Author: Jeff

The story of Jacob is one I often forget. Jacob – a dirty trickster who would never really make your model hero in a story – was trying to appease his brother Esau, who was coming to kill Jacob. During the night, while Jacob was all alone in his camp, a man came into the camp and wrestled with Jacob. Jacob refused to let him go, until the man blessed him.

“What is your name?” the man asked. After Jacob replied, the stranger answered, “Your name will no longer be Jacob. From now on you will be called Israel, because you have fought with God.”

From the beginning of God working in the lives of his people, their very identity has been one of struggle and conflict. Often we believe and teach that God wants us to sit down, shut up, and just believe. I think there is a powerful message in the story of Jacob – that God not only invites us to wrestle with him, but often initiates the encounter.

We generally paint a picture of relationship with God as cheap, easy, and painless. The Bible defines the identity of God’s people as those who struggle with Him.

I believe, much like a quote from the Matrix, “You do not truly know someone until you fight them.” I believe God does not ask us to blindly accept, but to challenge, debate, and wrestle with Him. I believe he does not punish us for our questions and wrestling, but rather rewards us, knowing that in such encounters we, like Jacob, see him face to face.

next: I believe in a God who loves his creation

There are a lot of people in the world, over six billion at the last estimate. Six billion is a number that is hard for me to imagine in physical form. Six billion seconds is over 190 years. Six billion miles would get you to the sun and back over 32 times. I could go on, but I’ll spare you the numbers.

Over six billion people are alive today, and who knows how many have been alive throughout history. When I think of all the incredible figures throughout history, it’s hard to see how anything I do will ever register as important. It’s unlikely that I’ll change the face of science, or start some amazing religious movement, or be a pivotal part of history. It’s much more likely that I will live a long, good life, know a lot of people, and quietly fade away from human memory shortly after my death. Very few people will read this now, and probably none will read it in 20 years. To be blunt, I’m not that important.

But in spite of that, God says I am important. “What is the price of five sparrows?” Jesus asks. “Two copper coins? Yet God does not forget a single one of them. And the very hairs on your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are more to God than a whole flock of sparrows” (Luke 12:6-7). David writes that God knew us and knit us together before we were born. Paul writes that God determined the places that each of us would live, hoping that we might seek him and find him, though he is not far from each of us. Many times, God is pictured as a shepherd who knows his sheep and calls them by name.

I believe in a shepherd who knows the sheep he created. I believe he thinks every sheep is so important that he is willing to leave ninety-nine who are safe in order to find one – only one – who is in danger, away from the safety of the flock under the shepherd’s care. I believe that in spite of the vastness and enormity of the universe, the God who can comprehend all of that somehow and for some reason knows my name, and cares about what happens in my life.

next: I believe in a God who wrestles with me

When God tells Moses to lead his people out of captivity, Moses asks God for his name. People of his day believed that if they knew the name of a God, it would give them power over that God. God’s response to Moses is striking – “I am who I am” – he says. “I will be who I will be” – not who you want me to be, not who you think I should be – “I will be who I will be.” Often I want God to be who I want him to be, to fix my problems and do my bidding. I want control over God, or at the very least I want to be God in my own life. I believe in the Christian God because he doesn’t let me do that. He doesn’t say, “If you follow this set of rules and do everything right, then I’m obligated to reward you with an eternity in paradise” – instead he makes me rather uncomfortable.

“I will show mercy to anyone I choose, and I will show compassion to anyone I choose.” (Ex 33:19) God tells Moses. “It is God who decides to show mercy. We can neither choose it nor work for it,” Paul writes (Rom 9:16). Through the prophet Isaiah, God speaks: “Does a clay pot ever argue with its maker? Does the clay dispute with the one who shapes it, saying, ‘Stop, you are doing it wrong!’ Does the pot exclaim, ‘How clumsy can you be!’ How terrible it would be if a newborn baby said to its father and mother, ‘Why was I born? Why did you make me this way?’ Do you question what I do? Do you give me orders about the work of my hands?” (Isa 45:9-11)

If I could control God and make him do exactly what I wanted, he would be a fairly impotent God. Sometimes he does things I don’t like. Sometimes he does things I can’t explain. But he is true to His character – not mine. I believe that if there is a God, I shouldn’t be able to control him and make him do exactly what I want, but that I should stand in amazement when I survey the incredible things he has done.

next: I believe in a God who thinks I’m important

It is obvious that bad things happen in the world. It is obvious that people are wicked. It is obvious that evil exists, and that sometimes it appears to win.

If God is worthy of worship, his character must punish evil. He must be a God of Justice.

“Listen to me, you stubborn people who are so far from doing right. I am ready to set things right, not in the distant future, but right now!” God declares (Isa 46:12-13). “I am coming soon, bringing my reward with me to repay all people according to their deeds” (Rev 22:12).

It is easy to look at the injustice in the world and wonder what God is doing, even concluding that he cannot exist – but justice delayed is not justice denied. I think of the impossibility of juggling the schedules of fifteen people, and then think of God attempting to arrange justice for billions of people. The teacher in the book of Ecclesiastes notes, “When the sentence for a crime is not quickly carried out, the hearts of people are filled with schemes to do wrong. Although a wicked man commits a hundred crimes and still lives a long time, I know that it will go better with God-fearing men, who are reverent before God. Yet because the wicked do not fear God, it will not go well with them” (Eccl 8:11-13).

I believe in a God whose justice is perfect, but in ways I cannot understand or comprehend. I believe that he is coming – and hopefully soon – to set things right. And on that day, I believe with all my heart that no one will be able to stand before God and say, “I was treated unfairly – I didn’t get what I deserved.”

next: I believe in a God I can’t control

I mess things up a lot. Even when I’m trying to do my best, somehow I have a huge tendency to take a really good thing and make it go horribly wrong. It’s easily apparent to me that I don’t treat people like I should, that I get angry, that I’m selfish. I disappoint my friends and family, I think bad thoughts about people, I try to make myself look more important than I am, and often that’s before I’ve finished my morning cup of coffee.

