Lately, I've just been really feeling the fact that we have no clue as to the immensity of God. I think in the modern church, we've gotten comfortable with the idea that we understand God - I mean, He took human form in Jesus, so, everything that Jesus is/was, is all that God is, because it's what we could see. But I think that God only made part of Himself understandable, relatable, and that's the part that became Jesus.
But God is so much bigger, even bigger than Jesus.
And I think that's where the church gets stuck.
Because we tend to see Jesus as the end product of our search: if you have Jesus, you have everything you need.
But if we look closely, Jesus himself told us otherwise.
He is our conduit to the Father God: "Jesus answered, 'I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.'" (John 14:6)
God is greater than Jesus: "...If you loved me, you would be glad that I am going to the Father, for the Father is greater than I." (John 14:28b)
The whole point of Jesus coming was to reunite us with God. The Israelites had a terrible history of coming to God, worshiping Him wholeheartedly, and then turning away to idols. God LOVED them so much - loved all of humankind so much - that He decided the only way He could be close to us, the way He really desired, was if He sacrificed Himself. And so He placed a part of Himself into the person of Jesus and did just that - God sacrificed Himself to be with us.
Jesus said He came not to abolish the law, but to fulfill it (Matt. 5:17). He became the fulfillment of all the laws of cleanliness, sacrifice, and offerings that we could never live up to - all the laws that God established because He is holy and we fell from His presence - so that we could easily be reconnected with God Himself. That was why Jesus came - to tear down the walls that we humans had put up between ourselves and God - because GOD wanted to be with us.
Is Jesus important, then?
Absolutely.
Without Him, we would not be able to connect with God.
But let us not miss the point of His coming. We have turned Jesus into the only God - almost all of our focus ends up on Him.
But He came to be our connecting point to God, who Jesus Himself claims is so much greater than He is.
I think that, by boxing God into the person of Jesus - essentially limiting God's immensity to what we know of the person of Jesus - we are limiting our relationship with God, and we are missing out on a whole lot of awesomeness.
Even in the Old Testament, David and others cried out to know God, longing for Him, for His presence ("As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God." Psalm 42:1). At that time, they didn't have the law automatically fulfilled for them. There was a process to go through to be able to connect with God, and the average person couldn't do it directly, but had to go through a priest.
Jesus came so that we no longer have to jump through hoops to get to God. He came because God is, and was, and always has been, our ultimate goal.
April 16, 2011
April 11, 2011
Stuck Inside
I want to wander barefoot through fields of tall grass under the sunshine, close my eyes, smiling into the wind, and feel God.
I want to sit near a brook, dip my toes in the cool, slowly meandering flow, feel minnows nipping, and feel God.
I want to walk a dusty path through a dappled forest, noting the differences in temperature between sunlight and shade, smelling the fragrance of the green, living foliage, and feel God.
I'm tired of being indoors. We have sectioned ourselves off from the world.
I sit here at a desk in front of a brightly lit computer screen, longing for something so much more than what technology (as much as I love - or rather, am addicted - to it) can offer, beyond what modern transportation, and houses and buildings and even church facilities hold.
Why have we closed ourselves off? God created this beautiful, amazing sanctuary for us to live in, to worship in, to work in. It's called Outside, Nature, The Great Outdoors...whatever you want to call it. His handiwork is everywhere - completely obvious, right there in the open. And we've shut ourselves off to it.
If it starts to rain, we run inside, fearing getting too wet. What if we just stood there, letting the drops fall, feeling the prickle of the rain on our skin, the coolness, letting ourselves be saturation, feeling our heart beat with the rolls of thunder? What then? Perhaps we would find that Nature isn't so big and mean and scary after all. Perhaps we would find that God is standing there with us, waiting to see the smiles of enjoyment on our faces. Maybe He wants to see us splash around in the puddles like children, not fearing the rain, but taking sheer pleasure in it.
I realized recently that, somewhere along the line since I moved away from Pennsylvania - where I lived in a small town surrounded by farmland - I began to fear bugs. I used to be able to walk through a swarm of gnats and not flinch, or have a fly land on my arm and not immediately shake it off. I used to sit and watch ants marching to and fro, carrying amazing loads on their backs to their homes. I used to be fascinated by the most minuscule details of nature.
What has happened?
I became an adult.
I've lost my childlike faith, that innocence that believes that I can just reach up and God's hand will be there, that He will walk beside me as I skip along, happy to just be in His presence.
I can't feel that when I am inside. Inside structures created by men, I feel as though I am drowning.
It's difficult to hear - the sound of God's voice gets drowned out by all the distractions with which we surround ourselves.
It's difficult to see - our views of nature are blocked and obstructed by the walls we've built to protect ourselves from it.
