He makes beautiful things...
I am a Christian, but I realize that professing that also makes me a little kooky. If you've ever read the Bible, even just a little bit, you know what I mean. It's full of unbelievable stories and miracles and feats of such incredible proportions, no rational thinker would ever buy into it, right? I know how Christians look to the secular world and I've had my share of comments and questions about my faith and devotion. Sometimes the questions are honest and kind and they come from people who want to understand why I believe Jesus is the Son of God or what I get out of going to church every Sunday or why I try (and fall short) to avoid certain behaviors.
Other times I've been treated as if I'm missing some essential piece of human reason, the piece that would tell me in no uncertain terms that believing in God, and especially Jesus, is just plain hogwash. This happened a lot in high school and often with teachers I respected--they might not have said so to my face, but things they said at the front of the classroom in a lesson or discussion revealed what they thought of such beliefs: Modern men and women who know how to think, who understand the world, who have their feet firmly planted in reality do not need God or Jesus or redemption. We can save ourselves, thank you very much.
The longer I live in the world the more I need the God of the Bible.
One of the things that used to hang me up was the whole idea of creation, and not just God creating the world, but God creating the world in six days (he rests on the seventh). Science tells us this is impossible. Imagine my relief when in the first few weeks of religion class at a Christian college, I learned that perhaps the world was not created in six, twenty-four hour days. Perhaps, the creation stories in Genesis are metaphorical, told in a way that the people of the ancient world would have grasped. I loved that idea, because I love the way metaphor works, the way it says more than the words representing it. Thank goodness I didn't have to dump my faith because of that one. Check. But there were so many other questions I still had to grapple with--bigger ones. The Trinity, for example, is nearly impossible to wrap one's mind around. Or how about just the story of Noah and the Ark? Really? Two of every kind on one ship? Come on!
I did a lot of thinking and a lot of soul searching and a lot of praying and talking to people wiser than me in college, and after all that, I came to the rational decision that yes, this God of the Bible and his son Jesus, they were for me. I didn't want a life without God at the center. I set aside my laundry list of questions to embrace growing a deeper spiritual life. My questions, never entirely or adequately answered, didn't seem so important anymore. They could wait.
Until I had kids. My oldest daughter is four and a half. And she's just at the age where she wants to know the answer to those questions. Lately, she's been trying to sort through where exactly heaven is. Golly if I know! I've wondered the same myself! She's also not sure how it can be that Jesus is alive, but not here. On Palm Sunday we were all sick and not able to attend church. I decided it would be a good idea to at least mention the significance of the day to Emelyn. Her reply, "Mom! I bet Jesus is on that donkey right now! And the people are waving their branches at him!" Uh, no. But how do I tell her that? How do I tell her that Jesus is alive, with God, but in heaven, which is...where again? The other day she wanted to know when we were going to meet Mama Katy, my grandmother and her namesake. She knows Mama Katy is in heaven, but why not drop by for a visit? Now, I find all my same unresolved questions surfacing in the mind of my preschooler. But you know what? She doesn't care that the answers are messy or weird or unconventional. She loves the Bible, the characters, the events, the amazing miracles and feats and battles. It all fascinates her, and to her, it all happened. No problem.
As adults we would like the story of the Bible, which is the grand and sweeping and beautiful and awful story of human redemption and God's love, we would like this story to fit into the boundaries of the finite. How could God have possibly created a world in six days? Well, why not?
Why must God fit into the logic of our finite minds? To require that is to make God like us, rather than God making us like him. "So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them" (Gen. 1:27). I've done enough damage in my short life to relationships, to my children, to the green earth. The human race has done enough damage. Why would we want to worship a God like us?
Wouldn't it be lovely and right and true for God, being who he is, to create an entire world in just six days? Wouldn't it be just like him to do that? I want my God to be bigger than me. I want him to be full of mystery. I want all the gray areas of life because they remind me of his greatness. The world is a sad and heavy place full of sorrow and suffering. I need there to be a God who can do fantastical things like create sea plankton and whales in one breath, fleas and giraffes in another. I need there to be a man named Jesus, who "was despised and acquainted with sorrow," who came to earth to die in my place. I need that Jesus to be one in the same with the God who put planets into orbit and spoke mountains into place.
If I could wrap my mind around God, what would be the point of pursuing his holiness and glory? Why would I follow him to the cross? I'd already be good enough, know as much, have life in the bag. Experience has taught me well that I do not have life in the bag. I can't even keep my house in good order most days.
