God
Jurgen Moltmann
08/26/08 09:06 Categories: Theology
From Experiences of God, p. 6-8, by Jurgen Moltmann:
“Born in Hamburg in 1926, I belong to the generation which consciously lived through the horrors of the Second World War, the collapse of an empire and its institutions, the guilt and shame of one’s own nation, and a long period as prisoner of war. Later we were called ‘the sceptical generation’. And those of us who survived those years and who came back from then on shunned the fire. We had learnt justifiable mistrust. But we were really neither sceptical nor resigned. We were weighed down by the sombre burden of a guilt which could never be paid off; and what we felt about life was ann inconsolable grief. It is understandable that there were some of us whose motto was ‘count me out’, and whose aim was to withdraw into private life for the future. But really we came back to Germany with the will to create a new, different, more humane world. Some of us found behind the barbed wire the power of a hope which wants something new, instead of seeking a return to the old.
“Our Abitur - the university entrance exam - was put forward so that we could be sent to the guns, as Air Force auxiliaries. At that time I really wanted to read mathematics and physics at the university. Of course I had become interested in these subjects at school because of some teachers I admired. The theory of relativity and quantum physics were the most fascinating secrets open to knowledge. At that time the idea of theology was as remote as the church itself. The ‘iron rations’ in the way of reading matter which I took with me into the miseries of war were Goethe’s poems and the works of Nietzche (army edition, India paper). In February 1945 I was taken prisoner by the British, and for over three years I was moved from camp to camp in Belgium, Scotland and England. In April 1948 I was one of the last to be ‘repatriated’, as the phrase went.
“The break-up of the German front, the collapse of law and humanity, the self-destruction of German civilization and culture, and finally the appalling end on 9 May 1945 - all this was followed by the revelation of the crimes which had been committed in Germany’s name - Buchenwald, Auschwitz, Maidanek, Bergen-Belsen and the rest. And with that came the necessity of standing up to it all inwardly, shut up in camps as we were. I think my own little world fell to pieces then too. The ‘iron rations’ I had with me were quickly used up, and what remained left a stale taste in the mouth. In that Belgian camp, hungry as we were, I saw how other men collapsed inwardly, how they gave up all hope, sickening for the lack of it, some of them dying. The same thing almost happened to me. What kept me from it was a rebirth to new life thanks to a hope for which there was no evidence at all.
“It was not that I experienced any sudden conversion. What I felt all at once was the death of all the mainstays that had sustained my life up to then. It was only slowly that something different began to build up in their stead. At home, Christianity was only a matter of form. One came across it once a year at Christmas time, as something rather remote. In the prison camps where I was I only met it in very human - all too human - form. It was nothing very overwhelming. And yet the experience of misery and forsakenness and daily humiliation gradually built up into an experience of God.
“It was the experience of God’s presence in the dark night of the soul: ‘If I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.’ A well-meaning army chaplain had given me a New Testament. I thought it was out of place. I would rather have had something to eat. But then I became fascinated by the Psalms (which were printed in an appendix) and especially by Psalm 39: ‘I was dumb with silence, I held my peace, even from good; and my sorrow was stirred’ (but the German is much stronger - ‘I have to eat up my grief within myself’) ... Hold thou not thy peace at my tears: for I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner, as all my fathers were.’ These psalms gave me the words for my own suffering. They opened my eyes to the God who is with those ‘that are of a broken heart’. He was present even behind the barbed wire - no, most of all behind the barbed wire. But whenever in my despair I wanted to lay firm hold on this experience, it eluded me again, and there I was with empty hands once more. All that was left was an inward drive, a longing which provided the impetus to hope. How often I walked round and round in circles at night in front of the barbed wire fence. My first thoughts were always about the free world outside, from which I was cut off; but I always ended up thinking about a centre to the circle in the middle of the camp - a little hill, with a hut on it which served as a chapel. It seemed to me like a circle surrounding the mystery of God, which was drawing me towards it.
