Hand Over My Mouth

Why do we feel the need to explain everything?

When life breaks… when loss comes… when the world feels like a mess—our instinct is to find someone or something to blame. It gives us a sense of control, even if only for a moment.

But what if some questions aren’t meant to be answered?

In this episode of Scattered Moments, we step into the tension between chaos and control, between our need to understand and God’s invitation to trust. Through the story of Job, a quiet word from Augustine, and the gentle echo of an old hymn, we’re reminded that peace doesn’t always come from answers.

Sometimes… it comes from surrender.

Sometimes… it comes when we finally stop talking.

Transcript

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SPEAKER_01 0:00

Welcome to Scattered Moments. These are quiet reflections on faith and the places where grace appears, even in the middle of the mess. There's something in all of us, a need to figure out who caused the mess. We start early, and as we get older, we just get more sophisticated about it. Now we blame systems, people, enemies we name so that we can feel in control. But the world is still a mess. And if we're honest, so are we. I'll never forget the line from ordinary people, a movie a generation ago. A husband, a wife, at the very end of their marriage.

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It would have been all right. If there hadn't been any mess. But you can't handle mess.

SPEAKER_01 1:09

The husband's words had power because of the brutal honesty that we all carry with us. To be honest, most of us have little tolerance for messes, especially in relationships, and things are deeply personal. We want things to be neat, explainable, tied up with a bow. We want A plus B equals C. But often what life throws at us is not formulaic. It's not predictable, and it is rarely fair. Life just doesn't work that way. I've stood at the gravesides and I've listened to people try to explain the unexplainable. And when explanations fail, we either blame or we disconnect. Blame gives us something to hold for a moment. But it keeps us in a bubble, a small shrinking place where we don't have to face the deeper mystery. And that bubble, if we stay there too long, it starts to rot the soul. But life isn't clean. It's messy. I've been in a delivery room. It's chaos, panic, noise, risk. And yet that's where life begins. And like you, I've also walked through cemeteries, everything in order, straight lines, quiet. But if I had to choose, I'd rather be in the labor room. Because you learn something there. The book of Job is full of people trying to explain messes, offering reasons, theories, answers to the question why? But the turning point comes when God speaks at the very end of the book. And he doesn't give answers, he gives questions. You know how the lightning finds its way across the sky. You know when the mountain goats give birth. Can you hold the stars in place? Who has the understanding to count the clouds? Can you run the world the way I do? And Joseph responds, Surely I spoke of things I did not understand. Things too wonderful for me to know. And then he says, I put my hand over my mouth. I know that moment. When God speaks, my opinions start to sound small. So I put my hand over my mouth. In other words, what more could be said when God speaks? My need to explain begins to fade. As Augustine said, if you understand it, it is not God. And then I hear the quiet hymn rising from another century. Be still my soul. The Lord is on thy side. Bear patiently the cross of grief and pain. And in that moment I remember, I am not God. I'm not. And neither are you. There's a strange kind of peace in not having to explain God. In letting him be God, in handing over the gavel to the one who sees what I cannot. I look at injustice and he says, look at the stars, look at what I made. I worry about tomorrow. And he says, look at the birds. And somewhere in all of that, I stop talking. I let go of blame. I release the need to solve the mystery. And like Job, well, I put my hand over my mouth. That's today's scattered moments. I hope you'll join me next time. Until then, take care. Notice the scattered moments and share the grace.