God's tinker toys?

My recent post about the unfortunate rainstorm that washed away the sealer on my driveway raised some additional questions that my wife and I have been chewing on the last few days.

The issue surrounds the activity of God in our lives. How often does God "break his own rules" to provide for us, or to punish us? Or does God let nature go largely unchecked?

Today I discovered a book that seems to discuss just this issue. An Examined Faith: The Grace of Self-Doubt by James M. Gustafson begins with a story of God's providence as told by Jonathan Edwards:

"We in this town, were the last Lord's Day the spectators, and many of us the subjects, of one of the most amazing instances of divine preservation, that perhaps was ever known in the land. Our meeting-house is old and decayed, so that we have been for some time building a new one, which is yet unfinished. It has been observed of late, that the house we have hitherto met in, has gradually spread at bottom; the cells and walls giving way, especially in the foreside, by reason of the weight of timber at top, pressing on the braces that are inserted into the posts and 'beams of the house. It has done so more than ordinarily this spring; which seems to have been occasioned by the heaving of the ground through the extreme frosts of the winter past, and its now settling again on that side which is next the sun, by the spring thaws. By this means, the under-pinning has been considerably disordered; which people were not sensible of till the ends of the joists which bore up the front gallery, were drawn off from the girts on which they rested by the walls giving way. So that in the midst of the public exercise in the forenoon, soon after the beginning of sermon, the whole gallery--full of people, with all the seats and timber, suddenly and without any warning--sunk, and fell down with the most amazing noise upon the heads of those that sat under, to the astonishment of the congregation. The house was filled with dolorous shrieking and crying; and nothing else was expected than to find many people dead, and dashed to pieces.

"The gallery in falling seemed to break and sink first in the middle; so that those who were upon it were thrown together in heaps before the front door. But the whole was so sudden, that many of them who fell, knew nothing at the time what it was that had befallen them. Others in the congregation thought it had been an amazing clap of thunder. The falling gallery seemed to be broken all to pieces before it got down; so that some who fell with it, as well as those who were under, were buried in the ruins; and were found pressed under heavy loads of timber, and could do nothing to help themselves.

But so mysteriously and wonderfully did it come to pass, that every life was preserved; and though many were greatly bruised, and their flesh torn, yet there is not, as I can understand, one bone broken or so much as put out of joint, among them all. Some who were thought to be almost dead at first, were greatly recovered; and but one young woman seems yet to remain in dangerous circumstances, by an inward hurt in her breast: but of late there appears more hope of her recovery.

None can give account, or conceive, by what means peoples lives and limbs should be thus preserved, when so great a multitude were thus imminently exposed. It looked as though it was impossible but that great numbers must instantly he crushed to death, or dashed in pieces. It seems unreasonable to ascribe it to any thing else but the care of Providence, in disposing the motions of every piece of timber, and the precise place of safety where every one should sit, and full, when none were in any capacity to care for their own preservation. The preservation seems to be most wonderful, with respect to the women and children in the middle ally, under the gallery, where it came down first, and with greatest force, and where there was nothing to break the force of the falling weight.

"Such an event may be a sufficient argument of a divine Providence over the lives of men. We thought ourselves called to set a part a day to be spent in the solemn worship of God, to humble ourselves under such a rebuke of God upon us in time of public service in his house by so dangerous and surprising an accident; and to praise his name for so wonderful, and as it were miraculous, a preservation. The last Wednesday was kept by us to that end; and a mercy in which the hand of God is so remarkably evident, may be well worthy to affect the hearts of all who hear it."

We don't often hear stories like this. If it is true, it is striking evidence that God does indeed tinker with his own rules to alter the "natural" outcomes of events. Gustafson, as if taking a cue from this very blog, follows this story with an unbroken string of over 20 questions raised by Edwards' story. Here is a small portion of these questions; where Gufstason questions the role of the observer on our interpretation of these events:

[D]oes Edwards, the pastor and theologian, look for a religious meaning in the processes and outcomes of an event that can be scientifically explained? If so, does the scientific explanation in any way control — license or limit — the possible religious meanings? Could some other pastor or theologian from a non-Reformed tradition find a radically different religious meaning from Edwards's? Or might Edwards, on another day, have found a different religious meaning?

