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"Never
once in my life did I ask God for success or
wisdom or power or fame. I asked for wonder, and
he gave it to me." (Abraham
Heschel)
Party Time
When
we reduce God to a system of thought or, worse, to
an honorable and serious version of
ourselves, we violate Him.
The
rationalism of our day - and the centuries
preceding us - has turned the wildly free,
flamboyant, and ebulient Creator into a
sombre, intelligent, and generally manageable
shotgun
rider.
In
our sedate theology, He fights off the
bandits when our stagecoach comes under attack,
but generally sits quietly, hands off the reins.
We invite Him on board for the ride, precisely
because we can trust Him to sit fairly still and
cover our tail in case of trouble. He's good to
have riding beside us, eyes peeled for the Bad
Guy.
The
thought that our heavenly Father might be an
outrageous reveller or a wild artist who
thrills to splash color across the universe like a
painter with an endless canvas, is unsettling to
say the least. Yes, He may call for the fattened
calf to be killed for a celebration, but He is far
too dignified to dance heartily. He would surely
prefer to sit regally on a throne than make
mud-pies and laugh with
children.
As
we create Him in our image, we restrain Him in the
same ways that we ourselves feel restrained, and
in so doing we lose wonder and
freedom.
Catherine
of Siena, a 14th century Italian mystic, sounds
almost blasphemous to suggest that God
is "pazzo d'amore, ebro d'amore " -
crazed with love, drunk with love. God, crazy?
God, giddy? Is not self-control and seriousness
the ultimate goal of life? Isn't unbridled
exuberance a sign of youthful immaturity? Can we
really apply these terms to God and remain
respectful?
The
cosmic cop barely breaks a smile in our theology.
Could He possibly enjoy football (or better,
cricket)?
He
never relaxes. He is ever alert - and therefore,
ever tense. His watchfulness denies his
playfulness.
And
so, our theology takes on moribund tones. Our
intimacy with Him becomes measured by intensity
not levity, by seriousness not celebration. Could
it be that the artists and mystics, the playful
children and the poets, the laughing and the
light-hearted have more to teach us about God than
the weary rationalist, burdened by the seriousness
and stress of the
world?
Bring
on the color, the laughter, the dancing, the
music, and the extravagant celebrations. Perhaps
as we see the Father in this light, we'll find
permission to revel in life a little more
ourselves.
In
HOPE -
David
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