Looking back, the summits of religion proving most problematic on the topography of my life have been those times when I was trying to make room for God.
Say, “get Jesus to fill me up so that I won’t look at women in bikinis too much,” or “ask God to be with me tomorrow, because I know it’s going to be a really stressful day at work.”
Or cowering in a car before a promising first date, calling in the God reinforcements (the whole crew: Son and Holy Ghost included) to help me calm down enough to make polite conversation with some girl who’d probably just been having the same conversation with God.
A seminary professor was I believe the first to poke the hole in that dike; a hole that in fact brought the whole edifice crashing down.
[Cue advertisement here for the sort of life change that throwaway comments like that from teachers can have in students' lives.]
I believe his casual point was something to the effect of, “when we pray, why do we ask, or invite, God to be present amongst us? Is God someone we visit, or someone we allow in (any more than He already is)?”.
Not really sure what more I could add to that.
I dare you to take a day or a month or so to ponder the ramifications of God already being involved in and present at your lovely picnic, your time of grief, or your football game.
I think it a lovely and beautiful thing to take a moment during such events to offer up thanks, but it seems to me that tucking God into your backpack and unfurling Him right after the napkins and snacks (I mean, before anything else; gotta break God off His due first) is far more problematic than getting into the mindset that He was, is, and always is early to such gatherings.
I didn’t pray once in the first few weeks after Dad dying. In fact, I remember very deliberately keeping my eyes open and not bowing during the prayer at my dad’s funeral service.
Yet I somehow, looking back on it now, see God’s presence as a sad umbrella enveloping that entire sad scene.
As God wasn’t invading the space of these mourning people breathless from the sucker punch of sudden loss, but instead He was simply there.
Some presences are better left unannounced.
And some are left better assumed.
I really like this post. I, too, lost my Dad suddenly in 2008. Your description of God being a sad umbrella over the whole thing really moved me.
Thanks Ellen; I guess that’s sorta something you and I have in common but probably wish we didn’t, huh?
Maybe it’s my own personal issues, but I really draw a lot of strength from the idea of God there… but sort of the quiet presence in the back of the room, not saying a word, but at least “making an appearance” or whatever.
I really enjoyed this post and hearing your thoughts.
Thanks Abby! How’s life treating you these days?