Mara, Daughter of Bitterness

You presented the Lord with an honest lament

even in your anguish: the sweetest kind of offering,

I’d like to imagine. Your daughter-in-law’s Moabite god

demanded child sacrifices in order to appease his jealousy,

and yet somehow you still found the courage

to bring your own bitterness to the all-consuming fire

of Israel. Mara, woman of sorrows, I need you to teach me

how to speak the name Yahweh bitterly. I envy

your ability to question God without forgetting who

He is. Before giving Him your anger, did you know

that the Almighty was a god to be related to? Or did you

expect some holy retribution for screaming in the ear

of Exodus’ great I AM? Recently, I’ve started

growing comfortable in my questions, and I wonder

if that’s something I should be confessing to. I try

reminding myself that there’s such a thing as

righteous anger, but even my suffering doesn’t feel holy

anymore. I can’t find a way to reconcile the names

of God with His actions. How did you recognize

Jehovah-Jireh—“The Lord Will Provide”—as

the same God who brought you out of Moab

empty? Mara, daughter of bitterness, you told

the women of Bethlehem to stop calling you Naomi,

and yet no where else in the Bible are you mentioned

as anything otherwise. Did you know when you chose

the name Mara that it doesn’t just mean “bitterness”

but is supposed to imply strength as well? Your

honest lament—your holy anger—did it ever bridge

on hatred? Did you ever wonder if there are times

when anger is holier than praise?

Elsa Kim