May 15 Thursday
Why is God always so silent, so far away?
Why can’t God just come down and talk to me – like a regular guy?”
Here’s the problem. If God showed up “as a regular guy” and said, “Hi, I’m here; you said you wanted to talk,” what would you do? Wouldn’t your first reaction be: “You’re not God. You can’t be God. You’re just a regular guy! You’re just walking on the ground, and you’re getting sweaty in the hot sun, you’re not dazzling white, and you’re even kind of scruffy-looking.”
“Well, you said you wanted to talk to me just like a regular guy. So, I’m a regular guy.”
“Alright,” says God, “what would I need to do to show you?”
“How about some miracles?” you say.
“What kind of miracle do you think would convince you?” asks God.
“Maybe you could zap some people with a lightning bolt,” you say.
“That wouldn’t show that I’m the just, loving God of the Old and New Testament. That would only show that I might be a subordinate deity like Zeus or Apollo.
“Oh, right,” you reply. “Well, how about making a big volcano or a massive earthquake right here in town?”
“So now you want me to kill even more people?” says God. “Destroy countless homes? Unsettle the delicate balance of nature? Would that prove that I’m ‘God,’ or would it show that I’m a very powerful, but bad, deity?”
“How about levitating?” you ask.
“Haven’t you seen magicians do that?” asks God. “And do you want to know whether I’m God, the Creator of All Things, or whether I’m a Marvel superhero?”
You see the problem? What could the Incarnate God do or say to prove to you that He is, in fact, God, and not some person or being pretending to be God? Although you say you want Him to be a “regular guy,” His being a “regular guy” makes it difficult, if not impossible, for you to believe that He is God. And if he does certain “god-like” things like zapping people or showing off His divine power, this would prove that he isn’t the wise, loving God of Christian faith but a demon. So, you’re in kind of a bind.
“I’ve got it,” you say. “How about if you overcome death?”
“Just for you, or for everyone?” asks God.
Having become wiser to the fact that if you say, “Just me,” and He says okay, this would show that He is an evil deity, tempting you, not the God of all Goodness. So, you say: “Everyone.”
“Do you want me to keep everyone alive for all eternity, getting older and older with no new children so the world doesn’t get jammed?”
That doesn’t make immortality sound as good as you thought it would, so you ask: “Isn’t there some other way?”
“Yes,” says God, “but you’d have to get beyond death into a different kind of life.”
“That sounds good,” you say. “What would this different kind of life be like? Would there still be burritos and margaritas and puppies?”
“Nothing good in this world could be absent in the next, since you would be united with the Source of the Goodness of all that is good.”
“Okay, that’s good,” you say. “So, how do you show that you’ve conquered death for us?”
“Well,” says God. “To show it, I’d have to die and then rise from the dead to make possible your entry into this new life.”
“Wait,” you say. “If you die, then we’re back to the original problem. People won’t know that you’re God. Gods don’t die. You’d look like you were just a guy who died.”
“Any better ideas about how I could show people that I love them so much that I am willing to die for them, and that I can help them overcome sin and death, but they have to selfishness, and give themselves selflessly to others, even in the face of the threat of suffering and death? Because zapping people or earthquakes or flying around and shooting laser beams out of my eyes won’t show what I want to show.”
So maybe, since you’re God, and you’re, like, all-wise and stuff, maybe we should just go with your dying and rising-from-the-dead thing.”
Excerpts from Randall Smith