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There are often times when I wonder if God is hiding. Stepping aside and concealing traceable fragments of His existence, he asks ‘Do you believe I am here?’ I would very much like to say that, without swerving, I do. It is not as simple as I often assume it to be. I must account for the apprehension in my answer. My desire to accept these things on faith tries to keep pace with my reluctance to believe. It is not infrequent for my doubt and trust to crusade like zealots one against the other. This reminds me of the father who came to Jesus wanting healing for his son (Mark 9:24). He also agonized over the tug-of-war between belief and unbelief. These are not the best of bedfellows, I confess. However, things are not always as they appear, or in this case, do not appear. Which, by the way, is only a fraction of the problem. According to my narrow and tainted perception, I was created a creature of doubt. (Yes, I’m dispensing the large excuses early.) You can claim what you like about yourself, but my resources were limited at birth. I was allotted a few senses which, by definition, only record the physical world in which I currently reside. They do not have any direct measure of what we call spiritual phenomenon. I may even pronounce events or experiences as spiritual precisely because I am unable to detect them with my senses. For instance, those things deemed ‘supernatural’ are equated with the spiritual because they lie outside of my natural world—a world defined by physical perceptions. I take for granted that some of my senses are ambiguous in nature and open to interpretation. I hardly expect my experiences of taste and smell to be identical to those smelling and tasting the exact same meal as myself. Others will have varying sensitivities and even allergies to minute quantities of ingredients, which taint their tastes with respect to mine. The word ‘taste’ itself is even taken to mean an individual’s preferences built around their unique perspective. Yet, it is also true that my more relied-upon senses can deliver the same lack of certainty. Even within the limited spectra recorded by my eyes and ears, they cannot be considered scribes of unswerving truth. Resolution and accuracy are restricted to varying degrees for every individual. All of these imperfect senses are further degraded by prevailing environmental conditions before transferring their resulting messages to the mind for further manipulation. It is more than a bit disconcerting to realize that the organic pulp between my ears resonates, however imperfectly, with more than just the audible, but my entire spectrum of life experiences. This being the central communication hub of my identity, is noticeably impaired when the body containing it encounters the slightest abuse. Consider that matters as trivial as my decision of when to sleep or my choice of tasty victuals, weight the balance of elements controlling my mind. These sorts of factors continually influence which inputs and ideas are accepted for further evaluation. The thoughts and events that are finally successful in navigating into the mind must then prepare for altercations with previous inhabitants. Thoughts such as “Remember that password,” “Write that article,” or “Move that limb” are competing on a finite stage against other formidable intruding streams such as “Wow, look at her!” Once a place of residence is found, a base of preconceptions color each mental formation. These stains result from a lifetime of previous input. Actually that’s how the old noodle tricks me into believing it’s working so well. It’s just taking snippets of information and jamming them into formed cubbyholes of similar size and shape. Sometimes it rounds off the edges of a square peg and sometimes it misses altogether. But a good percentage of the time, it impresses me with the right stereotype at the right time. Yes, my thought processes are prejudiced to expect solid resistance from concrete steps, burning taste buds from steaming liquids, and extra work from wiry-haired bosses. This all goes on quite unnoticed, allowing me to stay out of the local long-term care facility. The point is that the core machine receiving and interpreting data from my inaccurate senses is itself not the picture of objectivity. Things I encounter are not ‘seen’ exactly as they are, but are persuaded to fit the model of life I so dearly harbor. If all goes well, and assuming proper alignment of the planets, I may indeed record the occasional event in a similar fashion as my neighbor. But, how would either person know that this has been a shared revelation? This is where the whole process of communication between people comes in and spoils everything. Once I’ve determined what it is that’s been observed, deduced or fabricated, I usually like the option of transferring these objects of cognition to others. The reasons for doing so are numerous and varied. Simple comparisons, request for feedback or service, manipulation, derision or simple domination are just a few of the motivations people not unlike myself have for conveying their view. Typically, this transmission is done through established language. My preference being English, “God, save the Queen!” Language, as anyone reading this should be aware, is malleable. There may be individuals dredging through this article, convinced it is a meandering critique of local culinary practices. I have no desire to try to persuade them otherwise. And such is the nature of words. After a decade or two of schooling, most become aware of formal definitions, accepted constructs and various connotations making up their language of choice. Supposing that this language, the local dialects, social background and educational experience are held in common by two persons attempting communication, there are still a myriad of ways to mince meanings. Nuances of tone and inflection combine with subtle body language to give final twists of implication. Don’t despair, for if communication were capable of perfection, there may be no distinguishing those who were interacting. Flawless communication would require a removal of all the variables and obstacles discussed, such as the pesky cerebrum. I’ll live with the imperfection of word and letter, thanks. I consider this a colorful world in which to live. No bizarre happenings are needed to create variation and excitement, only simple discussion by peculiar peoples, and this plays but a small part of the human drama. Even so, some prefer to enhance this excitement with random blurbs of incomprehension directed at passing strangers for the sole purpose of skewing their predictive behavioral diagrams. But overall, this existence is more preferable than the life of the literalist over on the fourth planet. As blissful as it all may seem, this relative ignorance of my absolute status presents me with certain challenges. If I believe that I was created by God, then I must also accept that God at some point intended this interface between physical and spiritual to be difficult to traverse. It would be most convenient to blame Adam for squandering a wide open track to the Big Guy by abusing his membership in the world’s premier nudist resort, but no one was born with the means for direct detection of the spiritual realm. It requires God to breach the barrier, for I am incapable. But herein lies a paradox. For He will not come to me until I believe He will. This belief must supersede all of the results returned from my senses, which have no discernible indication of spiritual reality. Senses that were created by the one who requires me to disregard their jumbles of intuitive evidence. This is perhaps the greatest challenge of self-discipline. Will I exert the control that I am allotted to persuade my fat and flesh to follow Christ? Can I not read my response as a thermometer of my belief? I know that if I choose to believe, I am also choosing to obey. The simple phrase “only believe” can be the source of endless consternation. However, God reiterates his desire to meet me at the point of belief. I often feel like that father asking for help with his unbelief. It was at this point of asking that Jesus aided his faith by healing the son. The smallest faith can be rewarded with evidence. It is during these times of childlike acceptance that I have been rewarded with the most compelling of evidence. Not the least of which are the changes in deeply sown attitudes and natural inclinations that are brought about by acceptance. For what reason, I am not sure, God requires that I set aside the need for confirmation before He will then manifest Himself. Still, I am a belligerent and analytical sort who grows inflexible with tides of earthly inputs. Without regular feeding, my spirit grows weak. These physical judgments are communicated with fallible humans through fluctuating language, detected by imperfect sensors and deciphered by impressionistic minds. This is what I am given to discern my world. Do I consider it worth the cost of faith to attempt a direct communication with the mind of the creator? He may seem hidden, but if belief is risked, he may just prove me by showing himself.
ninetyandnine.com © David Schultz, 1999 -------- While he likes to think himself distinct, David Schultz finds himself at pasture near St. Louis with the rest of a local herd. Have an opinion on an article? Let us know how you feel! Click feedback & fill us in. |
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