Transmillennial 2008
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Sometimes I wonder how God feels. Maybe there’s a danger in potentially conflating my feelings with God’s, and I suppose we’ve all done that to some degree. I feel that the world is unjust, so God must. I feel upset when I look at the state of world affairs, so God must be less than thrilled also. It bothers me that people read the Biblical story in ways that differ from my own; therefore, God is surely troubled, too.
It’s very easy to equate God with our individual ego. Meanwhile, plenty of voices remind us that the two are not identical.
Consider the oracle found in Isaiah 55:8-9. “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord. As high as the heavens are above the earth, so high are my ways above your ways and my thoughts above your thoughts.” Perhaps Isaiah is informing us that we can’t possibly know God. Even so, I tend to see this as an affirmation that God performs acts of amazingly gracefulness. After all, this saying comes in a context where the prophet extols a merciful God “who is generous in forgiving” (Isaiah 55:7).
Then, of course, Paul makes a statement similar to Isaiah’s. “Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments and His ways past finding out!” (Romans 11:33). Like Isaiah, Paul connects God’s unfathomable judgment to His comprehensive grace. “For God has committed them all to disobedience, that He might have mercy on all” (Romans 11:32).
No wonder we have trouble understanding a God who shows mercy on all, whose grace is so abundant that our cups overflow. It doesn’t seem natural for anyone to be so graceful, so generous. How do we wrap out heads around that?
Granted, I’m assuming God has feelings. I live with the working assumption that God is passionate, emotional, and even sensitive. I believe that God’s expressions of emotion are authentic. After all, for God to be love, how could it be otherwise? Love is emotional and not simply a function of detached logic.
Maybe that’s the issue. We’ve been trying to make intellectual sense of God and grace instead of simply feeling its welcoming embrace. We try to makes sense of the irrational. Who can explain love?
Yet, I still wonder . . . how does God feel about our penchant for treating grace as primarily something to be received? How does God feel about our tendency of making grace a commodity you acquire in order to cover your sins so you can enjoy a pleasant afterlife? How does God feel about our proclivity for making God’s grace about us and what we get? How does God feel about our long term response to grace?
Frankly, because God is egoless and gracious (which may be synonymous terms) I don’t suspect God is too upset about not receiving acknowledgment. Besides if God bestowed grace only upon those who fully appreciated all of the nuances of grace, grace would cease being grace. Grace is about God-from alpha to omega. Grace is God’s indescribable gift.
Of course, receiving is an element of the grace experience. Certainly, grace covers a multitude of sins. Definitely, deep gratitude and exuberant worship are proper responses to an awareness of God’s grace. All the while, our ego may feel a little twinge when contemplating the reality that grace is not ultimately about taking us anyplace except beyond our individual identity.
But what about God’s feelings to our response to grace. Instead of gushing sentimental displays directed upward, I believe God would be happier with our graceful transformation directed outward.
Consider Jesus’ parable of the unforgiving servant in Matthew 18:23-25. In an act of grace, the king forgives a debtor who owes a huge amount. Yet, the forgiven man acts dis-gracefully by throwing his debtor into prison. In seeing grace as a product for his own selfish benefit, the man failed to undergo graceful transformation. He was grateful to have his debt forgiven, but not graceful enough to forgive his friend.
John Newton’s classic hymn celebrates God’s amazing grace that saves wretches. Grace delivers us from the wretchedness of selfishness, egocentricity, exclusivity, and isolation. To the extent we grasp on to conceited narcissism we have not yet experienced the complete saving power of grace. Grace that does not call us out of ourselves is pseudo-grace; it promises freedom but brings only the bondage of self-absorption.
Grace becomes effective as our thinking changes from “I got mine” to “How can I pay it forward?” Grace becomes amazing as we transform from reservoirs of grace to living streams of grace. The greatest act of thanksgiving and the most profound worship occurs as we embrace and practice our divine likeness in becoming grace givers. What’s more, our infinite capacity for gracefulness enlarges and expands as we practice grace and perform generosity.
When we extend grace toward others, God’s thoughts and ways become ours. When we have mercy on all, we’ve fathomed the depths of God’s wisdom. When we live gracefully, we’ve searched out God’s ways and judgments. And this is what I believe God absolutely revels in.
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Originally published on April 28, 2008. (c) Presence International. Parousia is a free Transmillennial publication of Presence. To receive Parousia in your inbox each week click here.
"I will give thanks to You, for I am awe-inspiringly and wonderfully made; Wonderful are Your works, and my soul knows it very well."
--Psalm 139:14
Sigmund Freud may receive credit for introducing the principles of modern psychology, but people have been trying to figure out who and what we are from the very beginning. Since we first developed self-consciousness, we've been seeking to understand what it means to be human.
For instance, the Genesis creation narrative asks more questions about the mysterious enigma of humanity than it provides dogma about the formation of the material universe. God speaks humanity into the divine likeness. God breathes the spirit of life -- the divine wind -- into humanity's nostrils. In response, humanity rises from the ground, receives a holy wound, and obtains a commission to be fruitful and multiply.
Perplexing open-ended questions permeate the story. Is humanity a handful of dirt or a God-breathed creative partner? Are we in dialogue with spirit or slaves to unalterable universal laws? Is the essence of life found in naming and dominating others, or does intimacy require opening ourselves to the potential of sacred scars?
Intuitively and empirically, we understand our extraordinary complexity -- individually and collectively. We experience life, self, and relationships on multiple levels: biologically, emotionally, interpersonally, culturally, psychologically, ecologically, and cosmically just to name a few.
Contemplating the spiraling tiers of our humanity is certain to make your head spin (not literally, of course). We possess an outer life and an inner one. Our make-up consists of the interplay between our sense of self, family, friendships, community, society, culture, and ubermind. The complete source, stuff, and goal of it all is God.
The perpetual divine-human emergence contains personal and transpersonal elements. Psalm 139 offers comfort in knowing that God understands you individually. God calls you by name, counts the hairs (or lack thereof) on your head, and knows your coming in and going out. At the same time, God transcends our egoic confinement and recognizes the comprehensive picture of all-inclusive interconnectedness. As Paul noted, all things are of, through, and to God.
Physicist, mathematician, and futurist Freeman Dyson describes the "unbounded potentialities of the universe as it becomes aware of itself through the action of life and intelligence" as the infinite in all directions. The prophet Daniel depicts this as the kingdom of God with an eternally expanding domain. Meister Eckhart calls God a sphere whose center is everywhere and circumference is nowhere. Awakening to just an inkling of the infinite in all directions fills your cup to overflowing with awe and wonder at how marvelously made you truly are -- and continue to be. Your soul already knows it very well, and this blesses you to courageously go where no one has gone before-but where God already is. In Paradise Mislaid, Jeffrey Burton Russell muses, "Whatever we humans are, we are part of the cosmos, and we wonder about it, and that means that the cosmos wonders about itself ...That the cosmos wonders about itself is deeply moving."
We're creatures with strata of deep structures composing the essence of our personal and transpersonal identity, and the layers continue to form. What it meant to be human 10,000 years ago is not what it means today, and today's humanity is a launching pad for tomorrow's. Perhaps we'll never fully grasp what it is to be human, and maybe that's the paradoxical point. Humanity, like Christ showed about divinity, is not something to be grasped. Continually asking the questions plunges us into the illimitable mystery. More than surprising us with hope or joy, it inspires us with awe. With our immersed into the unfathomable, we discover the divine blessing of finding our humanity as something to be lived rather than a problem to be solved. Behold! The wonder!