

On the surface, the breakdown of a marriage is a struggle between husband and wife, and as I have written before, I have been intensely hurt by H and angry with her mis-use of me. But like Jacob and Hopkins, I recognise that beyond (beneath?) my grief is a struggle with God who also seems to have mis-used me. It seems to me that God has led me into this mess and my anger about the whole situation is directed at God perhaps as much as at H.

Jesus once said “Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for fish, will give him a snake? If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him?” I prayed earnestly for years during my 20’s that God would help me become a good man, fit for the right wife. I was willing to never marry if God saw that to be best for me. When H and I were considering marriage I fasted for 4 (or was it 5?) days because I knew it was such an important decision. But if God guided me at all through that time it was to lead me into a commitment that has ended in this debacle. The marriage God seemed to have given me has been a cold, hard stone that has provided no nourishment.

Jesus also said “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness for they will be satisfied.” I may be arrogant in the extreme, but I claim the same standing as Job who, especially in Chapter 31, claims he is blameless. I have sought after righteousness since early teens. But I am nowhere near satisfied.

I am *not* claiming that since I have been so good (ha!), God owes me something in return. Whether I deserve better or not has no bearing at all. My complaint is that I have not found God’s self-portrayal to be accurate. I have believed in a God who cares for me personally; who has my (and your!) best interests at heart; the good shepherd; the ideal parent. I have entrusted that God with my complete allegiance.

What’s more, I have, at numerous times in my life, given that God permission to do whatever God pleases with me. I have prayed John Wesley’s radical Covenant Prayer and put myself at God’s disposal in many other ways. So perhaps I have only myself to blame.

But why didn’t God warn us before we were married? Why, when H and I had the very best of intentions, did God not mediate between us to fulfil the apparent intention of marriage? Why does it seem that God is now leading H away from me? How can any of that be good for me?

I no longer believe that God looks out for my personal interests. It seems more likely that although God cares for all people, the complexity of reality makes it impossible to bring about everyone’s best interests and in this case I have become the fall guy carrying the consequences of H’s best interest. Of course I write from the limited perspective of someone in the middle of the shit. God can yet bring some good out of it for me, but that’s evidence of God’s ability to redeem even the worst situation, not evidence that this miserable agony is in any way good. God has not delivered what Jesus promised.

—Nat

Carrion Comfort (part 2)

Back in my post about CarrionComfort, I only got as far as commenting on the first four lines. So let me pick up that theme again.

Here’s Hopkins' complete poem (virtually guaranteed to confuse and perhaps bore any but the English majors among you) and my very poor attempt at a paraphrase (virtually guaranteed to annoy the English majors).

Make sure you read the first verse loudly, with anger. It voices the defiance of every human against the burden of existence and against the God who causes, or at least allows, our suffering.

Gerard Manly Hopkins

Nat Whilk Clerk

NOT, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee; Not untwist—slack they may be—these last strands of man In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can; Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be. But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan With darksome devouring eyes my bruisèd bones? and fan, O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee? Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear. Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod, Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, chéer. Cheer whom though? the hero whose heaven-handling flung me, fóot tród Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each one? That night, that year Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.

To give in to despair is an empty comfort, like feasting on a rotting corpse. I will not accept that option. Even though I am hanging on to whatever it means to be human by no more than an unravelling thread, I WILL NOT let go. I will not say “I can’t go on”. I can go on. I can at least take one more step forward. I can last the night and hope for a better day ahead. I will not give up. But what the fuck’s going on here? What sadist is playing this game with me? What’s the point of kicking the world out of orbit and sending lions to attack me? Why stare at my brokenness as though feeding on it, why mock me lying here like a pile of shit when all I want to do is run away and hide? [The next day?] Ok, so I can see that suffering builds character. I’ve come to accept that principle and although it has been hard going, I have nevertheless been given strength and joy and even laughter. But who should I cheer now that I’ve come out the other side of such suffering? Do I praise the one in heaven who mistreated me? Or do I give myself a cheer for persevering through such mistreatment? Maybe it’s a bit of each. I survived a godforsaken night that seemed like a year, fighting an unknown assailant for no apparent … Oh shit! That was God!

I won’t attempt any more detailed exposition, except to note the important allusions to Genesis 32:22-30, Matthew 27:46 and Psalm 22. What I do want to comment on is how I feel mistreated by God through my marriage and its ending, and the impact that is having on my faith. But that’s for the next posting.

—Nat.

Documenting my anger

I probably have never been so angry as this. I feel so mis-used and betrayed. But who am I angry at? And where do I direct that anger?

I thought it would help -- and it did -- to write down what I am angry about. I listed 30 or so things where the anger was directed at H. Another half-dozen directed at God. And two directed at myself. (I wonder what that balance says about me, and I wonder how that balance might change over time?) The ones about H are the juicy one's that I'm sure you'd love to know. But it seems to me that the other categories are the more interesting ones.

Here are the two things I am angry with myself about...

• How is it that I have deceived myself about my own character? It seems that some attributes I held to be my highest virtues are actually failings that have damaged H and our relationship. What pride has preventing me from seeing that before? 

• How could I not have seen that H was not ready for marriage? Although we've been married 19 years, our problems go all the way back to the beginning. We were married too quickly and she did not yet have a solid enough self-identity to make a real comitment to me. I can't blame her for leading me on without also thinking that my own wishful thinking and my excitement at finding my "dream come true" was another example of self-deceit. 

If there's one thing I am going to be firm with myself about, it is that this pain is going to fuel a time of growth for me rather than a time of despair. So what can I learn from that self-directed anger?

—Nat.

Last thing at night

For me, the end of the day is normally the worst time. The quiet after my kids are asleep emphasises my aloneness and emptiness. I put off going to bed as long as I can in the hope of being so exhausted that I'll be able to fall asleep straight away. A friend of mine, divorced many years ago and still single, is a share trader. He said to me a few weeks ago that there are lots of lonely men up late at night watching foreign markets, trying to keep their sadness at bay.

The sadness of lying in bed alone makes me recall other times and reminds me what I am missing. With nothing else to do, my brain focuses on my loss, and I either cry or get angry. I haven't cried myself to sleep for 35 years! On a few occasions I have taken sleeping pills, with limited success. Last night I watched a movie on SBS purely because the introduction claimed it had a sex scene. (It didn't.) What I find more useful is some deliberate relaxation exercises, and a firm resolve not to end the day negatively.

Is it a tough time for you too? Any good strategies you can share?

— Nat.