CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter—THERE IS NO WRONG TIME TO START BELIEVING IN GOD [T, 2-20-24]
Actually, I started this column to say the exact opposite—that I know people who start believing in God at the wrong time. Then I realized that I had it inside out. There is no wrong time to start believing in God.
I read a Pew Research report that says about ten percent of Americans are “religious without being spiritual,” the opposite of that rather tiresome thing so many people like to say—mostly as excuse to not go to church: “I am spiritual but not religious.”
The 10% who are religious but not spiritual like the creeds and liturgies and books and songs and candles and church/synagogue/temple stuff, the feeling of belonging to a people and a tradition, but don’t really believe in God. Until something bad happens to them…
…then they start believing in the wrong God, the god who gets blamed for everything. “Why did God let this happen?” That is why I was going to say that some folks start believing in God at the wrong time. But it’s the wrong God, not the wrong time.
You know, God can take anger. God welcomes it. It’s a way to get real about God.
I’ve told before [1] about the time a consultant was working with the Cabinet [Bishop and District Superintendents] of my Conference. He asked Bishop Leroy Hodapp, “In what sorts of situations are you most comfortable?” “Conflict situations,” the bishop replied.
The others were astounded. Nobody likes conflict. But the consultant asked Leroy why he liked conflict. “Because that is the only time people are really open to change.”
So a conflict time with God is an opening time, when people can change. For religious but not spiritual folks, there’s a possibility to add the spirit to the forms of religion.
Maybe we need to get mad at God more often. There is no wrong time to start believing in God.
John Robert McFarland
1] My “I’ve told before”
is like the dog owner who scolds the dog for peeing in a neighbor’s front yard.
It’s not to communicate with the dog, but as an apology to the neighbor. I know
that you know you’ve heard it before. I’m just letting you know that I know it,
too. But I’m going to tell it again, anyway!
I couldn't help but laugh. My dad would get angry when the neighbor's dog Chip would pee on his roses. Those roses were my father's babies. A friend once told me that I was funny when I got angry. Maybe I inherited this trait from my father.
ReplyDeleteWell, your father had reason to protect those roses; they were beautiful! I'd forgotten about Chip, but I always tried to keep our Waggs away from your yard. Do you remember how much Waggs and Doggy resembled each other?
ReplyDeleteI don't remember much about your dog. Maybe that's a good thing. One time, when I was running a loop west of Ead's Hill, I was bitten by a dog. My mom insisted that I get a rabies shot.
ReplyDeleteI hope that rabies shot didn't hurt as much as I'm told that they do! Yes, it's okay not to remember Waggs. She was sweet, but she really put up a racket when the garbage guys came down the block.
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