Intersections II
Tom Soma
I have three friends—each of whom I’ve known for years and love dearly. One friend would like people to be more confident when they refer to God. Another finds the name so loaded that it’s actually a barrier. And the third points out the importance of “mystery” in our attempt to understand what most theologians confess is beyond knowing.
“I think it would be refreshing,” friend one muses, “having people speak about God with no doubt that there is such a being, or spirit—something that made you and me and our complete surroundings.”
“To me,” says friend two, “’God’ is a ‘bad' word—meaning omnipotent, judgmental, exclusionary, some impossible over-lording intelligence, some guy who created the earth in 6 days or whatever. ‘Spirit' is a much, much better word. Too bad so many people are brainwashed.”
“It seems to me,” says friend three, “that it will be hard to find God in much of America… because people (here) have lost their sense of mystery… If we really had a true sense of mystery as a people, would we treat our land and water and air the way we do?”
In my travels to date, I've found that some people seek certainty, while others prefer mystery, and still others desire both language and imagery that more effectively foster connection.
Is there a way of respecting what seem to be such different views? Could I possibly honor one friend without offending the other two?
I hope we could at least appreciate the innumerable ways we relate to God—and better still, welcome what we can learn from each other. Rather than arguing over what we ultimately don’t know, we’re better off exploring how we might honor our convictions through lives of compassion. In that spirit, how we treat our land, water, air, and each other can only improve.
"To each of us,” wrote Rilke in a love letter to God more than a century ago, “you reveal yourself differently." That suggestion captures the ground upon which I can stand with all three of my friends.
“Listen to yourself,” encouraged Maya Angelou in what turned out to be her final public reflection just two weeks ago, “and in the quietude you might hear the voice of God.”
What’s becoming increasingly obvious as I travel is that God speaks in many languages, voices, and styles. It’s OK that we hear differently. The important thing is that we simply pay attention.
What are you hearing?
(Steamboat Springs, CO)
PS. Cinnamon bun update: Over the week-end, I had an unprecedented triple tasting with my friends, Tia and Bob Rebholz and their 16-year-old son, Ryder. Sampled buns from Duffy Rolls and Racine’s in Denver and Mountain Shadows in Colorado Springs. The lesson: Cinnamon buns, like religious practices, are a matter of taste—and we all have definite preferences! The day’s winners: A split decision between Duffy Rolls and Racine’s (I preferred the Duffy Roll, but Racine’s was the best value: $3.23 for an eight-inch wide monster big enough for two—or three!). But Alabama Hills Bakery & Café in Lone Pine, California remains the most heavenly to date.