I was greeted this morning by a rosy dawn.
I begin to think our God a very fickle friend indeed. A bombing one day and a glorious rosy dawn the next. After my steady weekend diet of streaming CNN, the beautiful pink morning sky looked tragically comedic.
But then, if you were to ask my dog what she really thought of me, she might ask why, after a lovely walk, I left her alone in an empty house for hours? There would be no explaining that I had gone off to work to earn money to keep her, and the house for that matter, because the language she speaks is only companionship. It’s no good explaining economics to her.
In my fifty-some-odd years of trying to figure out God I have found out one thing for sure. He doesn’t always speak my language. Here the metaphor breaks down, because it is far more about autonomy than languages. Who of us, and especially those that live in a first world country, feel that we do not live our lives as we please, that we are allowed to make choices we believe to be right? And God, I believe, grants us the freedom to do that. The flip side is that he also grants that freedom to everyone else. And we do not always agree with others’ autonomy. In fact, we build governments, armies, and global peace-keeping organizations to stop others from making the choices we feel would be bad for humanity. We wage revolutions to overthrow those in power we believe to be tyrannical, all the while waging our own kind of corporate tyranny on the less fortunate.
There is no use getting mad at God for His contradictions when we cannot manage our own.