“This experience of not sinking into the abyss but of being held up from afar was the beginning of a clear hope, without which it is impossible to live at all. At the same time, even this hope cut two ways; on the one hand it provided the strength to get up again after every inward or outward defeat; on the other hand it made the soul rub itself raw on the barbed wire, making it impossible to settle down in captivity or come to terms with it.”
“Born in Hamburg in 1926, I belong to the generation which consciously lived through the horrors of the Second World War, the collapse of an empire and its institutions, the guilt and shame of one’s own nation, and a long period as prisoner of war. Later we were called ‘the sceptical generation’. And those of us who survived those years and who came back from then on shunned the fire. We had learnt justifiable mistrust. But we were really neither sceptical nor resigned. We were weighed down by the sombre burden of a guilt which could never be paid off; and what we felt about life was ann inconsolable grief. It is understandable that there were some of us whose motto was ‘count me out’, and whose aim was to withdraw into private life for the future. But really we came back to Germany with the will to create a new, different, more humane world. Some of us found behind the barbed wire the power of a hope which wants something new, instead of seeking a return to the old.
“Our Abitur - the university entrance exam - was put forward so that we could be sent to the guns, as Air Force auxiliaries. At that time I really wanted to read mathematics and physics at the university. Of course I had become interested in these subjects at school because of some teachers I admired. The theory of relativity and quantum physics were the most fascinating secrets open to knowledge. At that time the idea of theology was as remote as the church itself. The ‘iron rations’ in the way of reading matter which I took with me into the miseries of war were Goethe’s poems and the works of Nietzche (army edition, India paper). In February 1945 I was taken prisoner by the British, and for over three years I was moved from camp to camp in Belgium, Scotland and England. In April 1948 I was one of the last to be ‘repatriated’, as the phrase went.
“The break-up of the German front, the collapse of law and humanity, the self-destruction of German civilization and culture, and finally the appalling end on 9 May 1945 - all this was followed by the revelation of the crimes which had been committed in Germany’s name - Buchenwald, Auschwitz, Maidanek, Bergen-Belsen and the rest. And with that came the necessity of standing up to it all inwardly, shut up in camps as we were. I think my own little world fell to pieces then too. The ‘iron rations’ I had with me were quickly used up, and what remained left a stale taste in the mouth. In that Belgian camp, hungry as we were, I saw how other men collapsed inwardly, how they gave up all hope, sickening for the lack of it, some of them dying. The same thing almost happened to me. What kept me from it was a rebirth to new life thanks to a hope for which there was no evidence at all.
“It was not that I experienced any sudden conversion. What I felt all at once was the death of all the mainstays that had sustained my life up to then. It was only slowly that something different began to build up in their stead. At home, Christianity was only a matter of form. One came across it once a year at Christmas time, as something rather remote. In the prison camps where I was I only met it in very human - all too human - form. It was nothing very overwhelming. And yet the experience of misery and forsakenness and daily humiliation gradually built up into an experience of God.
“It was the experience of God’s presence in the dark night of the soul: ‘If I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.’ A well-meaning army chaplain had given me a New Testament. I thought it was out of place. I would rather have had something to eat. But then I became fascinated by the Psalms (which were printed in an appendix) and especially by Psalm 39: ‘I was dumb with silence, I held my peace, even from good; and my sorrow was stirred’ (but the German is much stronger - ‘I have to eat up my grief within myself’) ... Hold thou not thy peace at my tears: for I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner, as all my fathers were.’ These psalms gave me the words for my own suffering. They opened my eyes to the God who is with those ‘that are of a broken heart’. He was present even behind the barbed wire - no, most of all behind the barbed wire. But whenever in my despair I wanted to lay firm hold on this experience, it eluded me again, and there I was with empty hands once more. All that was left was an inward drive, a longing which provided the impetus to hope. How often I walked round and round in circles at night in front of the barbed wire fence. My first thoughts were always about the free world outside, from which I was cut off; but I always ended up thinking about a centre to the circle in the middle of the camp - a little hill, with a hut on it which served as a chapel. It seemed to me like a circle surrounding the mystery of God, which was drawing me towards it.
