Trying to figure out God is like trying to catch a fish in the Pacific Ocean with an inch of dental floss
– Matt Chandler –
I’m staggered by this.
That God is the Center, the only One worthy of glory.
And for Him to seek this glory is not arrogant–because what is arrogance but viewing yourself as higher than you are? That’s not a problem for God–there isn’t anyone higher!
What glorious kingliness, to be perfectly Love, Light, Truth, Beauty, Justice, Power!
Nothing surpasses Him.
“Lord, I come before You
To honor and adore You,
For who You are and all that You have done.
Lord, I am not worthy,
My heart is dark and dirty.
Still somehow You bid for me to come.
So clothe me in humility,
Remind me, that I come before a King,
And there is nothing,
There is nothing,
More precious, more worthy.
May I gaze deeper,
May I stand longer,
May I press onward to know You, Lord.”
– “There Is Nothing,” by Laura Story –
So then, no wonder He cannot give this glory away.
“I am the Lord; that is my name;
I don’t hand out my glory to others
or my praise to idols.”
– Isaiah 42:8, CEB, emphasis mine –
One distant speck of a planet, less than a fleck of dust in a galaxy, a breath, next to nothing in the midst of a horde of starry swirls, monstrous asteroids, and revolving planets.
And in this miniscule dot of a planet, there are tiny fists that dare shake at the cosmos.
People. A filmy shudder of vapor, a breath of passing wind. Yet we humans somehow dare to lift our chins in defiance. Somehow, we dare to declare ourselves as gods, as the deciding force of the universe.
“You have always been because what it is that you are is God, or Divine Intelligence, but God takes on individual forms, droplets, reducing its power to small particles of individual consciousness.”
– Gary Zukav –
God in heaven laughs.
How could He not?
The sheer absurdity of His created creatures, who to Him must be like the tiniest insects in strength, lifting our powerless fists in uprising.
And meanwhile, His power makes all things hold together. It is not possible–but what if God were to allow another to have His glory? Would not the very foundations of the universe crumble? Would not this fabric of existence unravel in an instant?
In the face of our pitiful, obstinate mutiny, how easy it would be for Him to lightly press down His finger and smudge away that microscopic creation from the page of His story.
Yet He doesn’t. Instead, He steps down and takes on the frame of one of these dust specks.
The God of galaxies, Lord of stars spangled like diamonds across heaven’s velvet. The Controller of planetary spins and brilliant fireball-suns and crashing tsunamis and quaking subterranean plates.
Be still, speechless, breathless at this:
This God came to us.
Does this crumble your ego? It should. What He chose to do should make us quake.
Because the Alpha, without beginning, was born out of a teenage womb into a pile of manured straw.
Because the Omega, endless One, died, bearing the brunt of the Father’s justice.
God in skin–raw, ripped, bloody skin.
Becoming a human, He used that moment to atone for the vileness of those He created.
With the same breathing-out that filled the lungs of the first man, the first to raise a fist against Him…
With that breath, He cried out, having bared His pure heart to the dagger of His Father’s fury. He breathed out, one last exhalation.
A shout of cosmic victory. “It is finished!”
He warned that praiseless lips would make the rocks cry out. The stones and mountains did–shaking and roaring and cracking with the darkness that fell, vibrated to pieces by his cry of triumph.
God with us died for us, because of us. Right there, on a man-hewn plank of wood.
Who else was pure enough to be the sacrifice?
Who else was man enough to suffer with us and for us? To intimately know us?
Who else was God enough to overcome even death?
Because, this God is so beyond our strength that Death itself was no match for Him. He rose.
I really can’t comprehend this.
I can’t grasp how high He is, how clean and glorious and marvelous He is in comparison to us. I don’t think my human eyes can hold that much light or fathom that depth of spectrum. My human heart can’t seem to grasp how much of His atoning pain was because of my rebellion. My ears can’t hear all of Love’s harmonies, though I hope the music will grow stronger as I journey. My mind can’t expand enough to allow God’s thoughts to enter.
I can only bow.
Mr. Chandler’s right. I feel strikingly like I’m holding an inch of dental floss.
Maybe less than an inch.
“When I consider Your heavens, the work of Your fingers,
The moon and the stars, which You have ordained,
What is man that You are mindful of him,
And the son of man that You visit him?”
– Psalm 8:3-4, NKJV, emphasis mine –