Sometimes I wonder why anyone would voluntarily participate on a panel to update a church hymnal. Some of the most divisive disagreements I've seen have been over what kind of music is played in the church and what hymns should be included. Don’t mess with someone else’s favorite hymn! So it didn't surprise me to see an article Dave found in The Economist on a “Presbyterian problem” about a song that wasn't included in an upcoming hymnal. A Presbyterian Church (USA) panel decided to leave the song “In Christ Alone” out because of the phrase "till on that Cross as Jesus died, the wrath of God was satisfied."
This could be an opportunity to talk about whether God is wrathful or loving or whether God really insisted on sacrificing Jesus to “satisfy” the price of our sins – both are topics we've explored here and here. There’s a lot more debate on “substitutionary atonement” than I ever knew. Instead the article described it as another instance of conservative vs. “soft-minded liberal Christianity.” Never mind that the alternate wording the panel wanted to use – “"…as Jesus died/the love of God was magnified" – already appeared in a recent Baptist hymnal or that the whole issue is more nuanced than a liberal vs. conservative ideological dispute, as this article in Christian Century describes.
But this isn't about songs in a hymnal. It’s about how labels can too often turn a respectful debate into an us vs. them free-for-all that goes nowhere. Several years ago, Brian McLaren wrote Generous Orthodoxy, a book with the longest subtitle of any on my shelf: “Why I am a missional + evangelical + post/protestant + liberal/conservative + mystical/poetic + biblical + charismatic/contemplative + fundamentalist/Calvinist + Anabaptist/Anglican + Methodist + catholic + green + incarnational + depressed-yet-hopeful + emergent + unfinished Christian.” One of the premises in his book is that people from different theological backgrounds and perspectives each have something to offer in terms of understanding who Jesus is and what it means to live a Christ-centered life. McLaren urges us to look beyond the “us/them” paradigm and consider what it means to live as “we together.” It’s a dialogue some folks are trying to have while others are still debating the title.
It’s hard to get past the labels because it’s one way we try to make sense of the world. That’s fine as long as we realize that we all are more than a collection of tags that sort us according to sex, age, political affiliation, religious preference, job title, economic status, health, musical and shopping tastes, etc. Sometimes we say or do things that don’t sit well with others. Sometimes we aren't inspired by someone else’s favorite hymn. Sometimes those labels that don’t completely fit us get in the way of having a reasonable, civil debate. Sometimes those labels we try to project onto God and Jesus – labels based on our particular perspectives – get in the way of recognizing that God doesn't actually fit neatly into those tags. And, whether we want to admit it or not, those labels can become baggage that turn some people off from religion and faith.
Anyone can write a blog to express an opinion (I’m proof of that!). Sometimes it’s easier to frame a mock debate between you and some “soft-minded liberal” or “judgmental fundamentalist” (depending on your perspective). But that’s not the same as listening to what the other person has to say and trying to understand where they are coming from. When we get caught up in debating the stereotypes, we forget that the real people behind those labels are much more complex, interesting, and worthy than the labels make them out to be.
Rachel Held Evans recently said it well:
The truth is, that dude whose blog posts totally rub you the wrong way may be the best person in the world with which to watch a football game or talk theology over beer. That acquaintance on Facebook whose pictures make her life seem perfect may struggle with self-doubt, depression, and fear. That stuffy Calvinist you love to hate may melt into a goofy, delightful playmate when he’s tickling his kids on the living room floor. The feminist you always imagine shouting other people down may have an unbelievably tender heart. The pastor you think is always wrong probably gets a few things right. And the pastor you think is always right definitely gets some stuff wrong.
Perhaps the most radical thing we followers of Jesus can do in the information age is treat each other like humans—not heroes, not villains, not avatars, not statuses, not Republicans, not Democrats, not Calvinists, not Emergents—just humans. This wouldn't mean we would stop disagreeing, but I think it would mean we would disagree well.