“This experience of not sinking into the abyss but of being held up from afar was the beginning of a clear hope, without which it is impossible to live at all. At the same time, even this hope cut two ways; on the one hand it provided the strength to get up again after every inward or outward defeat; on the other hand it made the soul rub itself raw on the barbed wire, making it impossible to settle down in captivity or come to terms with it.”
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Qua Rationality
08/13/08 10:29 Categories: Theology | Philosophy
Lately I have been perusing Alistair McGrath and Richard Dawkins’ debates/interviews on YouTube. They have been deeply disturbing, namely because Dawkins reveals in a very obvious manner the irrationality of Christianity. This is an extremely difficult aspect of Christianity. We try as hard as hard as we can to maintain our rationality with mixed results. Let me layout the problem, propose some underlying theses, and some (potential) solutions.
The essential problem revolves around the Resurrection. If we understand rationality as logical thinking (logical meaning able to be tested in terms of validity), then how can the resurrection (much less the incarnation) ever be a rationally understood enterprise? This is particularly true from our station as humans! Perhaps if we had some supernatural vision of the world, then we could use different tests of validity than those at our disposal. This sort of wishful thinking may not be pragmatic, but hopefully it reminds us, as thinkers, that the greatest pursuits we can engage in are limited. I stray from my point.
Dawkins cornered McGrath on the issue of God’s action. It is a deeply inexplicable problem, and one of many that Dawkins could have used. In this particular case, Dawkins asked how one can be rational while holding the proposition that God saves (in a very real sense, such as from the catastrophe of 9/11) some people and not others while at the same time believing that God had no direct action in the death of the thousands of other. If God is really God, why would he save that one person, or this few people, and let the many die? This appears inherently irrational.
The essential problem revolves around the Resurrection. If we understand rationality as logical thinking (logical meaning able to be tested in terms of validity), then how can the resurrection (much less the incarnation) ever be a rationally understood enterprise? This is particularly true from our station as humans! Perhaps if we had some supernatural vision of the world, then we could use different tests of validity than those at our disposal. This sort of wishful thinking may not be pragmatic, but hopefully it reminds us, as thinkers, that the greatest pursuits we can engage in are limited. I stray from my point.
Dawkins cornered McGrath on the issue of God’s action. It is a deeply inexplicable problem, and one of many that Dawkins could have used. In this particular case, Dawkins asked how one can be rational while holding the proposition that God saves (in a very real sense, such as from the catastrophe of 9/11) some people and not others while at the same time believing that God had no direct action in the death of the thousands of other. If God is really God, why would he save that one person, or this few people, and let the many die? This appears inherently irrational.
Belief and Unbelief
11/01/07 10:42 Categories: Theology
Sometimes it is really hard to believe in God - at least intellectually. I look around and I have a hard time thinking that there is other than my eyes can see, my senses can detect, my experiments can discern. I know that is a fallacy - we are not able to detect everything that we think exists, so why shouldn’t God be like that? But what really trips me out is that this God, who I may at the time be struggling to intellectually affirm, would really, actually do something crazy like love us enough to come down and die. God came down and died. What the hell? That is not how this God business should work. If God is really God, his will should rule and so if he wants something, like saving us, that shouldn’t cost him everything. But it does. It really leads me to one conclusion: my view of power, how it works, what it means, and how it runs must be very different from how I think it runs and from how it seems to run in the world. Here those with power and wealth distance themselves from pain if possible. God embraced it! What a mind blowing reality! Evidently how I think must continue to change.
Thinking about... Stuff
10/30/07 10:11 Categories: Church
I think I’m interested in Christian Ethics more than theology because of its practical nature. I’m a bit scared of intellectualism. That is a bit misleading. I am a deep intellectualist who has a hard time with faith often because my mind cannot understand all that ’spiritual stuff’. Ethics is a way that I can get at both - well maybe not exactly the ’spiritual stuff’, but definitely the ‘loving your neighbor’ stuff.
