I love days like that. When the sun streams through the dappled canopy of trees and falls in literal rays onto the ground like a gentle caress.
When I was a child, I used to think that the streaming light was God personified in matter. Back then I was too young for metaphors, to infantile to see the truth in my blunder.
Now, I think it's a beautiful thought. And while it's not necessarily God personified in matter, it's got that whole Buddhist thing going on. You know: God is in everything and everything is God.
When I was a child, I used to think that the streaming light was God personified in matter. Back then I was too young for metaphors, to infantile to see the truth in my blunder.
Now, I think it's a beautiful thought. And while it's not necessarily God personified in matter, it's got that whole Buddhist thing going on. You know: God is in everything and everything is God.
Like The Beatles sang, "I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together."
I had an English professor at uni who made us study the lyrics of I Am the Walrus.
Then we had a rather deep discussion about intention and interpretation and whether something could still have meaning even if the creator didn't assign a meaning to it. It was one of those lessons where people quoted Sassure too much and made cultural references to Bill Clinton's "It depends how you define 'is'" defense. And at the end of the lecture, we all went the bar on campus and ordered vodka shots and gin and tonics and put I Am the Walrus on the pub's jukebox and danced.
But that question has stayed with me: can something have meaning if meaning wasn't assigned to it at its creation?
In Christianity, the answer is yes. Modern Christians are quick to assign meaning and interpretation to 99.9% of the Bible. Often, though, that meaning and interpretation is grossly self-serving.
It's like ... if you look hard enough, you can always find one person to agree with you. Christians apply that to the Scriptures: if they interpret it just right, they can find the answer they want to find in the text. But when you know you know the Bible and when you know you know your relationship with Christ, it's not necessary.
I'd argue this: the kinds of people who constantly take verses and twist them into balloon animals to match the theme of their own party are the kinds of Christians I'm most afraid of. They're the ones hellbent on justifying every action and making black and white rules for all Christians and are incapable of believing in a malleable God.
They're the kinds of Christians who scream the loudest and are the brashest and are the most embarrassing. The ones who stand in front of progress, who don't fully grasp Revelations 1:8. For me, when God says, "which is and which was and which is to come" it is reflected in our relationship with Him. In the different ways humans have approached God in the past, in how we approach Him now and how we will in the future. It's that beautiful malleability of a consistent and just God. Where consistency and justice are capable of looking differently for everyone while still being the same.
I'll say it this way: when God says He is the same; He does not change. I take that to meaning He is just. And that justness allows Him to be all the things that He is to me and all the different things that He has to you and all the different things that He is to someone else. So His consistency is in His differing relationships with us all.
It's like those rays streaming down into the forest. At the top of the tree, those rays of light are being gathered by the tree, stored for food. At the bottom of the tree, the rays are shedding light on a prey so a predator can eat again and can feed its young. They're providing sustenance for growing plants and light for other creatures. They're falling gracefully through the forest, creating leading lines for the photographer's camera, and they're serving as a reminder to this writer and believer that God often manifests Himself in nature. For all those things, He is something different but constantly the same.
When you know you know Him, you'll begin to see Him in everything.
I had an English professor at uni who made us study the lyrics of I Am the Walrus.
Then we had a rather deep discussion about intention and interpretation and whether something could still have meaning even if the creator didn't assign a meaning to it. It was one of those lessons where people quoted Sassure too much and made cultural references to Bill Clinton's "It depends how you define 'is'" defense. And at the end of the lecture, we all went the bar on campus and ordered vodka shots and gin and tonics and put I Am the Walrus on the pub's jukebox and danced.
But that question has stayed with me: can something have meaning if meaning wasn't assigned to it at its creation?
In Christianity, the answer is yes. Modern Christians are quick to assign meaning and interpretation to 99.9% of the Bible. Often, though, that meaning and interpretation is grossly self-serving.
It's like ... if you look hard enough, you can always find one person to agree with you. Christians apply that to the Scriptures: if they interpret it just right, they can find the answer they want to find in the text. But when you know you know the Bible and when you know you know your relationship with Christ, it's not necessary.
I'd argue this: the kinds of people who constantly take verses and twist them into balloon animals to match the theme of their own party are the kinds of Christians I'm most afraid of. They're the ones hellbent on justifying every action and making black and white rules for all Christians and are incapable of believing in a malleable God.
They're the kinds of Christians who scream the loudest and are the brashest and are the most embarrassing. The ones who stand in front of progress, who don't fully grasp Revelations 1:8. For me, when God says, "which is and which was and which is to come" it is reflected in our relationship with Him. In the different ways humans have approached God in the past, in how we approach Him now and how we will in the future. It's that beautiful malleability of a consistent and just God. Where consistency and justice are capable of looking differently for everyone while still being the same.
I'll say it this way: when God says He is the same; He does not change. I take that to meaning He is just. And that justness allows Him to be all the things that He is to me and all the different things that He has to you and all the different things that He is to someone else. So His consistency is in His differing relationships with us all.
It's like those rays streaming down into the forest. At the top of the tree, those rays of light are being gathered by the tree, stored for food. At the bottom of the tree, the rays are shedding light on a prey so a predator can eat again and can feed its young. They're providing sustenance for growing plants and light for other creatures. They're falling gracefully through the forest, creating leading lines for the photographer's camera, and they're serving as a reminder to this writer and believer that God often manifests Himself in nature. For all those things, He is something different but constantly the same.
When you know you know Him, you'll begin to see Him in everything.