I'm in the middle of re-reading C.S. Lewis' Miracles, an awesome book in which Lewis tackles the question of whether miracles are possible and/or probable. I'm reminded of a section of the book where Lewis discussed whether God's tinkering with nature is consistent with his character:

If the ultimate Fact is not an abstraction but the living God, opaque by the very fullness of His blinding actuality, then He might do things. He might work miracles. But would He? Many people of sincere piety feel that He would not. They think it unworthy of Him. It is petty and capricious tyrants who break their own laws: good and wise kinds obey them. Only an incompetent workman will produce work which needs to be interfered with. [...] [I believe this feeling to be] founded on an error. [p. 115]

I don't know how much God tinkers with nature, but I do know that I'll be tracking down a copy of Gufstason's book. It should be interesting.

Edit: (7/6/2008) I've since come across another book that looks like it deals with this subject in an interesting way. The book is The God of Miracles: An Exegetical Examination of God's Action in the World By C. John Collins. It looks like it has a significant portion dedicated to the interplay between science and the subject of God's action in the world.

Oh, Bother!

Prayer is a funny thing. Two days ago, as I was putting the first coat of sealer on my driveway, a thunderstorm approached from the west. I did not pray that I would be spared from the rain and the damage it would cause to my driveway; yet I watched as the lightning passed harmlessly to the south. I remember thanking God that he was good to me even when I didn't ask him.

Yesterday I put the last coat of sealer on my driveway. The rainstorm that threatened to hit had again passed to the south, so I decided to finish the job. This time I did pray that I would again be spared from any more rain. I finished the job and went to bed, thankful that the sky was still clear. At exactly midnight, I awoke to the sound of rain. This was not just normal rain, it was that hard, loud, violent rain that makes your gutters overflow. I ran out to the driveway and watched the driveway sealer run off my driveway and into my yard. "Great," I thought, "a ruined driveway and dead grass."

At 12:07 the rain had stopped, and I was back in bed. It was over that fast. A tiny rain storm had come to paint my driveway in ugly black and grey polka-dots and now it was gone. I felt like Eeyore with the raincloud following him around. Oh, bother.


If something had been broken in the storm, my insurance company would have called it "An act of God." What was up with God last night?


I've often wondered about prayer; it is such a strange and wonderful thing. A finite being with wants and desires communicating with an infinite being with its own wants and desires...

I've often wonder about those experiences in my life where I cry out to God for something in complete faith that He can do it (as complete as I've experienced, at least) and with pure motives (if that's possible) and for something that is intrinsically good... And that thing does not happen. (Disclaimer: My driveway prayer DOES NOT qualify)

Why would God say "NO"? The answers are almost endless:

God does not want that thing that you want.
That thing is not good for you.
That thing will make you sin in some way.
Not having that thing will help you grow in some way.
Not having that thing will help you teach someone else to not have that thing.
In the future you would regret having that thing.
That thing will not do for you what you think it will.

There are two verses from the Bible that are often used in reference to prayer; The first is about how our faith affects what we have power to do (presumably by prayer):

I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you." Matthew 17:20

This was Jesus speaking to the disciples in response to their inquiry about why they could not drive out a demon. Perhaps this is only true for the disciples. If it is true for us, the church is filled with people who have very little faith. I don't know of any mountains that have moved lately. Or could it be that someone with great faith would never ask for something like mountain relocation?

The second verse is said to be about why bad things happen to us:

28And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28

or, as some manuscripts say:

And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God ...