Maybe one radical way Christianity pulls us up from our messiness isn't whether God’s wrath or God’s love prevails. Instead, through Jesus, God calls us to enter into relationships where all of our labels and pretenses – and the pressure to “fit” into those labels – are stripped away. I’d like to think that God embraces us no matter where we stand in the ideological debate because God transcends those debates.
The question is, how do we learn to recognize and move beyond those labels we’re so used to using?
You don’t have to look at the studies to know that many churches aren’t exactly overflowing with young adults. Go to church on Sunday and look around you(1). If you need studies, here’s one by Pew Research and another one from the Barna Group. You’ll also find plenty of opinions as to why this is. “Why?” may be a good question to ask (as a scientist, it’s one of my favorites), but a better question is “What are we going to do about it?”
Rachel Held Evans has become one of my favorite bloggers and writers because she challenges us to move beyond pontification to action. She’s written in the past about why she left church and why she came back. She recently wrote about why millennials are leaving the church on CNN and in more depth on her blog. The bottom line, from her perspective, is that young adults just aren’t finding Jesus in church. They seek substance and, instead, get superficial style. Here’s an excerpt:
What millennials really want from the church is not a change in style but a change in substance.
We want an end to the culture wars. We want a truce between science and faith. We want to be known for what we stand for, not what we are against.
We want to ask questions that don’t have predetermined answers.
We want churches that emphasize an allegiance to the kingdom of God over an allegiance to a single political party or a single nation.
We want our LGBT friends to feel truly welcome in our faith communities.
We want to be challenged to live lives of holiness, not only when it comes to sex, but also when it comes to living simply, caring for the poor and oppressed, pursuing reconciliation, engaging in creation care and becoming peacemakers.
You can’t hand us a latte and then go about business as usual and expect us to stick around. We’re not leaving the church because we don’t find the cool factor there; we’re leaving the church because we don’t find Jesus there.
Like every generation before ours and every generation after, deep down, we long for Jesus.
No one is going to mistake me for a young adult, but I want the same thing. And I want a church with a solid foundation that will not only help nurture my kids’ faith, but will inspire them to be better disciples of Jesus than I am.
While some mainline churches offer those things – here’s a response from a Presbyterian (PCUSA) pastor to Rachel Held Evans’ comments on the mainline church –why aren’t more mainline churches thriving? And, more importantly, what are we doing about it?
Rachel Held Evans writes that we need to “sit down and really talk with [young adults] about what they’re looking for and what they would like to contribute to a faith community.” It doesn’t mean that we compromise the basic foundation of our faith, but we need to strip away the baggage to get back to that foundation. In the follow-up article, she frames her message as a vision and hope:
The article wasn’t intended to be a list of demands, but rather an expression of desires, a casting of vision and an articulation of my hope for the Church. Obviously, the real work begins when we come together in community to do the hard, daily work of reconciliation, listening, serving, and worshipping in spirit and truth.
This is one area where I feel I’ve been called in the last few years. This blog – offering a forum to explore tough questions – was a start, but it could use more personal engagement and more young voices (that’s not a knock on those who regularly respond, because I’ve learned a lot from your comments). I’m excited about this fall’s adult discipleship series we’ve planned using the animate Faith and animate Bible materials. But that’s only going to work if we go beyond talking to doing.
I’d love to hear what you think of Rachel Held Evans’ posts. Do you identify with her views about what’s missing in the church? What would you add? What would you do about it?
(1) Not every church is losing young adults and there lies hope for the future. My church is one of those that is declining in membership and I’m not sure we’re doing much about it. I don’t buy the arguments that it’s the demographics of the area or that it’s a denominational problem and we can’t do much about it. Either we passionately believe that God is at work among us and we need to share that with our neighbors or we need to get out of the way and let God work. Either way, the question stands: We’re not gaining members, so what are going to do about it?