So, Emily and I were at church on sunday. Well, we were at our not-church church, which is to say it is some sort of house church which is still seeking to define itself. But during that time a couple things hit me: 1. Ethics is a possible bridge between the ivory tower and life! More importantly, 2. I think I approach God more intellectually than I should. I was watching Chris, who is a dad. His son was sleeping on his chest and Chris was enjoying the worship. His son knew that he was so safe, so secure, so loved. Somehow I think I’ve lost that with God. During worship I thought about God, about how I don’t go lie on his chest and enjoy his love and mercy. I almost don’t even know how to anymore. Maybe that is painting the picture a bit darker than it needs to be. The point is, God wants to be Chris to us. He wants us to come, let our guard down, and just snuggle up. To be cared for. That is one of the aspects of God. He also wants us to get on our feet and walk, but that does not need to be all the time. There are definitely times for rest, for comfort.
I once heard an analogy about God. A little boy wanted to cook his mom breakfast for mother’s day, so he tried his hand at pancakes. The pancakes didn’t really turn out and he completely trashed the kitchen. He was getting more and more frustrated throughout the whole process. Eventually his mom came into the kitchen, but instead of freaking out at the mess, she saw her son’s frustration and effort - she understood what he was trying to do. She gave him a big hug and helped him finish the pancakes and clean the kitchen. In a similar sort of way God is like that mom, helping to fix and clean up our mistakes. But I was also told that God wants us to grow up. To reach maturity - just as that mother wants the son to learn from his mistakes and become proficient at making pancakes and cleaning up the kitchen on his own. Right now I’m not so sure about that conclusion. It seems that the closer relationship is better in the midst of the brokenness. Yet, what really happens is that as the boy grows older, the relationship can stay just as close, but it takes on different characteristics. They don’t bond over messes, they bond over conversation, going for walks together, and all the new and different ways of relating.
I have associated that growing up with intellectualizing my faith. That is how we grow up to relate with God. But is that true? As in most cases, I think Jesus gives us a great example. If we are to take the Biblical story seriously, then he engaged with the Father by going about the Father’s work, which meant caring for the poor, healing the sick, fasting, praying, and there were some times for intellectual sparring. However, the point is that there was a deeper spiritual component - and by spiritual I mean supernatural, otherworldly, and mystifying - to his relationship to the Father. In essence, this spirituality is not only intellectually, or only concerned with social justice, or only concerned with living in a right way. It seems deeper, more fully, seeking peace and reconciliation between ourselves and God, enabling us to rest in the Father, however that looks like.
For the Longest Time
I have not posted in a long time. The main reason is working at Maranatha is taking a huge toll on me. It is really hard. I feel discouraged most of the time because my students don’t seem to understand what I am trying to teach them. But the really hard thing has been my faith. I feel like I have lost it. I’m not exactly sure what I mean by that, but I know that I am going through some pretty significant stages of doubt.
I wonder if this isn’t part of death that we all experience. We have to die, both physically, but in many other ways. Jesus tells us to die daily. Is part of that death include how I view the world, the death of my epistemology, my certainty. If so, I hope beyond hope for resurrection. That is the promise right? That we will be resurrected.
I was reminded in conversation last night of Colin Brown’s writing. He points out that we treat miracles like they are the answer to our hurt. We expect God to heal us miraculously so that we are whole. His point is that we are not going to be whole in this life. That is not part of the promise from God. The promise is that we will be whole in the next life, whatever that looks like. So, although I don’t feel like I can say that I have faith right now, I do have hope. I hope that those things in which I have had faith in are true and willl come to pass.
Revelations of God
Growing up I was very often told about how horrible the Pharisees were in Scripture. In the Gospels they often come across as Jesus’ enemies, and so they must be our enemies as well. Then, they were occasionally connected with the mainstream church, because they were the mainstream religious teachers of the day. During their time they were truly trying to seek God and live the way God commanded, just as mainstream Christianity today. Because Jesus had such harsh words for them, he would surely have harsh words for us so we must be sure to be even more righteous than the Pharisees. A good preacher would note that such righteousness is the righteousness we get from God through Jesus, and a poor preacher would connect it to striving harder than they did to be righteous.
