Bitterness, however, is not generally a desirable trait. In all their definitions, MW (that's Merriam-Webster) indicates that "bitter" implies intensity or severity, whether in taste or emotion or pain, and is always negative. No one is bitterly ecstatic or bitterly hopeful. I really don't think I like being bitter. My internal pendulum eventually swings toward hope and joy (confession: I'm an optimist). The high school reflection I found in the archives of my computer, however, chronicles one moment in a period of real resentment and pain. I blamed God because, well, Jeremiah 29:11 told me to. And though my writing dripped with teenage angst, I think it accurately captured the exhaustion and pissed hopelessness I was feeling.
In that aforementioned piece, I was upset about a boy (I know, original. But I was in high school). The title is from that theologically and philosophically profound gem of a television show, Designing Women. Julia Sugarbaker's eccentric customer, Bernice, was getting older and the women were trying to get her to relinquish her car keys. Bernice uttered that infamous line one day after returning from a short drive in which another driver flicked her off. Classic.
Bitterness made another appearance in my life, this time in college when a friend and I formed a club called the Lying Bitter People Club (the LBPC). We were bitter...and we lied about it. We formed this club one night after lamenting the sorry state of things, and though the group never grew beyond the two of us (misery loves company, but three's a crowd), it was somewhat cathartic if for no other reason than we had each other. The resolution was the dissolution of the club when I graduated and she got a boyfriend.
Now, I am utterly reticent to do any sort of me-and-the-Bible stuff, but I recently wrote my capstone paper so I have this feeling that I should include some sort of exegetical section. I think the Hebrew word for bitter is marah, or meribah. Or both (who knows? I don't remember Hebrew - all those little dots and dashes). If this were capstone, I would take you through a story of bitterness in the Bible and tie it nicely into my case study...oh wait, I think I might actually do that (and I looked it up. It's marah):
The term marah pops up in Exodus 15 as the name of a place the Israelites stop after a miraculous water show at the Jordan River. The water here, though, is bitter (hence the name) and they cannot drink it. In typical Exodus fashion, they grumble and Moses has to ask God for a hand. On order from God, Moses throws a stick in the water and slam-bam-thank-you-ma'am, the water is drinkable. Marah.
But the story of marah that causes me to pause is dear Naomi in the book of Ruth. Naomi means sweetness or pleasantness. Naomi has lost husband and sons, most likely to famine. She has two daughters-in-law, Orpah and Ruth, and one of them leaves her, too. Husbandless, childless, hungry, hopeless, Naomi changes her name to Mara "because the Almighty has made my life very bitter. I went away full, but the Lord has brought me back empty. Why call me Naomi?" (1:20). I heard a sermon once, not too long ago, where the (male) pastor used Ruth as a dating example and riled Naomi for her name change. He called her a bitter hag. This man apparently experiences the Lord's divine favor upon his life at all points and has never lost anyone or anything he loves.
Because if I'm going to be honest, Naomi and I have much more in common in those few little verses than I often admit. I was raised on a faith system that allowed for questioning of God as long as you didn't really question God. If you were feeling less than full, it was either your fault or for a reason (or both), and you better damn well figure out what you're supposed to learn from it. Naomi, though, is a little more honest about her situation. She's done, the kind of done that comes from the pain of repeatedly being hit while you're down. The kind of done when you know there isn't a reason. She says it out loud. She calls God out. And she changes her mother loving name.
Resolution in Naomi's story comes in the following 3 bizarre chapters (feet are involved...but they don't really mean tus pies). It is not recorded whether she unchanges her name or her stance on God and bitterness. It's not recorded if anyone actually ever calls her Mara. But Naomi and Ruth form their own club and, fortunately, Ruth gets married to the Big Man in Town (read: social security for Naomi). I don't remember the resolution of the issue for Bernice and her car or me in my adolescent ranting. My little Word document ends fairly abruptly. All I can think is that, for me at least, the pendulum swung and I just kept moving...