So whose good is it? Mine? Gods? I've always believed it meant something like: "God makes or allows all things to happen because it is good for His kingdom." The bad things that happen are good for God's kingdom, not for Joe's kingdom. Because I read this verse in this way, my Dad tells me that I don't trust God. Maybe so.

In any case, for some reason, God decided to send a mighty little seven-minute rain storm to ruin the sealer on my driveway. Didn't I have enough faith? Maybe. Was it for my good? Maybe. For his good? Maybe. Will I ever know? Probably not. But what does that mean for the role of Matthew 17:20 and Romans 8:28 in my life?

Oh, bother.

"The old grey donkey, Eeyore stood by himself in a thistly corner of the Forest, his front feet well apart, his head on one side, and thought about things. Sometimes he thought sadly to himself, "Why?" and sometimes he thought, "Wherefore?" and sometimes he thought, "Inasmuch as which?" and sometimes he didn't quite know what he was thinking about." -A. A. Milne in The Pooh Book of Quotations

A line in the blacktop

I tend to experience the most clarity in thought while doing mundane tasks, like mowing the grass or shoveling snow. I think the responsibility of controlling my body tends to distract my thoughts, so when I have an activity to participate in that does not require thought, my brain goes wild.

Anyway, last night as I was sealing our driveway, I began to think about the "story of my faith", which has been a roller coaster with more downs than ups. I feel like I am constantly bouncing between doubt and hope, ignorance and peace.

I think I can put every point of my faith experience on a continuum between atheism and peace, having experienced everything from one end of that continuum to the other:

(Please excuse the geekyness of this visual, I think you'll understand why I include it in just a bit.)

I left the right end of this line blank, because I'm convinced that there exists a state of faith that I have not experienced, something beyond peace.

At any point in time I can pretty much put myself somewhere on this line. Most days I hover somewhere around hope. Sometimes this is an intense hope for the future; hope that some day God will change me, make me into someone who isn't always asking questions or doubting or wondering about this or that...

Sometimes this is a more pure kind of hope, hope for eternity. Hope for the day when all questions will be answered, not because I "figured it out" but because God is the answer...

Sometimes I briefly dip into something which might be called peace. Often I have a hard time differentiating between peace and ignorance; I don't know that I have ever experienced the former without the latter.

In any case, I often wonder what is "out there" that I am missing. What would a faith that is "true", or "right", or "real" look like?

So, as I filled the cracks in our aging driveway with black goop, I was reminded of an exchange in the book I just finished reading, A New Kind of Christian, by Brian McLaren.

In it, Neo, the sort of "postmodern guru" of the story, is explaining something to Dan, who describes the exchange:

[Neo] knelt down on the path, cleared away some fallen leaves, and drew a line in the dust. I stooped down next to him.

"This might help you. Very often,” he explained, “debates in the church occur on this level. There are all kinds of positions on an issue, along this line, with the most extreme positions being here and here.”

I offered a couple of examples: “OK. So Catholics are over here and Protestants over there. Calvinists are over here, and Arminians are over there. And charismatics are here and anticharismatics over there. And we could do the same on the issues of pacifism, inerrancy of the Bible, women in leadership, how the church should seek homosexuals, and—”

“Exactly,” he interrupted. “Now, almost all debate in the church takes place on this line. The issue is where the right point on the line is. So people pick and defend their points. Each person’s point becomes the point in his or her mind. Here’s what I’m suggesting: What if the point defending approach is, pardon the pun, pointless? In other words, what if the position God wants us to take isn’t on that line at all but somewhere up here?” He was moving his hand in a small circle, palm down, about a foot above the line he had drawn in the dust.

“So you’re saying,” I replied, “that we have to transcend the normal level of discourse. that makes sense to me. I mean, Jesus did that sort of thing all the time. Like with the woman at the well in John 4. The big debate is over where people should worship, on this mountain or on that mountain. Jesus doesn’t choose one point or the other; he says that the answer is on this higher level, that what God wants is for us to worship him in spirit and truth, wherever we are. Both mountains are good places to worship, so in that way both sides are right. But where you worship isn’t the point at all, so in that way both sides are wrong.”

