I want to tell you all things, but you cannot bear them now…
John
People ask me why-questions all the time.
Why did God let my son die? Why do I have cancer? Did I do something wrong? Why does God allow the world to be such a mess? Why doesn’t God come and solve some of our problems? Why can’t I understand?
I sit there in my office like a bump on a log. I listen. And I cannot give these people the answers that they deserve. I wonder if God wants them to understand, or if it’s just not possible. God is more real to me than the chair in which I sit, but I cannot explain why God does anything. I simply do not understand. And I can’t help but wonder, does God want us to understand?
Jesus once told us that he wanted to explain everything. He wanted to let us in on it all, but he couldn’t because we could not tolerate the entirety of God’s presence. We could not bear to witness too much of God. It was simply too much for us: too bright, to brilliant, too good, too much. God does not answer all of our questions, that is true. But it is not because God withholds from us. Our questions are left unanswered because we are unable to tolerate the answers.
Moses could not look at God because God was too bright. He had to look at the backside of God, or more literally, at where God just was. Even the most devout person cannot tolerate that much of God. It is simply too much: too much holiness, too much goodness, too much truth. It is like looking directly at the sun.
I believe that the Holy Spirit is a way to titrate God’s presence. It is God’s attempt to give us glimpses slowly, and only when we are ready. The Holy Spirit is a gift, a gift of infinite patience and understanding. All will be revealed to us, but only when we are ready.
When I was a little girl, my parents went through a rough patch in their marriage. They fought loudly and often, breaking dishes and hollering. I remember their fights.
One day, at nursery school, I decided to hide in my cubby. I remember what it felt like. I had put my jacket and my lunch box inside the cubby. I looked inside. It looked so quiet, so safe in there. I hid inside, thinking that maybe the world could go on without me. I liked it in there, it felt safe. I could hear myself breathe. The fighting couldn’t fit in there, just me, me and the quiet, and the cramped smell of my lunch box.
My nursery school teacher couldn’t get me to come out that day. Evidently, she called my parents. She recommended that I see a child psychologist. My parents diligently obeyed. The psychologist’s name was Dr. Wolfe.
I remember that there was a large banister going up to Dr. Wolfe’s room. She was a gentle, older woman with dark hair. I remember that she played with me and listened to me. We drew pictures. She smiled. And when I was done with my sessions, she gave me a cupcake. I still remember the cupcake.
Dr. Wolfe did not describe the nature of anxiety to my four-year-old self. She did not explain to me about the fear of abandonment. She just played and she listened. She followed my lead, letting me play games. If I wanted to be the princess, I got to be the princess and she dutifully played the monster bad-guy. We drew pictures. And all the time, while we were playing, she was gently asking me questions, nudging me into new ways of thinking. She was my friend. She met me where I was, in my four year old world of fear, and she showed me the way out of the cubby hole, into something bigger.
The Holy Spirit is a lot like Dr. Wolfe. I believe that the Spirit listens to us a great deal. The Spirit meets us where we are, and then gently nudges us in the right direction. The Spirit is always inviting us to play, but we are often so busy and self-consumed that we do not respond. And so the Spirit waits, until we can listen a little better. The Spirit nudges and listens, waits and plays.
I do not believe that God is in a hurry. But I do believe that God wants us to know everything, and God waits patiently for us to become ready to receive the truth.
We begin the journey by admitting what we do not know. We begin by realizing that we are small children in the eyes of God, trapped in boxes of routine and self-definition, pattern and neurosis. We begin by admitting that we do not understand much at all.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the religious leaders of the world could begin to discuss what we don’t know as opposed to fighting over what we do know? Could we have more peace if we admitted that we all are like lost children before the magnificence of God? If you do not understand much, that is a good place to begin. It is your own limitations that prevent you from understanding God, not God’s refusal to communicate. There is nothing that God wants more than to communicate with you.
