I simultaneously love and hate the times in life that leave me at a loss for words.
God is at work, and His work is unfailingly good. This is all I know for sure. The rest is just words, I suppose. And yet, words are how I process things, all things. So I do the only thing I know how to do. I speak.
I’m knee deep in one of the most thought-provoking studies I’ve ever done, of The Good and Beautiful God. And in it, I’m finding thoughts crystallizing that have been nagging at the edges of my mind for many years now. To add to that, God seemed to be continuously speaking in the same language during our spring break stay with Megan and KC, and digging even farther in as the four of us joined their pastor and his wife for dinner Saturday night. And the thoughts are both encouraging and disturbing. Not that being disturbed is an entirely bad thing. Sometimes I believe that God must wish His kids were far more disturbed than we are at the state of the world He created, of the Kingdom He planned.
Why is it that in this past year, for the first time in my life, I begun to lay hold on the idea that maybe Heaven won’t be filled to the brim with only Baptists?
Why do we tend to gravitate toward people who are exactly like us and marinate in that sameness?
Why do we assume that every other Christian we know must have a relationship with God that looks exactly like ours? And if it doesn’t, we become worried about them and where they stand with God?
Why don’t we take the idea of “the body” seriously? Why do we seem to want a whole body full of thumbs? Or ankles? Or eyes?
Why do we want Jesus to be anything but scandalous?
I’m somewhat haunted by all this.