And what would be the point of walking in joy and peace, of finding the good, of having faith that he is mighty to save, that he makes no mistakes, that he LOVES us in ways we will never love each other, could never love each other. "He makes beautiful things, he makes beautiful things out of us, he makes beautiful things, he makes beautiful things out of the dust." I've been singing that song all morning, dancing to it, in fact, with the three little miracles that live in my house. And boy did we dance--for the simple, complicated, ridiculous truth of it. It was beautiful.
Other times I've been treated as if I'm missing some essential piece of human reason, the piece that would tell me in no uncertain terms that believing in God, and especially Jesus, is just plain hogwash. This happened a lot in high school and often with teachers I respected--they might not have said so to my face, but things they said at the front of the classroom in a lesson or discussion revealed what they thought of such beliefs: Modern men and women who know how to think, who understand the world, who have their feet firmly planted in reality do not need God or Jesus or redemption. We can save ourselves, thank you very much.
The longer I live in the world the more I need the God of the Bible.
One of the things that used to hang me up was the whole idea of creation, and not just God creating the world, but God creating the world in six days (he rests on the seventh). Science tells us this is impossible. Imagine my relief when in the first few weeks of religion class at a Christian college, I learned that perhaps the world was not created in six, twenty-four hour days. Perhaps, the creation stories in Genesis are metaphorical, told in a way that the people of the ancient world would have grasped. I loved that idea, because I love the way metaphor works, the way it says more than the words representing it. Thank goodness I didn't have to dump my faith because of that one. Check. But there were so many other questions I still had to grapple with--bigger ones. The Trinity, for example, is nearly impossible to wrap one's mind around. Or how about just the story of Noah and the Ark? Really? Two of every kind on one ship? Come on!
I did a lot of thinking and a lot of soul searching and a lot of praying and talking to people wiser than me in college, and after all that, I came to the rational decision that yes, this God of the Bible and his son Jesus, they were for me. I didn't want a life without God at the center. I set aside my laundry list of questions to embrace growing a deeper spiritual life. My questions, never entirely or adequately answered, didn't seem so important anymore. They could wait.
Until I had kids. My oldest daughter is four and a half. And she's just at the age where she wants to know the answer to those questions. Lately, she's been trying to sort through where exactly heaven is. Golly if I know! I've wondered the same myself! She's also not sure how it can be that Jesus is alive, but not here. On Palm Sunday we were all sick and not able to attend church. I decided it would be a good idea to at least mention the significance of the day to Emelyn. Her reply, "Mom! I bet Jesus is on that donkey right now! And the people are waving their branches at him!" Uh, no. But how do I tell her that? How do I tell her that Jesus is alive, with God, but in heaven, which is...where again? The other day she wanted to know when we were going to meet Mama Katy, my grandmother and her namesake. She knows Mama Katy is in heaven, but why not drop by for a visit? Now, I find all my same unresolved questions surfacing in the mind of my preschooler. But you know what? She doesn't care that the answers are messy or weird or unconventional. She loves the Bible, the characters, the events, the amazing miracles and feats and battles. It all fascinates her, and to her, it all happened. No problem.
As adults we would like the story of the Bible, which is the grand and sweeping and beautiful and awful story of human redemption and God's love, we would like this story to fit into the boundaries of the finite. How could God have possibly created a world in six days? Well, why not?
Why must God fit into the logic of our finite minds? To require that is to make God like us, rather than God making us like him. "So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them" (Gen. 1:27). I've done enough damage in my short life to relationships, to my children, to the green earth. The human race has done enough damage. Why would we want to worship a God like us?
Wouldn't it be lovely and right and true for God, being who he is, to create an entire world in just six days? Wouldn't it be just like him to do that? I want my God to be bigger than me. I want him to be full of mystery. I want all the gray areas of life because they remind me of his greatness. The world is a sad and heavy place full of sorrow and suffering. I need there to be a God who can do fantastical things like create sea plankton and whales in one breath, fleas and giraffes in another. I need there to be a man named Jesus, who "was despised and acquainted with sorrow," who came to earth to die in my place. I need that Jesus to be one in the same with the God who put planets into orbit and spoke mountains into place.
If I could wrap my mind around God, what would be the point of pursuing his holiness and glory? Why would I follow him to the cross? I'd already be good enough, know as much, have life in the bag. Experience has taught me well that I do not have life in the bag. I can't even keep my house in good order most days.
And what would be the point of walking in joy and peace, of finding the good, of having faith that he is mighty to save, that he makes no mistakes, that he LOVES us in ways we will never love each other, could never love each other. "He makes beautiful things, he makes beautiful things out of us, he makes beautiful things, he makes beautiful things out of the dust." I've been singing that song all morning, dancing to it, in fact, with the three little miracles that live in my house. And boy did we dance--for the simple, complicated, ridiculous truth of it. It was beautiful.