There are some very good and wise aspects to this sort of teaching and application. I think the church-Pharisee comparison has its proper place, but the part we forget is how that should make us very uncomfortable and nervous about God. We forget that the Pharisees were doing the best they knew how, and the best God had revealed how, to live righteously.
The most nerve-racking aspect of our condemnation of the Jews is how they treated Jesus. But the point I want to make is that the way they treated Jesus is the way God had told them to treat Jesus. Colin Brown, a professor at Fuller Seminary, points out that they call Jesus a glutton and a drunkard (Matt 11:19). Brown argues that this is a term from the Old Testament which has some very specific consequences to it.
The Old Testament reference is Deut 21:18-21, which reads:
If someone has a stubborn and rebellious son who will not obey his father and mother, who does not heed them when they discipline him, then his father and his mother shall take hold of him and bring him out to the elders of his town at the gate of that place. They shall say to the elders of his town, “This son of ours is stubborn and rebellious. He will not obey us. He is a glutton and a drunkard.” Then all the men of the town shall stone him to death. So you shall purge the evil from your midst; and all Israel will hear, and be afraid.
It becomes clear hear that the Pharisees were obeying God’s orders. Jesus would not obey his family, even saying that they were not his family and that those listening were his family (a stubborn and rebellious thing to say). So, although the Pharisees did not follow this command exactly, and were not allowed to follow it because of the Roman occupation, they did as good as they could under the circumstances and had Jesus crucified outside the city gates. This argument, as I have relayed it, is very obviously incomplete, but hopefully it has been understood as more than plausible. The point I want to make is how faithful the Pharisees were living to the commands of God. They knew that Jesus was teaching a message that was not wholly compatible with their understanding of the Old Testament, that he was a prophet teaching a new prophecy (something also punishable by death). They had no way or reason because of their Old Testament context to move past the law as they had it to receive this new teaching of God.
So what does that mean for us? What does that mean for those of us trying to live out our current revelation of God? It seems at first glance that it is entirely possible for God to have further revelations of himself that seem to contradict what He has done and how He has previously revealed himself in history.
I suppose there are some considerations that may be encouraging in the light of this alarming and humbling view of God’s revelation. First is the very humility that it births in our views of our own certainties of God’s word to us. I do not mean this in some manner of doubt, but as death to our every resurrecting pride. The second is the stories of God’s grace and relationship to individuals in the midst of doing a new thing. It seems, when we see the stories about Paul, the throngs following Jesus, Nicodemus and other examples, that it was possible for those seeking to be aware of and engage with God’s movement. This deeper understanding was rarely something driven by their own righteousness, but out of a hunger for God. I must note right now that I do not know what God’s criteria of finding their hunger satisfiable, but not the hunger of the Pharisees. It seems that there was nothing done by them to merit revelation of God’s new activity. Paul was going around seeking out and killing Christians! He certainly does not seem to deserve any sort of revelation from God.
Ultimately, the point I’m trying to make is that it is not ours to judge other’s claims that they are engaging with the work of God. Continuity of purpose, goal and methodology makes it easier for us to understand God’s work in the world, but it is not something that is necessary for God to work in the world. It makes him intelligible to us, but intelligibility is not a prerequisite of God’s actions. (I suppose this could be argued, but I have to stand by it. Even physics really is not intelligible. We have no real reason for knowing why things work the way they do, we are only able to track how those things do work.) So, Lord have mercy on us as we attempt to pursue Him in the way that we have been taught!
There are some very good and wise aspects to this sort of teaching and application. I think the church-Pharisee comparison has its proper place, but the part we forget is how that should make us very uncomfortable and nervous about God. We forget that the Pharisees were doing the best they knew how, and the best God had revealed how, to live righteously.