While I trowelled more patch on the driveway I began to wonder if that "real faith" that seems to elude me is not on my line at all, but somewhere "up here"? (Imagine me waving my hand over a line I have scratched in my driveway patch) Could it be possible to have a faith that includes some of most of the elements on my line? A faith where peace, hope, and doubt can coexist? A faith where I can have peace without the requirement of ignorance?

Maybe that is possible. Maybe it is not. But if it is, it is worth pursuing.

Me, a Postmodern?

I've been reading a lot about the emergent church lately. It all started when I began listening to sermons by Rob Bell, pastor of Mars Hill Church in Grand Rapids, MI, my hometown. His sermons prompted me to read his book, Velvet Elvis, which I'm sure I'll comment on in the future.

Anyway, I loved the approach taken by Bell; he acknowledged doubts and questions instead of suppressing them. He emphasized the subjectivity we all bring to the Bible. He... Wait. I'm getting ahead of myself.

I soon realized that Bell wasn't the only one taking this approach to Christianity. The emergent church movement, as it is commonly called, is an attempt to engage postmodern people, especially people who have left the church, or have never been involved with church at all.

I've never considered myself postmodern. In fact, my engineering/science background and vocation, and overall scientific approach to life labels me definitively as a modern. But my struggle reconciling evolution with the Bible (or at least the view of the Bible I was taught as a child) has taught me that interpreting the Bible is not as straightforward as fundamentalists might have us believe.

So, the more I read about postmodern ideas, the more I realize that I am (or am becoming) postmodern.

Instead of describing exactly what that means (not that this is really possible) I'll use something I read on the Internet this evening:

"The emerging / emergent church movement falls into line with basic post-modernist thinking—it is about experience over reason, subjectivity over objectivity, spirituality over religion, images over words, outward over inward, feelings over truth."

If that's what it means to be postmodern, count me in. However, I'd like to modify the list of opposing characteristics:

Experience over Reason
Subjectivity over Objectivity
Relationship over Religion
Story over Words
Outward over Inward
Feelings and Truth

I'll give a little commentary on each pair:

Experience over Reason

Reason has it's place. But I've found that reason is inextricably tied to our presuppositions. I learned this when reading Richard Dawkins' The God Delusion and opposing works by Alister McGrath (The Dawkins Delusion) and C.S. Lewis (Miracles, Mere Christianity). Each writer used reason to come to opposite conclusions. Sure, one set of reasoning may have been flawed. Regardless, reason is limited in it's power.

Also, what good is a system of belief if it doesn't affect your experience? This is one of the main problems I've had with my faith up to this point: I have not experienced much of anything that other Christians describe as being part of their faith experience. Minimal peace. Few emotional responses to the Gospel. Rare instances of my perceiving God acting in my life. Now, I realize that I probably don't have eyes to see these elements of the "faith experience". But I'm working on that. I believe that things won't be right until my experience falls in line with my beliefs.

Subjectivity over Objectivity

This one is easy. Objectivity is an illusion. Moderns think they can somehow be objective. They're fooling themselves. We need to identify our subjectivities so we can respond to them. We need to identify (and react to) not only the contexts of the Biblical writers, but also our own context. The latter is much more difficult than the former, but if we don't, I believe we'll always be in danger of seeing only the insides of our own glasses.

Relationship over Religion

I have modified this one to "Relationship over Religion." Religion (in my eyes) is the "stuff" human beings have tacked on to a relationship with God. Religion gets in the way. I'd much rather partake in a relationship with my creator than a bunch of traditions that don't mean anything to me. (Don't get me wrong, some traditions are important, but not all.)