It's difficult to feel - we live in climate controlled houses, where we can dictate what temperature it is. We miss feeling the warmth of the sun on our skin, the chill of a crisp autumn breeze, or the frigid bite of a snow-filled wind.
And most importantly, it's difficult to live - we are stuck inside these white-walled prison cells, cut off from the beautiful, vivid life of nature. We don't breathe real air but manufactured, processed, chemicalized air. We don't see by natural light, but by the magic of electricity.
If we have so separated ourselves from Nature - the very evidence of God's existence ("For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse." Romans 1:20), how then can we expect to know Him, to fully feel His presence?
I need to get outside.
I want to sit near a brook, dip my toes in the cool, slowly meandering flow, feel minnows nipping, and feel God.
I want to walk a dusty path through a dappled forest, noting the differences in temperature between sunlight and shade, smelling the fragrance of the green, living foliage, and feel God.
I'm tired of being indoors. We have sectioned ourselves off from the world.
I sit here at a desk in front of a brightly lit computer screen, longing for something so much more than what technology (as much as I love - or rather, am addicted - to it) can offer, beyond what modern transportation, and houses and buildings and even church facilities hold.
Why have we closed ourselves off? God created this beautiful, amazing sanctuary for us to live in, to worship in, to work in. It's called Outside, Nature, The Great Outdoors...whatever you want to call it. His handiwork is everywhere - completely obvious, right there in the open. And we've shut ourselves off to it.
If it starts to rain, we run inside, fearing getting too wet. What if we just stood there, letting the drops fall, feeling the prickle of the rain on our skin, the coolness, letting ourselves be saturation, feeling our heart beat with the rolls of thunder? What then? Perhaps we would find that Nature isn't so big and mean and scary after all. Perhaps we would find that God is standing there with us, waiting to see the smiles of enjoyment on our faces. Maybe He wants to see us splash around in the puddles like children, not fearing the rain, but taking sheer pleasure in it.
I realized recently that, somewhere along the line since I moved away from Pennsylvania - where I lived in a small town surrounded by farmland - I began to fear bugs. I used to be able to walk through a swarm of gnats and not flinch, or have a fly land on my arm and not immediately shake it off. I used to sit and watch ants marching to and fro, carrying amazing loads on their backs to their homes. I used to be fascinated by the most minuscule details of nature.
What has happened?
I became an adult.
I've lost my childlike faith, that innocence that believes that I can just reach up and God's hand will be there, that He will walk beside me as I skip along, happy to just be in His presence.
I can't feel that when I am inside. Inside structures created by men, I feel as though I am drowning.
It's difficult to hear - the sound of God's voice gets drowned out by all the distractions with which we surround ourselves.
It's difficult to see - our views of nature are blocked and obstructed by the walls we've built to protect ourselves from it.
It's difficult to feel - we live in climate controlled houses, where we can dictate what temperature it is. We miss feeling the warmth of the sun on our skin, the chill of a crisp autumn breeze, or the frigid bite of a snow-filled wind.
And most importantly, it's difficult to live - we are stuck inside these white-walled prison cells, cut off from the beautiful, vivid life of nature. We don't breathe real air but manufactured, processed, chemicalized air. We don't see by natural light, but by the magic of electricity.
If we have so separated ourselves from Nature - the very evidence of God's existence ("For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse." Romans 1:20), how then can we expect to know Him, to fully feel His presence?
I need to get outside.
April 7, 2011
Weeds and Flowers
I'm having one of those days.
Yep.
The kind where something from your past - even the tiniest little thing - lodges into your brain like a minute splinter, burrowing deeper, infecting your thoughts. And therefore affecting everything you do that day. I'm so much more internal today, I feel like I'm not as good a mom today - I've yelled at my daughter for stuff that probably didn't need yelling. I've gotten frustrated more easily. I've cried. I've been angry. A lot.
And I've prayed. A little.
Thing is, I hate hate HATE these recurring issues we sometimes face. They're really annoying and irritating and they make us question God as to why we have to go through them. Sure, there's a lesson to be learned somewhere. Sure, there's the whole idea that out of our brokenness God makes beauty.
But it still hurts. And it still affects life now. And it really stinks when you're trying to make the right decisions, take thoughts captive, what have you, and these things come along and just throw you off the track.
And the thing is, the vast majority of me really wants God to uproot the weeds that have grown up in the garden of my mind. And I know that that process can and will hurt - that it might tear up some of the good crop too. But I also know that it's necessary.
But then there's still this little part of me clinging to the weeds - trying desperately to call them flowers, trying to make the vast majority of me believe that the weeds are healthy, are good for me, maybe even better for me than the flowers.
This is the thing that I am dealing with today. Trying to get out of the tiny mindset that my bad is really good, and get back on track to where I can smell the beautiful fragrance of the flowers and appreciate the goodness that God has blessed me with.
Yeah.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)