It’s amazing that I can spend a week at camp and come back to find I’m more than a month behind at work, home, and everywhere in between. I intended to write a post last week but the catching up got in the way of catching up. A lot of things are bouncing around what passes for my mind these days, but nothing that sorted itself out first.
In the chaos of this week, this quote from Sarah Bessey popped up. Several times.
I don’t want to be swallowed by the darkness. Nor do I want to be blinded by the light. No, I want to be part of a people who see the darkness, know it’s real, and then, then, then, light a candle anyway.
After enough times, I got the hint and read the post. Although she wasn’t writing about the aftermath of the Zimmerman trial or the latest political battles, she could have been addressing any of the too many us-vs.-them animosities that snarl across the internet.
From In which faith comes by listening to the right story:
The temptation is to listen to only one perspective or the other. We choose sides, and often that “side” depends on the place from which we engage life.
The temptation is to say that our own narrow experience trumps all other evidence or the experiences of others.
The temptation, particularly for those of us who operate from a position of privilege, is to gravitate towards the good and ignore the very real and true cries of the oppressed and marginalized or even just-plain-different-from-us of our society, to retreat into the worlds of our own making and the brightly lit aisles of a shopping centre, and then point to the good stories as good enough for us. We seek our convenience and comfort and safety. Surely these stories of abuse or injustice are anomalies, right?
Or the temptation is to gorge ourselves on sorrow and anger, to fill our hearts and minds only with the tales of hate and evil and horror, until we forget the beauty and peace and justice growing and rising like yeast among us. We keep our face towards the darkness, weeping or raging, and we miss the candles bravely flickering around us.
And then our temptation is to turn the other side into a straw man argument to blithely ignore or burn in effigy. Either way, we don’t have to listen to a straw man. I don’t think that this is unique to women’s issues or to the Church or to the Internet: we do it in every corner of our life or with any issue.
Yet the word “right” or “wrong” isn’t the proper word for our human experience. Whether it’s a story I love or a story I hate, whether it’s a story that grieves me or a story that angers me, whether it’s a story that inspires me or a story that sickens me, whether it’s a story with a happy ending or an unresolved ending, I often don’t get to decide whether or not it’s right, it simply is what happened. It is the story. It is real. It is true. In our broken world, injustice is just as real as justice.
They are both true: the darkness and the light along with the reality that most of our lives reflect both. There is no either-or to real life.
Jesus walked into a messy world and taught that the kingdom of God works through love, not condemnation. We’re neither too righteous nor too broken, no matter what we think of ourselves. In all our messiness, God sees us as redeemable, worthy of grace, love, and restoration. Not just me, or the people who think, look, act, vote, and believe like me. But also the people who think differently, live differently, and are on the other side of the ideological spectrum.
Here’s how the “light the candle” quote fits into Sarah’s post:
To me, the right stories are in the Word of God – Jesus – as revealed by Scripture, by the community, and by the Holy Spirit – and He is a story of life and love and hope for us all, for all the Boths and the Ands and the Neithers and the Eithers. Paul wrote to the Corinthians that Christ is God’s ultimate miracle and wisdom all wrapped up in one.
The right story is the old, old story of heaven breaking through, of redemption arching, of justice rolling down, of deserts blooming flowers, of exiles planting gardens, of swords into ploughshares, of life instead of death.
The right story is the one to listen to because it’s the one that makes room for all of us, this is the story that holds all our stories with the promise of life and hope, joy and renewal.
I don’t want to be swallowed by the darkness. Nor do I want to be blinded by the light. No, I want to be part of a people who see the darkness, know it’s real, and then, then, then, light a candle anyway. And hold that candle up in the winds and pass along our light wherever it’s needed from our own homes to the halls of legislation to the church pulpit to the kitchens of the world….
Faith comes by listening to the right story. It’s true. And the right story for me, the ones I turn towards when I’m tempted to choose one side or the other, is the Great Story that holds all of them as precious and worthy of love.