The most nerve-racking aspect of our condemnation of the Jews is how they treated Jesus. But the point I want to make is that the way they treated Jesus is the way God had told them to treat Jesus. Colin Brown, a professor at Fuller Seminary, points out that they call Jesus a glutton and a drunkard (Matt 11:19). Brown argues that this is a term from the Old Testament which has some very specific consequences to it.
The Old Testament reference is Deut 21:18-21, which reads:
If someone has a stubborn and rebellious son who will not obey his father and mother, who does not heed them when they discipline him, then his father and his mother shall take hold of him and bring him out to the elders of his town at the gate of that place. They shall say to the elders of his town, “This son of ours is stubborn and rebellious. He will not obey us. He is a glutton and a drunkard.” Then all the men of the town shall stone him to death. So you shall purge the evil from your midst; and all Israel will hear, and be afraid.
It becomes clear hear that the Pharisees were obeying God’s orders. Jesus would not obey his family, even saying that they were not his family and that those listening were his family (a stubborn and rebellious thing to say). So, although the Pharisees did not follow this command exactly, and were not allowed to follow it because of the Roman occupation, they did as good as they could under the circumstances and had Jesus crucified outside the city gates. This argument, as I have relayed it, is very obviously incomplete, but hopefully it has been understood as more than plausible. The point I want to make is how faithful the Pharisees were living to the commands of God. They knew that Jesus was teaching a message that was not wholly compatible with their understanding of the Old Testament, that he was a prophet teaching a new prophecy (something also punishable by death). They had no way or reason because of their Old Testament context to move past the law as they had it to receive this new teaching of God.
So what does that mean for us? What does that mean for those of us trying to live out our current revelation of God? It seems at first glance that it is entirely possible for God to have further revelations of himself that seem to contradict what He has done and how He has previously revealed himself in history.
I suppose there are some considerations that may be encouraging in the light of this alarming and humbling view of God’s revelation. First is the very humility that it births in our views of our own certainties of God’s word to us. I do not mean this in some manner of doubt, but as death to our every resurrecting pride. The second is the stories of God’s grace and relationship to individuals in the midst of doing a new thing. It seems, when we see the stories about Paul, the throngs following Jesus, Nicodemus and other examples, that it was possible for those seeking to be aware of and engage with God’s movement. This deeper understanding was rarely something driven by their own righteousness, but out of a hunger for God. I must note right now that I do not know what God’s criteria of finding their hunger satisfiable, but not the hunger of the Pharisees. It seems that there was nothing done by them to merit revelation of God’s new activity. Paul was going around seeking out and killing Christians! He certainly does not seem to deserve any sort of revelation from God.
Ultimately, the point I’m trying to make is that it is not ours to judge other’s claims that they are engaging with the work of God. Continuity of purpose, goal and methodology makes it easier for us to understand God’s work in the world, but it is not something that is necessary for God to work in the world. It makes him intelligible to us, but intelligibility is not a prerequisite of God’s actions. (I suppose this could be argued, but I have to stand by it. Even physics really is not intelligible. We have no real reason for knowing why things work the way they do, we are only able to track how those things do work.) So, Lord have mercy on us as we attempt to pursue Him in the way that we have been taught!
On Reason and God Speak
05/02/08 13:14 Categories: Theology
It is most interesting that the God of Scripture is so clearly unable to be discerned by any human endeavor. He can only be known by his coming and revealing Himself to us. There is no possible way that we can reason to Him.
Furthermore, even when we do get to meet Him, there is no implication that we ‘get’ him - that we can understand Him. If we doubt this and think that we have some fullness in our knowledge of God, we need only be reminded of the Trinity - one of the many aspects of God that has been revealed to us and to which we were not able to reason.
This should give us much humility in how we approach all theological knowledge. In particular, it should lend great modesty to the Academy where the intelligentsia particularly try to fathom the mysteries of God by way of intellectual pursuit and reason’s analysis of the experienced presence of God in Scripture.
However, there is still necessity and great value in the Academy, particularly when it pursues its purpose with humility and as a product for the enrichment and help of the Kingdom of God. Scripture is confusing, and Jesus in particular legitimates human reason both by his learning at the Temple and his own faith in his followers to continue to teach what they had learned from him.