Story over Words

Although the adage "A picture is worth a thousand words" is certainly true, I would prefer "Story over Words". The Bible as a whole is a beautiful story of promise fulfillment, re-creation and redemption. It has unfortunately been turned into an uninspiring book of rules.

Outward over Inward

The Christianity that I grew up with spent a lot of time focusing on what things are right for us to believe, what are the right ways for us to behave, and what is required to go to heaven. There is a constant focus on me, me, me. I don't think this individualistic mindset is very healthy for a community of believers.

Feelings and Truth

The person who included the original pair obviously doesn't agree with the emergent church movement. I know that there are some in the movement who go to the extreme by "relativizing truth". I don't know that I'll ever believe that feelings are more important than truth. But in my experience, there are hordes of people in the church today that think they have the corner on truth. They can't all be right. There is another horde that simply define truth as what their pastor/leader/parent tells them is truth, and doesn't want to investigate these claims for themselves.

Truth is one of those things that is always hidden; we can come closer and closer to it, but it will always be obscured by our humanity.

Feelings are something we all do know. We may not know why we have them or where they come from sometimes, but they are knowable.

This doesn't mean feelings are more important than truth. Something is true, and I believe it is of utmost importance. But can we know what that is?

God told me to do it

This morning I read Genesis 22. This is one of those parts of the Bible (especially the Old Testament) that terrify me; make me scared of the God I worship.

Here, God commands Abraham to kill his son:

Then God said, "Take your son, your only son, Isaac, whom you love, and go to the region of Moriah. Sacrifice him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains I will tell you about." Genesis 22:2

Abraham, full of faith in his God, obeys:

When they reached the place God had told him about, Abraham built an altar there and arranged the wood on it. He bound his son Isaac and laid him on the altar, on top of the wood. Then he reached out his hand and took the knife to slay his son. Genesis 22:9-10

Luckily, God stops Abraham at the last moment, as if to say "Just kidding! Good, job, you were actually going to do that, weren't you!"

But the angel of the LORD called out to him from heaven, "Abraham! Abraham!""Here I am," he replied."Do not lay a hand on the boy," he said. "Do not do anything to him. Now I know that you fear God, because you have not withheld from me your son, your only son." Genesis 22:11-12

What are we supposed to think of this? Would I be able to obey God in this way? I think Abraham is lucky that God was speaking to him in actual audible words. How can you say no when God's voice is booming through the air, commanding you do do something, even if that thing is absolutely horrible?

Today, we are not so lucky. Today we have the Holy Spirit, (which of course wasn't available to Abraham) who is a little more subtle in His communication. The Holy Spirit seems to speak to us mainly though our circumstances, the Bible, and of course through voices in our heads. But this raises lots of questions:

How would I know if God was telling me to kill my son? What if a little voice in my head started telling me to kill my son? Should I obey? If someone I know told me they were going to kill their child because God told them to do it, should I consider them a "pillar of faith" or a psycho?

Is God going to ask me to do something or believe something that is completely insane? What if he asks me to believe the universe is younger than some trees that are still alive today?

Might Satan communicate with us in much the same ways? It seems likely that killing a child might be something he might really enjoy watching me carry out. He might also enjoy the confusion and doubt that comes from holding to a "scientific" belief that is not supported by any evidence.

Isn't it against the nature of God to command us to sin? I know the sixth commandment wasn't given to Moses until a few hundred years later, but does that make murder okay in Abraham's day? I doubt it. Of course, God surely knew Abraham would not have to go through with His command, but this does not change Abraham's perception of the event.

Is God this cruel? Was this just a really extreme test for Abraham, because he was really important? A kind of "stress test" to put Abraham through before he built a nation on him?

I could write questions all day.

