Poor Pitiful Me: Your Inner Whiner

by Christa von Zychlin

Whine, snivel, yammer, yawp. Grumble, murmur, nitpick, carp. What an unlovely medley of words to describe complaining. But it’s whining — that long–drawn–out high–pitched way of communicating — that drives most of us absolutely nuts. There is no minimum age requirement — some children (Lord help their parents) seem to emerge from the womb with that peculiarly thin and piercing quality to their crying. Nor is it something people seem to outgrow. With some people, age even seems to compound the issue. And the not-so-subtle subtext to whining is that there is no hope, no way out of this, and a whiner wants you, O person next to her, to know all about her unearned troubles.

My own inner whiner is named "Chrissy" (apologies to any of you with that actual name). She lurks in the dark brooding forest of my inner soul and foists herself upon others, mostly my long–suffering husband and occasionally my co–workers, employees, and yes, with some regularity, even my own less than sympathetic children.

Chrissy gains strength when I am sick, which (fortunately for all those named in the above paragraph) isn’t often. I’m afraid my early years may have encouraged her, as I look back a little too fondly to my childhood illnesses, when my mother provided me with a little bell to ring when I needed a refill on my chicken noodle soup or a replacement tissue box. Chrissy hasn’t gotten over the fact that we are grown up now and there is no one to wait on us. Did I mention my befuddled husband, who is clearly not attuned to my needs at these delicate times?

I usually don’t allow Chrissy to come to work with me, but sometimes she shows up there, complaining about Tuesday’s workload, muttering about somebody’s unreturnedphone call, worrying out loud why attendance is down and expenses are up, and providing a running commentary on how people just don’t keep commitments like they used to, tsk. Poor me.

Whining usually says that it is I who have been singled out for the bad things of the universe. But occasionally whining morphs into an equally deadly variation — whining about somebody else’s hardship. This is the "ain’t it awful" syndrome, suggesting that there is no real justice in the world, and I alone am qualified to comment upon that fact.

Straight to voice mail
A whiner’s harshest critics, strangely enough, are other whiners. It is because of my own inner whiner that I simply cannot tolerate whining in others.

I see a certain person’s name on my caller ID and, God forgive me, I let it go straight to voice mail, knowing that she will use up the full three minutes of my phone’s messaging system. I already know she wants to talk about the committee work she felt compelled to take on — and then complain loudly about. "Nobody gave us the minutes from the last meeting. Nobody told us when budgets are due. I can’t get hold of so-and-so. Who came up with this way of doing things, anyway? Well, call me when you can squeeze me in," she sighs. "I know you’re awfully busy…." The last syllable trails off in a way that is like fingernails on slate. Why do I shudder?

It’s not just women. There’s a particular man who stops by unannounced, wanting to discuss the lack of sensitivity to long-time church members shown by newer staff and programs. I try and slink off in the opposite direction when I see him coming, but the church secretary is watching and I think I need to show that I am basically a caring person. So I greet him with a bright smile, only to have him take a seat and make himself at home in my study.

Nearly an hour later we both emerge from my study. He is as gloomy as ever, and my bright smile is now stuck to my teeth in a most unattractive manner.

I won’t even talk about the teenager and his mother who are united in feeling that my requiring regular worship reports from confirmation students is akin to Tetzel’s sale of indulgences to poor peasants, as if I am making a profit off trying to decipher scribbled sermon notes. Oops, did you hear a long, highpitched tone in that last paragraph?

A long history of whining
As Christians, heirs of a long line of biblical ancestors, we come by our whining honestly.

Adam whines about Eve: "She’s the one who gave me the forbidden fruit, this wife you gave me, God!" (Genesis 3:12)

Sarah yammers to Abram about Hagar: "Look how she’s treating me, I’m suffering, and it’s all your fault!" (Genesis 16:5)

Moses yips about his lack of credentials: "I’m a rotten public speaker, God" (Exodus 4:10).

Naomi laments her lot in life, as if the death of her sons is harder on her than on her daughters-in-law, now young widows: "My life is more bitter than yours" (Ruth 1:13).

