Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Because


One night after closing the shop, I took the invitation of the band and an acquaintance to join them for drinks at CFB. The acquaintance had that aura of friendship about her; I've heard of similar folks being called 'persons of peace', and I hoped for a conversation about God.  I grabbed a beer and tipped the server. My house had raised money for a non-profit the acquaintance favored, and after talk of the halloween party and her travels she asked if everyone in the house was 'very religious'. I grinned internally, and tried to reframe the conversation. “I wouldn't say religious,” I said, “but maybe spiritual*.”
      “But, you're all about one spirituality right? Like, 'everything is spiritual' spiritual, or specific, one-way kind of spiritual?”
      “Well, I believe everything is spiritual. Everyone tunes in to it, takes part in spirituality. But, I'm a Christian. I believe it's true.”
      She interrupted me. “But, why are you a Christian?”

Boom.

First thought to run through my mind: 'Oh man. Best question ever.'

Second thought to run through my mind: 'And...I have no clue how to answer that.' Immediately followed, of course, by the memory of Peter writing, 'Always be prepared to answer for the hope that you have.' And here we go.

I tried to build a theological proof. “See, we all know there is something greater than ourselves, and joy points to it, but we also know that we can never possibly attain to it. We know that we are never as good as we should be. We know we are trapped in selfishness and pride and ignorance. And yet we know that we should be more. We have a moral conscience, and fail before it. But in Christianity we draw near to that beauty and glory that is greater than ourselves by reason of something totally external- we are brought into glory by grace, and by love. And that rings true.”

She was not phased. She nodded it off. Maybe she'd heard it before, or maybe it just didn't stick.

And honestly, I wasn't convincing myself. I believed all that, sure, and even felt most of it deeply. But... that wasn't why I followed Jesus. That wasn't why I believed. I was not convinced by a theologically sound argument for the existence of a tripartite God and a salvation by grace. I used to think I had believed by reason, by some secret understanding. But, that was never convincing to my friends, and eventually it lost it's appeal to me as well. Foolishness to the Jews and folly to the Gentiles- my heart and my mind are very much like theirs.

I sighed, and God spoke. I said, “Well, really, I believe because God has spoken to me.”

She focused. “Like, culturally, or you read the Bible or what?”

“Well, yes,” I said, excitement growing. I could see where we were heading. “But more than that. Like experiences.”

“Like what?” And now she was truly curious.

“Well...”

And I told her about healings, and prophecies, and about people getting words for eachother, ridiculous words for complete strangers, about treasure hunting and scripture bringing me to tears and prayers being answered and love and doubt and fear and how all was consumed in the love of God.  And she listened, as did her friends.

Thinking about that conversation, I realized the amazing irony that the thing which I most doubt and analyze, the voice of God, is the very thing which has drawn me to Him. By means of the Holy Spirit, by way of Jesus's substitutionary atonement. It was the presence of God, intervening in my day-to-day, that has made me a Christian. And from Adam to Moses to the disciples, the voice of God, in their native tongue, is the only thing that has ever drawn God's people to Himself.

In fact, His voice began it all. Creation by speaking. And then His Logos Word redeemed that which we lost. And as I think about God, speaking outside of time into it, I think that somehow His words must be ringing out still, resonating and echoing through the cosmos. String theory, in light of a speaking God, is ever more elegant.

We talked for a long time afterwards, until the band left and we were the only ones still at the table. She said she wanted to believe, wanted hope, but didn't know if she still could. She said that it was good to find someone who believed in something. It gave her hope. I walked her to her car, and told her, if she ever needed anything, to let me or my roommates know. She hasn't yet, but no matter. God does not need me or my friends for His kingdom to grow. Somehow, though, He still finds ways to use us. Like late at night, after work, over craft beer.

At Christmas, sometimes, I'm so overwhelmed by the improbability of it all that I almost want to walk away. I simply cannot wrap my imagination, much less my reason, around an omnipotent infinite Lord in a manger. Neither could the masses, then, nor now. It's a great story and all, with hope and joy. But really?  I cannot grasp it.

Yet, I look back, at the many times the improbable has occurred, the times the voice of God has gone out over chaos and brought order to my affections and fears, the times when His presence has changed me and my friends, physically, spiritually, emotionally- and I believe. Not because it makes sense, necessarily. Because it doesn't align with my reason, or my opinions. And yet. And yet He has spoken. And that's all there is to it.

-----
*an attempt at linguistic relevance

1 comment:

  1. "And now she was curious". Curious because someone experienced God. John 5:39 - "you study the Scriptures diligently thinking that in having them you have me but you know me not." The head only informs the heart but cannot lead it.

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