Paul Problems

I am frequently bothered by what looks like contradictions between Jesus' words in the gospels and Paul's words in his epistles. At one point I read Reinventing Paul by John G. Gager, which seemed like it might address this conflict in a new way. In the book, Gager describes his version of the New Perspectives on Paul (NPP). The NPP presents a new interpretation (in contrast to the traditional Reformation interpretation) of the writings of Paul that (among other things) seeks to explain the contradictions that can be found when reading Paul's letters.While there were a lot of interesting ideas in this book that I'll comment on in separate posts, Gager did a good job of summarizing the problems one encounters when reading Paul at a surface level.

If we look at Paul's letters, it is not difficult to pull out what on the surface appear to be directly opposing views, anti- and pro-Israel:

Anti-Israel set:

"All who rely on works of the law are under a curse" (Galatians 3:10).

"No one is justified before God by the law" (Galatians 3:11).

"For [some manuscripts add 'in Christ Jesus'] neither circumcision counts for anything, nor uncircumcision, but a new creation is everything!" (Galatians 6:15).

"No human being will be justified in his [God's] sight by works of the law, since through the law comes knowledge of sin" (Romans 3:20).

"Israel, who pursued righteousness based on the law, did not succeed in fulfilling that law" (Romans 9:31).

"But their minds were hardened. Indeed, for to this day, when they read the old covenant, that same veil is still there, because only through Christ is it taken away. Yes, to this day, whenever Moses is read a veil lies over their minds" (2 Corinthians 3:14-15).

Pro-Israel set:

"What is the advantage of the Jew? Or what is the value of circumcision? Much in every way" (Romans 3:1).

"Do we not overthrow the Law by this notion of faith? By no means. On the contrary, we uphold the Law" (Romans 3:31).

"What shall we say? That the Law is sin? By no means" (Romans 7:7).

"Thus the Law is holy, and the commandment is holy and just and good" (Romans 7:12).

"To the Israelites belong the sonship, the glory, the covenants, the giving of the Law, the Temple, and the promises. To them belong the patriarchs and of their race, according to the flesh, is the Christ" (Romans 9:4).

"Has God rejected his people? By no means" (Romans 11:1).

"All Israel will be saved" (Romans 11:26).

"Is the Law then opposed to the promises of God. Certainly not!" (Galatians 3:21).

Will the real Paul please stand up?

On the surface, Paul seems to be speaking (or writing, rather) out of both sides of his mouth. He seems to be brewing up a big bubbling broiling pot of contradictions. Now throw in a little of Jesus' parables on salvation, and a bit of the book of James (how about chapter 2 for starters) and the pot boils over.

I won't address the Jesus-Paul-James conflict here, but Gager (and the rest of the NPP writers) proposes something that seems to be pretty novel for some christians: Let's try and read Paul's letters in their context.

In short, Gager suggests that Paul, the "apostle to the gentiles" was speaking to (you guessed it) gentiles. What seems like Paul's embracing of the law in one breath while denouncing it in the next is actually Paul speaking about the law in two contexts. In one context he condemns "judiazing gentiles" who were insisting that other gentiles must follow the law. In another context, he talks of the wonder and beauty of the law for Jews.

It's pretty simple, really:

Jews: Law=Good

Gentiles: Law=Bad

Now, if your red heresy light isn't flashing by now, you might want to get it checked. Didn't Jesus say:

"I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me." John 14:6

Is Gager suggesting there are now two ways, one for the Jews through the old covenant and one for the gentiles through Jesus? Gager addresses this concern by saying, unequivocally, "Maybe." He points to 1 Corinthians 15:24-28, where Paul reveals "his real eschatological beliefs":

Then the end will come, when [Christ] hands over the kingdom to God the Father after he has destroyed all dominion, authority and power... When [God] has done this, then the Son himself will be made subject to him who put everything under him, so that God may be all in all me."

So the two ways collapse into one in the end, or something like that.

For a good summary of the book, see The Paul Page.

I think Gager's approach has a lot of merit. The traditional reading of Paul's epistles really doesn't make much sense to me; Paul comes across looking really confused. Either he was bipolar, or something else is going on that we aren't picking up on. I've learned that the former is most likely true.