Where to Look for God
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I found this one-liner on the Internet recently. Besides
being funny, it illustrates how we often miss the obvious. It also reminded me
of a scene in the 1991 movie, Black Robe, a film adaptation of the book of the
same name written by Brian Moore.
The story is about French Jesuit priests who, in
unbelievably impossible conditions, tried to convert native Canadian tribes,
some of whom were considered barbarous even for the 1600s. One of the priests
was traveling with a French layman and a small group of tribesman in the
Canadian wilderness.
Some of the tribesmen had learned French and the priest began
explaining reading and writing, a “technology” with which the natives were
completely unfamiliar. To illustrate, the priest wrote something on a tablet,
whispered what he wrote to a nearby native, then handed the tablet to the
native to show to the other Frenchman.
When the Frenchman read back what the priest had written and
had whispered, the native was astonished, and began to tell the others about the
“magic” that had just occurred.
Incredible Advancement
Before seeing that scene, the incredible advancement in human communication represented by reading and writing hadn’t occurred to me. Again, missing the obvious.
Before seeing that scene, the incredible advancement in human communication represented by reading and writing hadn’t occurred to me. Again, missing the obvious.
That brings me to my friend and former colleague, Jim Hardy,
who wrote: “On an ordinary day, there are 400 billion suns in our Milky Way
galaxy alone that burn and explode in cataclysmic fashion, with a ferocity
beyond the limits of even a healthy imagination.
“The very effort to get one’s mind around that phenomenon
can cause one’s knees to buckle. This is an ordinary day. That is an ordinary
fire, albeit in a remote outpost of God’s kingdom.”
He quotes famed theologian and paleontologist Teilhard de
Chardin and author Annie Dillard.
“By means of all created things, without exception,” wrote
Chardin, “the divine assails us, penetrates us and molds us. We imagine it as
distant and inaccessible whereas, we are steeped in its burning layers.”
Annie Dillard
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What’s the point? It’s that, like lingering perfume, God is
knowable through his/her effects. The meaning of those effects were obvious to
our human ancestors but we have become oblivious to them.
Somewhere in the vague mists of my upbringing, I recall being
told that when you pray, you should “place yourself in God’s presence,” and
that’s what I try to do daily. Directly, God is unknowable; you can’t get your
head around him/her the way you can created things or people.
But if you’re tuned in, you can see his/her effects in
everything and everyone, in and around you and the billions of other people
everywhere, whether they acknowledge God or not. It becomes a way of seeing the
world with God in it, and after a while of seeing things that way, it seems
obvious.
As If In Gaseous Form
And you can imagine God’s presence, as if in gaseous form, stretching from here to beyond the ends of the universe.
And you can imagine God’s presence, as if in gaseous form, stretching from here to beyond the ends of the universe.
Critics see the world as imperfect and ask how a “perfect”
God could make something so flawed. How and why did he/she choose evolution
with all its dead-end mutations as a way of creating? If there is a God, couldn’t
he/she just have “zapped” everything into existence?
But don’t you also have to ask why there is anything rather than nothing? And how earth, in the randomness of evolution, could have evolved into something so breathtakingly beautiful? And how it’s possible that a purple martin can find its way from Brazil to its birthplace in my backyard?
Where to look for God? In the obvious.
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