The God we see is God we need
Jerry Johnston
It was a good answer, though I thought for sure she'd say St. Paul's in London.
St. Paul's is a jewel in the Episcopal (Anglican) crown. I've been there. Inside, the dome is so lofty it seems to rival the dome of heaven. There's a feeling of mankind aspiring there — of human beings being lifted, ascending like angels. I had just the opposite feeling in the Shrine of Guadalupe in Mexico City. There, the feeling was one of God descending, of God coming down to embrace and comfort.
I asked Bishop Katharine (The Most Rev. Katharine Jefferts Schori) about those two impressions. She leaned forward and spoke earnestly, saying she marveled at how God tends to showcase his presence in a way that touches people deeply. In Mexico, during the conquest, the people were hurting, oppressed and fearful. The God that came to them came to heal and encourage.
In short, she said, the God we see is the God we need.
I've thought about that comment several times this week.
I think she's right.
The God we see is the God we need.
God came to Moses as fire — as something sanctifying and cleansing. But when Elijah looked for God in the fire, he wasn't there. He came another way — as a still, small voice.
Balaam got instructions from the mouth of a donkey. Maybe that was the only way God could get the stubborn old man's attention.
The God we see is the God we need.
I have friends who head for the hills at every chance to marvel at the miracles there. They are almost mystics. They feel the power of God in the open spaces. I also have family members who feel that same power in the small, enclosed sanctuaries of sacred buildings.
Both get the God that they need.
For my friend Michael Kelly Blanchard, the Christian songwriter, God comes in the form of other people. When Michael sees a young man helping an old woman or hears a father patiently explaining life to a child, he says to himself, "There's God, right there."
I suspect that's the way it is for all of us. We see God a dozen different ways.
In the hymn "A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief," he comes to the door as a person in need.
Has he come to me like that?
Did I turn him away?
Has he shown up as a relative looking for family connection, a salesman looking for a way to get beyond the buying and selling, as a criminal feeling desperate and alone?
Did I see him when my son took his first breath — or was I too busy celebrating?
Did I see him in those tamales given to me in gratitude by a struggling family?
Was he with Bishop Katharine as she spoke about "the dome of heaven" and getting the God we need?
I think he was.
From St. Paul's to Guadalupe, from the mountains to the inner sanctums, it's probably harder to find places where God isn't than places where he is.
But it takes more than looking. It always has.
It takes eyes willing to see.
E-mail: jerjohn@desnews.com
Recent comments
The heart can be so deluded and deceived that it sees whatever it...
Anonymous | April 30, 2008 at 1:16 p.m.
I would just like to thank Jerry for reminding us to open our eyes...
SBraman | April 30, 2008 at 12:43 p.m.
Charlotte,
I see god in the springtime - coming up as grass...
Anonymous | April 30, 2008 at 10:20 a.m.