I’m thankful for this reminder that God doesn’t let political, ideological, or other baggage get in the way of offering us grace and redemption. I just need a kick in the backside every now and then to remind me of it.
Now the boy Samuel was ministering to the Lord under Eli. The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.At that time Eli, whose eyesight had begun to grow dim so that he could not see, was lying down in his room; the lamp of God had not yet gone out, and Samuel was lying down in the temple of the Lord, where the ark of God was. Then the Lord called, “Samuel! Samuel!” and he said, “Here I am!” and ran to Eli, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” But Eli said, “I did not call; lie down again.” So he went and lay down. The Lord called again, “Samuel!” Samuel got up and went to Eli, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” But Eli said, “I did not call, my son; lie down again.” Now Samuel did not yet know the Lord, and the word of the Lord had not yet been revealed to him. The Lord called Samuel again, a third time. And he got up and went to Eli, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” Then Eli perceived that the Lord was calling the boy. Therefore Eli said to Samuel, “Go, lie down; and if he calls you, you shall say, ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.’” 1 Samuel 3:1-9
This week’s question from Tony Jones’ e-book Questions that Haunt Christianity: Volume 1 is “Why Do I Not Experience God?”:
… Why do I not experience God like I have been taught I should? Why don’t I hear his “voice?” …If Christianity is for real, why am I not able to have experiences of God?
Many people who believe in God have wrestled with this question at one time or another. If God is real – if my faith is real – then shouldn’t I be able to hear or experience God in some tangible way? Some responded to the question by saying, “you have to repent your sins and come with a pure heart” or “you’re not listening/praying hard enough.” Some suggested practicing certain spiritual disciplines. In other words, “It must be something you’re not doing right.”
Tony Jones’ responded in “I Don’t Hear God Either”:
The problem with those answers, of course, is that the audibility of God’s voice depends on me, and that can’t possibly be right. If the God of the Universe is intent on communicating with me, then S/He can surely break through all of the chatter that surrounds my everyday life. … I do not think it’s reasonable to believe that the ability of God to communicate is somehow contingent on our ability to hear.
If God does communicate with human beings, then God is entirely able to do that with no help from us. I realize that there are biblical examples of God coming in the “still, small voice,” but generally God shows up in much bigger ways: pillars of cloud fire, descending clouds and doves, loud voices, and a presence that splits rocks and lights shrubs on fire. In other words, the Bible portrays a God who cannot be ignored or overlooked.
Maybe the “problem” isn’t that we’re not properly preparing ourselves to hear or experience God. Maybe the issue is that we haven’t learned to recognize God’s voice or presence in our lives. Samuel needed Eli’s help to recognize that God was calling him. Today, hearing voices is more likely to be considered a sign of an overactive imagination or insanity rather than God speaking. If all we hear about are the burning bushes, angels who have to begin with “Do not be afraid”, talking donkeys, disembodied hands writing on the wall, and strange visions, we might miss the whisper of ordinary life.
Tony Jones asked, “If God does communicate directly with us, isn’t it most likely that the communication would be un-ignorable?”
But, if we don’t talk with each other about how we have heard or experienced God in our lives – and how we determined it was God – how will others learn to recognize it?
God hasn't come to me in a voice that says, “God speaking. Here’s what I want you to do.” And God doesn't often come when I sit in quiet meditation, prayer, and contemplation (actually, sleep usually comes to me then). I'm more likely to encounter God when I'm actively reading or writing. It's amazing how often I plan these weekly posts only to find them going in another direction once I start writing them. I've heard what I believe is God’s voice in something I've unexpectedly encountered in the Bible or another book, or in something someone else has said – wisdom that unexpectedly goes to the heart of something I've been turning over in my head. And the only reason I attribute it to God and not to my subconscious is that the advice is usually something I wouldn't come up with or choose to do on my own (maybe not a sure-fire measuring stick).
