God Beyond the Trivia

When I was a kid in Sunday school, our teacher asked us this question:

"Can God make a rock so big that He can't even move it?"

Even though I was 12, that question struck me as bogus. One that I would later come to find out to be on par with, "How many angels can fit on the head of a pin."

The reformers had a pretty sweet answer to questions like that. There was an on-going battle of half-wit theologians who were trying to decifer what God was doing before He created the world. The reformers' answer:

"He was creating hell for people who pry into mysteries."

You've gotta love an answer like that. It like when the Pharisees came asking Jesus where He got His powers in Matthew 21. Far from playing along with their little politically charged game, Jesus poses them another brain-buster in return:

"I'll answer you that if you can tell me where John the Baptist got His power."

This was a provocative question, and the Pharisees had no answer at all for it, because neither of their potential answers would meet their self-serving purposes. If they say John's authority was from heaven, then that doesn't square with the fact that they opposed him and eventually had him whacked.

On the other hand, if they say his authority came from man (which is really what they think), then a riot is going to break out immediately, because the people overhearing this conversation believed whole-heartedly that John was a prophet of God.

Jesus then goes into a couple of parables that depict God's chosen people--Israel, and more specifically, the Pharisees--rejecting and killing not just the prophets (i.e. John), but the Son Himself (i.e. Jesus). Now that's what you call conversation domination!

What do these questions have in common? They're irrelevant, and therefore, irreverent and even sacrelgious. When God comes to us, He doesn't come in the form of a brain-teaser, whipping up gargantuan stones that He may or may not be able to lift.

He also doesn't come in the form of a decoder ring, breaking down His every thought from eternity past. He doesn't come to answer all of our self-serving curiosities.

But still, when God comes to us, questions are answered and His Truth--He Himself--is revealed. When Jesus, the eternal Word of God, takes on flesh, He is "full of grace and truth." After all, He is "the way, the truth and the life."

In Jesus, we are given "all things that pertain to life and godliness." That means God doesn't just reveal to us tid-bits or trivia about Himself, but rather, in Christ we see and know all things neccesary to know God and live for Him.

Let's put this into practical terms: When Christ is revealed, we don't receive any insight into God's creative ability as it pertains to rocks, but we do discover something about suffering.

In Christ, we see that God not only knows and cares about our pain, but He comes down and joins us in it. Christ--the very essence of God--who was eternally loved and cherished by the God the Father, took on flesh and lived among us.

It's like the song says: "What if God was one of us/Just a slob like one of us/Just a stranger on a bus..."

Well, He was one of us. He came and joined us in our suffering, and in fact, suffered much more than we could ever imagine.

Do we know the pain of watching the innocent suffer? What about the pain of losing a loved one? A mother, or even a son?

The beauty of the Gospel is that God not only knows all about our suffering, He identifies with it to the maximum degree. Picture Christ, naked and alone on a cross, what does He cry? "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?!"

He knows all about our suffering. He has experienced it to the max. But that is little comfort if that's all that He's done. What if God knows all about our suffering and even identifies with us, but can't do anything about it? That is little consolation, if any.

We need a God that is stronger than our suffering, One who goes toe-to-toe with death itself and comes out on top. Picture Christ, risen and exalted, and what does the Father say, "You are my Son, today I have begotten you ... Sit at my right hand until I make your enemies a footstool to your feet."

God creating universe-sized rocks that He's barely able to lift means absolutely nothing to me. Christ on the cross, suffering for me and conquering death on my behalf--now that means absolutely everything to me.

What's it mean to you?

Dental Drilling, Gospel Wounding

I'm not a big fan of pain, and even less so when it comes to my mouth.

Because of that, I usually avoid the going to dentist at all costs. Come to think of it, cost also has a good deal to do with why I generally steer clear of road signs directing me to anyone bearing the initials "D.D.S.".

Call me crazy, but I don't normally look for ways to lose money and endure pain at the same time.

What is the cost? Great.

How will it feel? Not so good.

Count me in!

One of my favorite things that the dentist tends to ask is, "How are you feeling?" Not so good, actually, you've got a drill in my mouth and I'm just praying that the needle you shoved into my gums not too long ago does its job and keeps me numb.

Maybe they're asking the wrong question. Maybe (ok, probably) the reason I'm there at the dentist has more to do with setting my disheveled mouth back in order than it has to do with my momentary comfort.

But notice, I said "momentary comfort," because what I hope and expect to gain from this momentary discomfort--or, in the words of Paul, "this momentary affliction"--has everything to do with my future comfort, my future health, and my future happiness.

Dentally, I don't want to be like my dad, whose teeth betray him like Julius Caesar's good buddy Brutus on a daily basis. It's time to take action now, while there's still time to save my 32 teammates.

All this to say that the more serious our situation, the more we will be willing to give up to fix it.

Think about it like this: I don't remember ever throwing a cooler full of drinks and food overboard from my parent's ski boat, but then again, I've never been in the middle of the Arctic Ocean with a glacier-shaped hole in the hull of said sea-going vessel.

When God comes to us--when the eternal Word takes on flesh--He finds us in dire straights. We don't just need a cleaning or a filling--we need oral surgery. We don't just need to gas up the ski boat, our vessel is damaged beyond repair, the band is playing and we're out of life boats.

And that, my friends, is uncomfortable news. Oh, how comfortable it would have been if the dentist would have told me that my mouth is awesome and I don't need any work! But that would be a hateful and cowardly dentist who would deliver such false news, and my teeth would continue to decay and die.

Thank God that He is not hateful and cowardly. He not only delivered the bad news--"You must be born again to inherit the kingdom", "You were dead in the trespasses and sins in which you once walked," "You were alienated and hostile in mind"--He himself became the Good News.

"The Word became flesh and dwelt among us."

In Christ, we have One who came and joined us in our suffering. More than that, He became the worst and lone truly innocent victim of human suffering. Or, as Isaiah had said so long before, "with his stripes, we are healed."

Is this an offensive message? Does what God says about your sin offend you? Good, because it's supposed to.

Receive the news. Endure the affliction that it causes, because the cost is minimal compared to the inexpressible joy of seeing Christ, being united to Him and living in the hope of seeing Him in glory.