This was the morning of studying small children. I saw them in Trader Joe’s; I saw them in Von’s; I saw them in a parking lot. They were with their parents.
And they were adorable. So cute. So happy. So protected.
One little girl was with her sister and her father. Father and daughter were talking, and the only part of the conversation that I heard was this:
Little girl: "I’m not a sidekick. She’s a sidekick." (Pointing to her sister.)
Father: "Not sidekick. Psychic." (All adults grin.)
1. Theology lurking.
There’s theology lurking here somewhere.
Some of my friends who are not believers hold a theological magic lamp. Its genii banishes any notion of the existence of God. That magic lamp is evil in the world. If God exists and God is good, why does that evil exist?
I am mortal and limited in my understanding, like they are. So ultimately they should take up an issue this big with God. If they don’t wish to go to God with their accusation, then they might find someone who has really, really suffered, and who believes. And they should ask that person, "Why"?
But here is a limited answer from a limited man:
You are asking the wrong question.
2. Why is there good in the world?
Because the better question is this: if power is irresistible, and if power corrupts, and if some folk have an almost supernatural ability to accumulate power, why is there good in the world?
Why can these lovely children be fed and protected and loved by prosperous, safe parents?
3. The difference a question makes.
I heard of a scholar, a theologian, who studied God and evil. He spent years peering into grotesque events. After years of investigation, he ceased to believe.
I can’t judge him, but maybe that was bound to happen.
Maybe Paul had his reasons when he said in Philippians 4:4-9 (NRSV):
Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, and the God of peace will be with you.
Maybe Paul had his reasons when he said in 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 (NRSV):
Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.
In a world where circumstances and powers and principalities conspire to steal away confidence in God, this habit of thanksgiving shelters faith.
Not that our thinking can add or subtract from God. He is not Tinkerbell.
But Hamlet is a theological play, and that theological play says this in act 2, scene 2: "[T]here is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so." Thinking affects belief. It affects how we know the world to be; that affects our ability to see what is within the cloud that surrounds God.
4. Easier for some than others.
It’s easier for me to give this answer, sitting in my office munching crusty french bread and sipping cold water, than it is for a woman sitting at the sterile bedside of her infant who’s lungs are failing. Or a holocaust survivor. Or a man without food for himself and his family. I cannot judge these people if they cannot believe, or if they cannot give thanks.
And maybe it’s easier for me to say what I say than it was for Paul himself. Or maybe not. But Paul did say these things, and in his life he was blinded, shipwrecked, beaten, whipped, stoned and left for dead, starved, exposed in harsh weather, and imprisoned. Yet he believed.
Thank you, Lord, for Paul. He inspires me.
5. What to do.
But the fact is that it’s easier to believe when your mind is not seized with suffering, as some people’s minds are.
So it’s right, first, to pray, as Jesus said, that we not come into a time of trial.(Mark 4:38 (NRSV).) He said this to his disciples in Gethsemane, as he knew he was about to be arrested, tortured, and crucified. Cruel circumstances have made the hopefulness of better people than me whither. Although for others, it has increased their faith.
Second, it is our missionary duty to help those who suffer. This theology regards the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (food stamps) as a sacrament.
And we need to remember to be grateful to God in good times. We should remember to be grateful to see adorable, happy, safe, well-fed children. If we can’t do that, we have no hope when trouble comes.
Annie Dillard is brilliant. Someone asked me why no American public intellectuals believed in God. She was the first candidate I thought of, she of the Pulitzer Prize.
I knew that she believed because I knew some of her work.
This was a woman who wrote about feeling her way through a library at night and taking a book that her hand landed on in the dark. When she turned on the light, the book was The Story of My Life, by Helen Keller. A numinous moment.
I read Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. It’s a memoir, but it’s theology. I read parts of Teaching a Stone to Talk; parts only, because I left it in a hotel room. At the time, I wanted every American Christian to read "An Expedition to the Pole". I thought that to complacent believers, reading it would be like a groggy man splashing his face from a basin of icy water, though the details of it are hazy now, years later. To me, at the time, it was proof that Annie Dillard got it.
But now, her web page says that she doesn’t believe. Under "Religion", she says "None."
"An Expedition to the Pole" contains a description of a feeble church service, which, however, she found sacredness in. As I understand her website, she now calls it "hilarious".
It’s tempting to wonder what happened. I know some outline of her life, and there are things in that outline that I’m tempted to peer into for an explanation. But that would be glib. The truth is, I have no idea. The truth is that I don’t know what happened in the head of this brilliant stranger who once wrote of God with awe and reverence. I don’t know what happened between this brilliant stranger and a God that I understood better when I followed her thoughts.
She is smarter than me, so her unbelief would be more deeply-thought than my belief.
The unbelief of Annie Dillard absolves anyone of unbelief who has tried to climb to God on a tower that they built with ideas and analysis and knowledge. If Annie Dillard’s brilliance was not wings that would hold the wind of God, then no brilliance is.
And if I must admit that I don’t know why Annie Dillard doesn’t believe, then I also must admit that I don’t know why my friends who don’t believe tread the paths of the world like I do, but don’t see what I see or hope for what I hope for.
And if I must admit that I don’t know why Annie Dillard does not believe, then I can’t know that my own faith won’t pull away, or slip away, or wither away.
I know little of her life; I know none of her future. One day the story of her life will be fully written; that time is not now.
I don’t presume to know the end of that story; nor the end of my story; nor the end of my friends’ stories; nor the end of my family’s stories. These stories are being written. And the best stories go in directions that, looking ahead, you do not see, but, looking back, seem inevitable.
But in the meantime, I cannot count on smarts. What then? Sometimes, when my mind wobbles my faith, I look to God with desperation and hope and say, If I don’t believe in you, I have no hope at all!
I believe because I want to believe. I believe because I believe that life would be unbearable without belief. God forbid that I should be offered some bright worldly prize, a promise of prosperity or prestige or happiness, the price of which is unbelief, paid then or later.
I can keep praying. I can continue to pray for God to draw me to him, to make me grow in faith and love.
I can keep reading the Bible to learn how to live, then live that way. This is called Building your house upon a rock, so that when the storm comes, your house isn’t swept away.
I can keep seeking the company of believers, to surround myself with witnesses to faith.
I can keep remembering those moments in my life when the supernatural has intersected with the natural.
Most of all, I can keep hoping in God’s grace to make me believe, grace to resist what would take me away from God. I can’t control God’s grace, but I can hope in it. "For [the Lord] says to Moses, ‘I will have mercy on whom I have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I have compassion.’" (Romans 9:15 (NRSV).) I can hope he will have mercy on me, and that I will receive his mercy humbly, not boasting in merit