I've encountered God in the faces and lives of those I think I’m helping, whether they are kids in the youth group, people I've served food or helped with a home repair project, or my own kids. When I realize it’s not about what I’m doing, but what God is doing among us, I tune into God’s work here and now. And I realize there’s more going on than I imagined.
Jones closes with the example of Mother Teresa. After having an intense vision in which she felt Jesus call her to the ministry that would be her life, she never had another vision like that again. She wrote to Rev. Michael Van Der Peet, “Jesus has a very special love for you. As for me, the silence and the emptiness is so great that I look and do not see, listen and do not hear.”
In her struggle, Tony Jones finds faith to continue to believe in God and Jesus. Maybe that’s also one of Mother Teresa’s many legacies.
Now your turn: Have you experienced God speaking to you? How did you recognize it as God and not as your imagination or wishful thinking? What advice would you give to someone who says they’re not sure they've heard or experienced God in their life?
I toss out this week’s question not knowing for sure if I’ll be able to read or add to comments as I head off to scout camp for the week. But we’ll jump in all the same and, hopefully, I’ll find a signal and time to check in during the chaotic week.
This week we return to Tony Jones’ e-book Questions that Haunt Christianity: Volume 1. The original questions and responses can also be found on his Theoblogy blog.
Lisa believes that her life has been blessed by God, but still sees so much poverty and suffering in the world. It lead her to ask, “Do I believe God is Good, or do I believe God is just good to me?” Or, as Tony Jones framed it, “Is God’s Goodness Arbitrary?” Tony Jones’ response was “God Is Arbitrary, and That Is Terrifying”. Actually, he says more than that, so be sure to click on the link to read it.
At the heart of the question is a challenge to examine closely what we believe about God. Is God the dispenser of all blessings? And, if so, does that mean that God must also be the source of all suffering? How does God determine who is blessed and who suffers? Or does God determine that at all? And, if you believe God blesses those people who have prayed “hard enough” or “sincerely from the heart,” then how does that settle with what you know about grace?
This is a variation of “why do good things happen to bad people?” and vice versa. I like it because it’s the kind of question someone who is trying to understand the nature (or even existence) of God might ask. It asks “How engaged is God in this world?” and “If God is engaged, help me understand why God’s actions seem arbitrary.” It’s not the kind of question that will be satisfied with clichés but demands a thoughtful (not to mention prayerful), honest answer. Lisa said she didn't know why she believes God is good but points to the Gospel of Jesus as her reason for doing so. It’s just as likely that the question will come from someone who is struggling to make sense of what seem to be arbitrary actions on God’s part in the face of pain, suffering, and death to so many whose “sin” appears to be little more than to be born in an impoverished and/or violent, unsettled time or place. The person may be questioning God’s engagement, or even existence, in light of what they see.
The question is more likely to arise from a deeply personal experience or confusion and frustration from actual events. Each of us who believes in God and Jesus has had to struggle with times when tragic events shook our belief. Or times when God’s blessings don't make sense. I watched my parents die relatively young, never having the opportunity to see a grandchild. I've watched dear people I knew die young and I've prayed enough to realize that God’s healing doesn't happen consistently in hoped-for ways. And I have looked to God and asked “Why?”
On one end of the spectrum of responses is “God doesn't always answer prayers the way we want” or “God’s ways are too mysterious to understand.” That may be true, but it’s not the kind of response that heals a broken heart. On the other end of the spectrum is the response that such things only show that God doesn't exist. Both of these responses begin with the premise that God is all-powerful and controls everything that happens in the world. The first response accepts that premise; the later rejects it.
Others say that maybe God is not all-powerful or engaged in human history. In saying that God’s goodness is arbitrary, Tony Jones offers this explanation:
God’s first act, the act of creation, was an act of self-limitation. It was an act of humility…. God made a creation that is not God — I am not God; you are not God; that tree is not God.
The only way for God to fashion a creation that is other than God is an act of withdrawal, or self-limitation….