Furthermore, even when we do get to meet Him, there is no implication that we ‘get’ him - that we can understand Him. If we doubt this and think that we have some fullness in our knowledge of God, we need only be reminded of the Trinity - one of the many aspects of God that has been revealed to us and to which we were not able to reason.
This should give us much humility in how we approach all theological knowledge. In particular, it should lend great modesty to the Academy where the intelligentsia particularly try to fathom the mysteries of God by way of intellectual pursuit and reason’s analysis of the experienced presence of God in Scripture.
However, there is still necessity and great value in the Academy, particularly when it pursues its purpose with humility and as a product for the enrichment and help of the Kingdom of God. Scripture is confusing, and Jesus in particular legitimates human reason both by his learning at the Temple and his own faith in his followers to continue to teach what they had learned from him.
Knowing God
Having been raised in the solid culture of evanglicalism, I have been often taught that Christianity is not a ‘religion’ but a ‘relationship’ - meaning that it is not a set of rules to be followed, but about ‘knowing’ God through Jesus. I have always had a hard time with such understandings of what it is to be in a ‘relationship’ with God. God is... well, God. As Barth notes, he is HOLY, meaning different, other, not-likes-us! And yet he comes to become as like as as possible - even taking on flesh.
This is all well and good. In fact, it is very good, but I am still very fuzzy on the practical working out of what a ‘relationship with God’ means. Let me illustrate my point. I have a good friend and wife, Emily, and my relationship with her is very easily defined: I talk to her, she talks to me. When either of us is troubled we can see it on each other’s faces and in our actions. We can comfort each other with a hug (or chocolate). We can do fun things together, like riding our bikes, watching Lost, going to the beach (ok, I’ll throw in shopping for her sake...). In essence, our relationship is extremely tangible. But I don’t think that such a tangible relationship is what we mean with God.
I suppose I have some friends who would disagree with me - there relationships with God are very tangible via a very active role that they see God taking in their lives. Now, I’m not saying that they are wrong, I have a very hard time with the sort of activity that they claim God is behind. One of the most common activities that God seems to bring about is putting them in a certain place, surrounded by people who love, care and bless them (and often where they are in positions to love, care and bless others). The bottom line is that I have a hard time knowing/understanding that such was God’s work - that because of some special relationship with Him these things occured, which would not have occured had not this relationship with God been a reality in these Christian’s lives. For if these things would have happened, these people known, without a relationship with God, then how is a relationship with God made in manifest in the glorious blessings of relationships?
This is only one example, though there are many other possibilties. So, the question remains: what is it to have a relationship with God?
This is all well and good. In fact, it is very good, but I am still very fuzzy on the practical working out of what a ‘relationship with God’ means. Let me illustrate my point. I have a good friend and wife, Emily, and my relationship with her is very easily defined: I talk to her, she talks to me. When either of us is troubled we can see it on each other’s faces and in our actions. We can comfort each other with a hug (or chocolate). We can do fun things together, like riding our bikes, watching Lost, going to the beach (ok, I’ll throw in shopping for her sake...). In essence, our relationship is extremely tangible. But I don’t think that such a tangible relationship is what we mean with God.
I suppose I have some friends who would disagree with me - there relationships with God are very tangible via a very active role that they see God taking in their lives. Now, I’m not saying that they are wrong, I have a very hard time with the sort of activity that they claim God is behind. One of the most common activities that God seems to bring about is putting them in a certain place, surrounded by people who love, care and bless them (and often where they are in positions to love, care and bless others). The bottom line is that I have a hard time knowing/understanding that such was God’s work - that because of some special relationship with Him these things occured, which would not have occured had not this relationship with God been a reality in these Christian’s lives. For if these things would have happened, these people known, without a relationship with God, then how is a relationship with God made in manifest in the glorious blessings of relationships?
This is only one example, though there are many other possibilties. So, the question remains: what is it to have a relationship with God?