As I’ve gotten older, I’ve evolved in my way of imagining That which we most often call “God.” I don’t say that as a declaration of increasing maturity. Rather, the various visualizations I’ve used, and the framework in which I’ve described God to myself, has become less anthropomorphic and human-like over time.
In fact, the way I view God now is not as a being at all. Even thinking of It as an entity doesn’t quite do the feeling justice. The feeling I have inside about God is that, primarily, none of us have it right. Not a single one of us can imagine the true nature, existence, purpose, and will, of God.
I am respectful of those who believe there is no God at all. I certainly can’t argue with them. For I have no more proof of It than they do. All of us have only religious opinions, no facts. Atheism is another way of questioning the nature of God. A pursuit which I highly regard.
It has occurred to me recently, while pondering for the thousandth time the way to answer the question of God’s existence as it pertains to the suffering of children and the trauma of war, that we must not be framing the question correctly in the first place.
Perhaps, if there is truly a benevolent God in, around, and above us, the benevolence would not be in the suffering, so much as in the withholding of interference.
Personally, I believe in the concept of free will. To my mind, the argument that we are able to have an argument about it at all is proof of its existence. If free will did not exist, how could we have the freedom to debate its existence?
And there’s a very long learning curve to the gift of free will. Eons long.
I think the most we can hope to expect from God is accompaniment on our journey through the learning curve of it. It is less about allowing suffering then it is being witness to it. Our hands are held, not stayed, as we stumble toward the ultimate goal of using free will with genuine wisdom.
Free yourself enough to believe that bad things do not happen because of God, but often because of us. And because sometimes we must allow our child to fall, that they may one day run, unfettered.
Believing this as I do, the way I have begun to “view“ the notion of a Great Central Spirit has altered away from a more humanized version to the way one might view the existence of parallel dimensions. Parallel, in this instance, does not mean side-by-side. It means existing in the exact same space but is yet distinct.
Distinct, yet consubstantial with us. Of the same substance, yet unique. There is no line where we end and God begins, yet we are not the same. It compels my mind to remain unlimited.
If one chooses to pray as a personal ritual, to What does one now direct those prayers? How do we think about That to whom or what we pray? Does questioning It bring us closer, farther, or perhaps more deeply entangled with It, just through the act of wondering?
This morning, I found myself praying to the wellspring. It was the first time I’d ever had that thought. But I found it incredibly useful.
The term wellspring shows up three times in scripture. Yet never as a descriptor of the divine. Only as heart, understanding, and wisdom. Certainly things which we ascribe to the divine, though.
A wellspring is both a source and a portal. A transition point for the gathering of waters from various and minute sources, congealed into the beginning point of a spring.
A wellspring is an energetic entry point into the vast network of underground rivulets and condensed moisture beyond our view or comprehension.
Perhaps this way of thinking of It is useful to you. I deeply hope it is. But even more, I hope it serves as a framework for deciding your own image and visualization of what “God” might actually be. It’s more likely, however, that it is the freedom to decide which is what will serve us best. We are free to construct an imagining that will not prevent us from growing alongside our notion of God. A good imagining avoids the pitfalls of concretizing God; of making it into a statue that represents only the heart of the artist who sculpted it, and only at the time of its sculpting. That is the secret caution within the concept of idolatry.
This morning, as I prayed, I imagined my thoughts being directed toward the wellspring as a symbol of an entry point into a system which is beyond my comprehension, yet is always there for me, for my heart, for my understanding, and in hope of my increasing wisdom. The wellspring is the source of my own divine spark. The divining rod which finds the hidden waters.
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