Thus, the very nature of the relationship between God and creation hinges upon God’s self-limitation. [Read more in God Is Arbitrary and That Is Terrifying].
The Bible chronicles God’s engagement with us. The experiences of many lead others to believe that God continues to be engaged with us, even in this self-limitation. But our experiences also suggest that this engagement appears to be arbitrary.
Tony Jones concludes his response by saying:
God’s solidarity with us is so important to God that God entered into human history to experience this arbitrariness. The experience of Jesus was moments of closeness to God (baptism, transfiguration) and moments of the absence of God (Garden of Gethsemene, Golgotha)….
Here’s what I know: Based on what I have experienced, God’s activity in human history is arbitrary and unpredictable, which means it’s terrifying. This, I think, is the “fear of the Lord” that is throughout scripture.
And here’s what I believe: In Jesus, God experienced this terror. And that’s what causes me to love Christ in the midst of God’s silence.
How would you respond to the question? Do you agree with Tony Jones that God’s goodness is arbitrary? If not, how do you explain why some people seem to experience God’s blessings while others experience pain and suffering? Do you believe God is all-powerful or that God is self-limiting in creation? What do you think about Tony Jones’ concluding response?
In comments on last week’s post, Greg Suess asked: “Are the Genesis accounts of creation literally true? Does it matter whether they are or are not?” We've previously touched on questions about the creation accounts here and here. I don’t want to rehash those discussions but Greg’s question offers an opportunity to look at some different aspects, so let’s jump in.
Some folks believe very fervently that the creation accounts in Genesis are literally true. The world was created in 7 days; Adam and Eve are real, historical figures who lived in a real Garden of Eden and were tempted by a real talking snake. That forms the foundation of their faith in God as sovereign and all powerful and in God’s redemption through Jesus. In fact, they might argue that not accepting Genesis 1-3 as accurate, factual accounts of creation undermines the rest of the Bible.
I believe that the first chapter of Genesis is more of a statement of faith in God the Creator than an actual account of the creation of the universe. As for Adam and Eve and the Garden of Eden, I don’t know if it actually happened as it is presented in the Bible, but I don’t think the fundamental truths of the story are lessened if it turns out to be an allegory or a parable rather than a factual account. In fact, I think it’s possible to miss at least some of the deeper meaning if you insist on it being entirely factual.
This leads to the first questions to explore: What are the essential messages conveyed in these creation accounts? What do we miss if we believe the creation accounts in Genesis are parables rather than accurate, factual accounts of what really happened?
I quit trying to change the mind of anyone who believes that the creation accounts are literally true. It shouldn’t make a difference in our common relationship through Jesus, except when some insist that believing in creationism is a condition for being a Christian. Then it goes from being an interesting discussion or intellectual exercise to a potential barrier to the Gospel. In my experience, such an insistence has created an unnecessary tension between science and religion and has only served to turn many people away from Christianity.
The late Michael Spencer wrote of a Japanese exchange student who attended a Christian school in the U.S. for a year. She told a teacher before she returned home:
“I am an atheist because I believe in evolution. When people here explained to me what they must believe as Christians, I always ask them about evolution, and they say ‘You cannot be a Christian and believe in evolution.’ So I cannot be a Christian, because I believe that evolution is true.”
Spencer lamented that the student didn't hear that many Christians don’t believe science and faith are incompatible or that many Christians accept both evolution and Christ. It’s a false condition that distracts from the Gospel. Fortunately, the perception that religion and science are conflicting or incompatible may be changing. A recent study found that the vast majority of college freshman saw no conflict between science and religion (The (Lack Of) Conflict Between Science and Religion in College Students). Folks who insist that science is hostile toward Christianity (in my experience, it isn't) or that only a literal interpretation of every aspect of the Bible is true to God (I don’t think God’s grace insists on this) may only be pushing others away from the overarching story of God’s relationship with us and how God is at work in the world. And that is far more important than any claims that the Bible also serves as a scientific text for creation.