If there’s a God up there who matters, and if he’s watching my life, I know I’m in big trouble. I know if there’s some eternal balance sheet, I’m way in the red, with no hope of climbing my way out – and I’m what most people would consider to be a fairly “good” person.

I think Paul sums it up well in his messy internal dialog – “The trouble is with me,” he says, “for I am all too human.” He continues, “I don’t really understand myself, for I want to do what is right, but I don’t do it. Instead I do what I hate. … I want to do what is right, but I can’t. I want to do what is good, but I don’t. I don’t want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway. … I have discovered this principle of life – that when I want to do what is right, I inevitably do what is wrong. I love God’s law with all my heart. But there is another power within me that is at war with my mind” (Rom 7:14-23).

If there’s a God who matters to how I live my life, I need him to be a little gracious. In fact, I need him to be *very* gracious.

Paul again – “No one can ever be made right with God by doing what his law commands. For the more we know God’s law, the clearer it becomes that we aren’t obeying it.”

“But now, God has shown us a different way of being made right in his sight – not by obeying the law but by the way promised in the Scriptures long ago. We are made right in God’s sight when we trust in Jesus Christ to take away our sins. And we can all be saved in this same way, no matter who we are or what we have done.”

“For all have sinned; all fall short of God’s glorious standard. Yet now God in his gracious kindness declares us not guilty” (Rom 3:20-24).

I believe in a God who says that I can be right in his sight – declared not guilty – no matter who I am or what I’ve done. For someone who’s done quite a bit and isn’t very loveable – for someone who reads Paul’s internal struggle and identifies all too well – those are wonderful words.

next: I believe in a God who is Just

After deciding that it’s possible for a God to exist, I believe the most important question becomes, “Does it matter?” If not, there are no more questions to answer. If it does, far more questions are opened up.

It would be entirely possible for a God to exist, but for him to have created the universe and let it go on its merry way, seeking neither contact nor being active in its daily workings. Additionally, a God could be actively involved in the affairs of the universe, but essentially using the human race as amusement and little else, like a small boy using a magnifying glass on an anthill.
If a God like that did exist, I don’t think he would really be worthy of worship and adoration. Disdain or apathy, perhaps, but not worship. In order for a God to be worthy of worship, I feel like he must make a difference in our lives, and how we live them.

I believe the Christian God does matter. I think he actively engages humanity, and that as Creator, he speaks to us about how we are created, and why we exist. I believe when he says, “You should love each other,” he doesn’t do it just because he thinks it’s a good idea – like a master builder he *knows* how each of us was created, and how the moral laws of the universe work. When he tells us that mercy triumphs over judgment, love over hatred, service over selfishness – these are not theoretical ideas from an ivory tower philosopher, but realities from the designer of the system. But more than being realities of the designer for our lives, they are a reflection of his character – a character that governs our lives, character that matters.

next: I believe in a God who is gracious.

I originally intended this post to be one semi-long and thought out post, but it’s becoming rapidly clear it would be better to serialize it, perhaps one part per day or every couple of days. As you read, I would encourage you to think and perhaps write about your thoughts. If you’d like to email them to me, I would love to hear them, and perhaps post them.

In the Beginning…

In religious dialogue, non-believers often ask me, “Why do you believe in God?” Often, they are asking the question, “How can you believe in *any* God?”, but at least a fair percentage of the time what they really mean is the independent but related question, “Why do you believe in *your* God?” Many times as Christians we get caught up in trying to promote Yahweh God to total atheists, rather than recognizing that the question of whether *a* God exists is independent of whether *our* God exists. The first question is debated to a Scottish verdict on both sides in many places, and I’ve thrown my two cents on the matter here and there, though I’m certainly not an expert in many of the issues involved.

In spite of this, I’ve never attempted to craft a cogent answer to what would seem to be one of the key questions to someone who believes in a higher power: “Which ‘God’ do you believe in, and why that particular one?”

First, I think it’s essential to acknowledge my bias as much as possible: I am a white, middle-class American, born in the Bible Belt to Christian parents. I grew up going to church every Sunday in a mainstream Christian denomination, so I was indoctrinated at an early age. I am an applied scientist by training, with hobbies in philosophy and history, a great admiration for eastern philosophy, and a habit of thinking more than I should. In college, I began to deconstruct many of the tenets of the faith I’d been raised with, forced in many ways to reexamine their validity in a new and changing world. I am no stranger to doubt, and earnestly hope that I will continue to struggle with my faith and what it means to believe in God for the rest of my life, knowing that “the unexamined life is not worth living.” In my journey, I have encountered hundreds of wonderful and loving people – Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, Atheists, Agnostics – each of whom has taught me something about life and about God, each of whom I have tremendous respect for. Often I wonder what my life would have been like and what my beliefs would be if I’d instead been born in Saudi Arabia, Sub-Saharan Africa, or New York City – would I still believe in the God I know and love today?

The only answer, of course, is to honestly say “I don’t know.” But in my journey of faith with its ups and downs, I have attempted to come to terms with why I believe in *this* God, instead of some other, and if there might perhaps be some “better” God to believe in. This is only a reflection of where I am in my walk now, but the exercise has been useful to me, and perhaps will encourage others (yes, even you) to examine your own life for *your* answers.

next: I believe in a God who matters…

to live simply, justly, and with integrity;
to humble yourself before the Lord;
to love all people as Christ;
to give of yourself more than you think you have;
to rejoice in triumph,
to mourn in sorrow,
to trust in doubt:
this is the sum of all things.