A Grainy Photograph of the Unseen

Andrea* and I sat across from each other in the quaint Salem pizza place, discussing whether some people were destined from the foundations of the earth to spend eternity being tortured. She was convinced that they were. I met Andrea, a young seminarian’s wife, my junior year at Gordon. I began attending a Bible study at her home, and it soon became clear that her favorite flower was definitely the TULIP: total depravity, unconditional election, limited atonement, irresistible grace, and perseverance of the saints. Back home, Calvinism was often the butt of jokes, an abstract theology that evoked the image of a crotchety man in Shakespearean dress high on his own hot air. My father, a devoted follower of Christ, often expressed frustration not only with Calvinist theology but with what he saw as the arrogance that was its center. His experience with Calvinists had been dominated by exchanges in which those not agreeing with their viewpoint were treated as second-class Christians. Not only was his viewpoint anecdotal; he explained his side with firm Biblical support. Everything I experienced confirmed my father’s viewpoint; it only took a cursory glance at the blogosphere to find a myriad of arrogantly judgmental comments from Calvinists, some going so far as to question the salvation of non-Calvinists. But when I saw Andrea’s life: her dedication to God’s word, her commitment to mentoring college girls and her love for the Lord, it frustrated me that she didn’t fit into a mold that was less attractive. She had definitely studied the Bible more than I had, so who was I to disagree with her conclusion? The heart is deceitful and desperately wicked, right?

At this point, I was secretly chagrined that Andrea hadn’t come across as judgmental and crazy, like the puffed-up Calvinist commenters I had discovered online. That would have been easier to swallow. Instead, two godly Christians in my life had come to different conclusions about an issue that seemed to define the character of God.  It wasn’t that I had to know the answer. I didn’t really care whether it was Calvin or Arminius who would be saying “I told you so,” the moment they entered heaven. No, what scared and frustrated me was the realization that I do not have the capacity to see God as he truly is.

Growing up, I don’t remember ever questioning my perceptions of God. I am one of those saved-since-she-could walk Christians, and God was just a natural part of life, so much so that I rarely stopped to stand in awe of Him or think about what it actually meant to be divine. He naturally knew me personally, loved me, and had great plans for my life (which I thought he needed to be constantly reminded about). But he was also very American. If I didn’t work hard enough, he would be displeased with me for my laziness. If I happened to miss “his will” for my life because of a poor decision, he would likely tell me “you’ve made your bed, now you lie in it.”

I have been taught from the womb to pray that the Holy Spirit would lead and guide me when I go to the Word of God. In junior high school, I may have had a passing question about the possibility of my faulty interpretation, but I was more into taking the Bible extremely personally. I’ll never forget the gleeful entitlement I felt when I found Proverbs 6:5, which said “free yourself… like a bird from the snare of the fowler.” Fowler was the last name of the boy I wanted to marry. He didn’t return my sentiment.

I still use that same Bible, and I am always slightly embarrassed when I have to share with someone, because I know they will see the confident personal applications of junior high in words like “basketball,” “high school,” and the initials of the boy I liked. But looking back at these scribblings, I have to wonder if I don’t do much of the same thing now, if maybe we all do. After all, even though Andrea and my father had prayed for the Holy Spirit to lead them when they approached the Scriptures, they had still come to opposite conclusions. My flustered question at this point was “why was the Holy Spirit leading them to believe totally opposite things?”

In my favorite novel, The Brothers Karamazov, two brothers, Ivan, an “atheist” intellectual, and Alyosha, a novice monk, discuss the problem of suffering and what it says about the character of God. Ivan brings in newspaper clippings detailing cases of child abuse in order to illustrate his assertion that “I accept God, but I do not accept his world.” For Ivan, the suffering of children was irreconcilable with a loving God. Alyosha, though, remains firm in his faith, willing to accept the paradox that God is good even when his world seems unjust.

My RA staff last year had a habit of getting into theological conversations about unanswerable questions such as those raised in The Brothers Karamazov. We had one “Ivan” on our staff who wanted answers that would reconcile a loving God with his sense of justice. Last year, I was the one who watched these conversations quietly, confused by his zealous anger towards not understanding.  “Ivan’s” perspective was fascinating, but I never could truly relate to it. I saw the world with the same eyes as Alyosha, and what others viewed as lack of engagement, I counted as peace.  This year though, I have been able to relate to Ivan’s perspective more than ever. Unanswerable questions have claimed a permanent home in my mind as I have become more and more aware of the seemingly unjust suffering and death in the world. But even in my questioning, I still am an Alyosha; I am more comfortable with paradox than many.

This comfort with paradox does have a negative side; I often am fearful to express conviction in any point of theology not contained in the Apostles’ Creed. If theologians who have studied the Bible their whole life have come to different conclusions, then who am I to approach the Word of God? I am often scared out of my mind about approaching Scripture, the one thing that I’ve been taught for years is the main ingredient necessary for my spiritual growth. Do I believe that the Bible is the inerrant word of God? Absolutely! Do I believe that I will come to it with my own biases and preconceived notions about God’s character? Again, absolutely.

Left to my own devices, I will inevitably distort God’s words, but I am learning that the Christian life is not about my ability to comprehend, but about God’s grace and power in my weakness. He knows that each and every one of us views life through glasses shaped by our culture, family, personality and experiences. This does not scare him, and maybe it shouldn’t scare me either. What should scare me is attempting to live as if I do have the capacity to comprehend God. It seems that the urge to fit God into a systematic theology might stem from the subconscious desire to usurp his place in our lives and become our own gods. Perhaps one of the reasons God has only allowed us to see him in a grainy photograph is to remind us that he is God, and we most definitely are not.

Maybe the differing conclusions of Andrea and my dad have less to say about the leading of the Holy Spirit and more to say about what God actually wants his followers to focus on during our few years this side of heaven. To me, the fact that they disagree says that having a monopoly on “good theology” isn’t one of God’s priorities for us during our short stint on planet earth. Jesus didn’t tell us to go therefore and make theologians; he told us to go therefore and make disciples. My focus should be on the tenets of the faith that all Christians agree on. I can trust that God is good; I can trust that God is love, and I can trust that it is his Son, not my theology, that saves me. And if I’m not taking it out of context, 1 Corinthians 13:12 tells me that one day I will know God as he is: “Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully.”

I don’t see God the way he truly is, and I am okay with that…for now. Now I hold a faded photograph, but one day I will be joyfully overwhelmed by the reality that it represents. Unanswerable questions and disagreements between Christians will continue to remind me that it is not my job to fully comprehend God, but to follow him, and I can take comfort in the fact that I worship and serve a God who refuses to be constrained to the puny dimensions of my brain.