Now for the second set of questions: Does it matter whether the creation accounts are literal or not? Why would it make a difference? What do we lose when we focus on debating whether God created the universe in 7 days or several billion years or whether Adam and Eve were historical people or a metaphor? What does it have to do with the Gospel?
I will add some personal thoughts in the comment section. Hope you’ll join in the conversation!
We’re kicking off a series of questions using Tony Jones’ e-book Questions that Haunt Christianity: Volume 1. The original questions and responses can also be found on his Theoblogy blog.
The first question is: “Why would a perfect God create an imperfect universe?” The full question and reader comments can be found here. Tony Jones’ response – God is not “perfect” – is here.
Tony’s response was basically along the lines of “perfection is a quality we get from Plato, not scripture.” While many Christians embrace the platonic concept, he argues “Perfection is a purely imaginary state. It doesn't exist.”
“I don’t find any indication from either the Hebrew or Christian scriptures that perfection was a quality that ancient Jews or early Christians attributed to Yahweh or to God.” Click here to read the full reply.
Several of the reader comments to the original post follow that same line of thinking:
Perfect, in the evangelical sense of being “sinless,” perfect in the Hebrew actually means "complete".
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Creation by its very nature is on-going, both a noun and a verb. So, in a sense it can never be complete. However, the God of Genesis said it is Good- not Perfect.
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All things have a purpose toward "completion". Perhaps the question is what is our purpose in that.
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Imperfection is woven inextricably into the very being and functioning of Creation. We could live without imperfection. We would not be here (at least in this universe) were it not for imperfection.
I’d like to ask the question differently. If God created us in God’s image and intended for us to live in a relationship with God, why can’t we see and interact directly with God? We’re told that nobody can see God and live (Exodus 33:17-23). From Moses and the Prophets to Jesus and the Holy Spirit, we’ve needed an intermediary.
But why do we need an intermediary? Why would God create something with which God cannot interact directly? Why is it so hard for so many people to even recognize God at work on earth? Is it because we’re so imperfect and/or sinful/unholy that we’d perish in the presence of God? That seems to go back to the original question and opens up a lot of messy implications (see the post Are we totally depraved?). Is it because we are not yet complete (in some manner) and can’t fully comprehend God? That might explain why the first disciples could spent their daily lives with Jesus but didn't fully understand who he was until after the resurrection.
Here’s an idea that has bounced around in my head for a few years. I’m not sure if I buy it, but I’ll toss it out. Maybe we can’t fully comprehend (or see) God because we don’t exist in the same dimension as God does. Bear with me for a minute. The idea was inspired by a book called Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions, written by Edwin Abbott, an English schoolmaster and theologian. The book, a satire of Victorian culture, describes a two-dimensional world that is visited by a three-dimensional sphere. The two-dimensional creatures can’t comprehend the sphere until they see it in three-dimensional space. Those who don’t experience it not only deny the existence of a three-dimension space, but forbid anyone from talking about it. It’s beyond their comprehension that anything can exist outside of what they can see and know.
What if we can’t fully comprehend or directly interact with God because God exists in a dimension beyond ours? What if, for instance, God exists in a dimension in which time is not linear? Much like the two-dimensional characters in Flatland, we can only experience that portion of God we encounter in our particular slice of time. It might explain why we find different aspects of God emphasized in scripture passages that span time. Following on last week’s discussion, it might also explain how different cultures that developed in different times and locations could end up with different but complementary experiences with God to share. Or it may be none of that, except for my imagination, and all I've done is create confusion.
So back to the original question: Tony Jones concludes his answer by saying perfection is not something Christianity promises. Instead,
Christianity promises a narrative that meshes with our experience — and my experience of life is rife with inconsistency and paradox. What Christianity offers me is a vision of God that more or less matches my experience of life.
Do you agree with Tony’s response? Is there anything you’d add? Why do you think we can’t (or don’t) directly encounter God in our lives?
