(Original Post - April 2011)
I don’t understand God.
In the recent past, I made a conscious decision to stop trying to understand anything that was most assuredly beyond my cognitive abilities; the extensive list includes such things as (a) how to fold fitted sheets, (b) why we need to fold fitted sheets properly in the first place, and (c) God.
Short Thought – Norah’s tucked in, and I’m lying down with her, talking about what we’ll do tomorrow. She says that she hopes it doesn’t rain. She then asks me why it rains. I give her the whole ‘thirsty trees and grass’, a simplified explanation of the water cycle, but she persists. “But who makes it rain?” she asks. “Maybe God,” I reply. I figured that she’s at the point where God talks are going to inevitably come up, so I throw it out there for her consideration. She thinks about it, and seems to accept it pretty readily. She asks the standard questions about where heaven is located and if he can hear us. I give her some answers, though most of my replies illustrate to her just how little her father really knows. I tell her that she’ll have to ask God to come up with a sunny day for her. She closes her eyes, perhaps to ask the silent question. (NOTE: we’ve since further explained the water cycle to Norah; she likes the word evaporation.) As her questions wind down, the phone rings, and my wife calls out to say that it’s for me. I tell Norah I’ll be back in a minute and I go take the call. I return after a minute or so, and cuddle up next to her.
“What did he say Daddy?”
“Who, Honey?”
“God. What did he say?”
So, when you’re three, you apparently assume that God is more than capable of picking up the phone a place a long distance call to fill you in on his Divine Forecast. I laughed a little, and told her it wasn’t God on the phone. 'Oh', she replies indifferently, sleep starting to take over.
I had laughed because the 'three year old idea' of God calling me up shows the innocent, childlike understanding that is inherent in little kids. But, an idea later played on my mind. How can I laugh at Norah for her misunderstanding of God when there’s nothing to show that any of us understand the concept any more fully than her. Maybe if I told Norah that many people in society view God as a very old man with a long white beard and a white robe, she’d laugh and say we’ve confused him with Santa Claus. The notion is a bit preposterous – if God is the image we so often see, the old man with flowing white hair, does this suggest he was once a little boy. What color, I imagine Norah asking, was his hair before it turned white? Who did he play with as a kid? The point is, we create a God that fits the image we want to see. We do the same with Jesus. If you saw Jesus 'back in the day' in old Jerusalem, he would not be the same handsome gentleman you so often see with the pristine white skin in Catholic Churches. He would look very Middle Eastern. However, Westerners prefer to see Jesus as they see themselves. We do the same with God, but we age him. A lot.
I am by no means a religious person. I consider myself somewhat spiritual, moral, ethical and open minded. I am bothered not so much by people who feel they know God on a personal level, but by people who look scornfully (or worse, pitifully) at those of us who admit we just don’t understand the Big Guy…or Girl.
On Saturday, I met a woman who ‘truly’ knows God. The lovely Jehovah’s Witness came to the door, which I answered with James in my arms - it’s a strategy I often use, suggesting Can’t you see I’m busy with child? “What a sweet little girl!” she astutely remarked. James eyebrows furrowed. He was not going to be an easy sell. Anyway, we listened for a few moments, took the pamphlet she gave us, and we were most polite. In the living room, James took the pamphlet, the cover of which was a picture of Jesus, arms extended in invitation. In fact, it was quite similar to the posture I take when I ask James if he wants to come uppa. He looked at the pamphlet, at me, at the pamphlet, at me, at Jesus' beard, at my beard. I’m pretty sure that for a few moments he thought his daddy was the Blessed Redeemer; the Prince of Peace come again to turn water to warm milk with a wave of his most holy hand. But again, that’s a child’s understanding…
I think we need to be okay with the fact that we don’t understand God. Kids don’t understand God, and, despite an ignorance that mirrors our own, the kids are alright…
Just a thought - Listen to what a kid has to say about these 'divine' ideas. Listen without judgement. Ask questions. Answer questions. Be honest. ...And don't be afraid to say 'You know what? I just don't know...' "God is not what you imagine or what you think you understand. If you understand, you have failed." Saint Augustine
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