Then of course we have Jeremiah and Job, the real masters of the art. Jeremiah writes a whole book called Lamentations (you can guess how cheerful that is), while Job is practically a synonym for outpoured verbal anguish.

In the New Testament, the gripes, large and small, do not stop. We have Martha complaining about Mary, both sisters complaining about Jesus’ tardiness in visiting their dying brother, James and John complaining about their pay scale as disciples —  and even Mary, the mother of Jesus, whines over the shut-down of the open bar at the wedding at Cana!

Ritual lament
Am I being overprotective of my own inner whiner when it occurs to me that whining is not necessarily such a terrible thing?

"Be angry, but do not sin," we read in Ephesians 4:26. "Do not let the sun go down on your anger."

What is whining but a nonviolent expression of anger? And the truth is we have things in life to be angry about. So does the Scripture give us permission to let it all hang out for a while?

Maybe Adam had a right to be angry about Eve, and Sarah about Hagar, and definitely Naomi had something to be angry about with the death of not only her husband, but her sons as well. Beyond the grief and turmoil of losing her family, Naomi is well past the age where most people would find it easy to start again.

Maybe widows, and grieving parents, and anyone with disappointed dreams — maybe we have something to whine about.

And maybe we should just rephrase that word "whine." In her classic 2001 book, You Just Don’t Understand: Women and Men in Conversation, Deborah Tannen categorizes this whole business of complaining with the respectable-sounding phrase, "ritual lament." Tannen claims that women (and in some cultures men as well) are actually doing the important work of naming wrongs in the world when they complain. In the process of shared complaint, they not only express real feelings, but also form deeper bonds of intimacy with others.

When my husband preached about this topic recently, a group of women invited me to a 5 o’clock "ritual lament" session at one of their homes. I liked that.

Making peace
In dealing with whiners, including my own inner whiner, I have come up with three ways of peacemaking (that I am working to implement).

First, I need to take a good honest look at what the whining is about. It could be that a bit of complaint actually keeps people from being superficial. Rather than letting us pass as plastic-coated perfect Christians, the give and take of griping reminds us that we’re all human. We don’t live in a perfect world, this side of heaven. Sometimes rotten things happen, with little rhyme or reason, and the Chrissies of this world just need somebody else to listen, to appreciate their pain, and then maybe help them take themselves a little less seriously—even laugh at themselves as friends help them put their own aches and pains into a larger, shared context.

Second, I need to be humble about those whiners. Sometimes they have some good insights and advice to give. When I finally got enough of a grip on my naturally impatient self to actually listen to the entire three minute message from the woman on my caller ID, you know what? I discovered that there was actually a good idea embedded in the litany of complaints. We do need a better way of providing continuity between ministry chairs, and I’ve been prodded to look at how we can do better in this area.

When I look back at the man I mentioned, I realize that I learned more about the hardships of his life during our (ahem) long conversation. And do you know what else?

Even though he’s on a fixed income (which he also told me about — in detail) I recently found out that this elderly Dane is our church’s single most generous supporter of our new global mission partnership in Tanzania. Go figure.

Third, to paraphrase Ephesians, "whine, but do not sin." Whine, but then let it go. "Do not let the sun go down on your whining." In other words, we can complain, gripe, and moan, for a while, but Scripture leaves us no wiggle room — we have to get moving with the Spirit’s own movement. Ephesians 4:29–32 goes on to say, "Let no evil talk come out of your mouths, but only what is useful for building up, as there is need, so that your words may give grace to those who hear…. Do not grieve the Holy Spirit…. Put away from you all bitterness and wrath and anger and wrangling and slander, together with all malice, and be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ has forgiven you."

Those words can quiet down the whining and release us to move forward to new and creative acts of peace and grace.

The Rev. Christa von Zychlin and her husband, the Rev. Wayne Nieminen, are pastors of Our Savior’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Hartland, Wis. They are the parents of three teenage sons who have, on occasion, been known to give their mother practice in dealing with whining.