If God is so logical, then why is Jesus so incomprehensible?
To me, the concept of a God is a no-brainer. You need only look at the discoveries of modern science to say, well, yes, of course this could not have just happened. This expansive and ever-expanding universe that scientists are discovering almost daily cannot have been an accident. Even the Big Bang Theory argues toward an originator. To his credit, the scientist cannot recognize divinity in this creation because God cannot not be proven empirically.
But I believe. Further, I believe that my God is more than a Primal Force, more than an Existence Without Initiation. I believe in a single, benevolent God of creation. Can I rationalize this belief? Certainly not! It is simply mine alone. (Of course I also have enough prankish imagination to believe it impossible that in all this universe, ours is the only smallish planet in one small galaxy where intelligent, God-fearing beings exist.)
I also have no problem whatsoever overlaying Darwinian evolution onto the Book of Genesis. If one recognizes the concept of “The Seven Days” as a beautiful poetic device, there’s really not a hell of a lot of difference between science and the creation story. Do yourself a favor: Read chapter one of Genesis. It’ll take less than two minutes and yet it’s so poetically beautiful!
As opposed to the fundamentalists, most Hebrew and Christian scholars recognize that the older writings incorporate many myth-stories, some of which are common to other ancient religions. Are they valid lessons? Of course! Are they factual … historical? Of course not. The biblical authors first spoke to a largely illiterate, semi-nomadic Israelite tribe. The truths they expressed must be distinguished from their literary expression. Most importantly, they told of a Unitary, Loving God. These stories helped to define Israel’s relationship to one God and increasingly pointed to a messianic salvation that one audacious Jew would sometime claim as his birthright.
So then comes Jesus … and, oh my goodness, what a challenge to belief! There is a surprising amount that we don’t know about the life of Jesus. We know he was born homeless in Roman-occupied Judea to Jewish parents, both of whom were most probably illiterate. The son of a carpenter, he was of the lower class. And there are a few hints in the New Testament that perhaps he was not an only child. The Gospels tell various stories of his birth and earliest years, some details of which are just that–stories.
We encounter him briefly at the age of 12 speaking to the elders of the temple, and we are told that they were quite impressed with the young lad. Then, for 18 years … absolute silence. Where was he? What was he doing?
There are only clues.
Jesus was raised to speak Aramaic, the common language of Judea. And yet, by the time Jesus began his public life, he also spoke Hebrew, the language of the intelligentsia.
So what happened? Well, let’s speculate.
What a peculiar life!
At the time of Christ, all of Palestine was in tumult, living under the yoke of a stern Roman empire. To a great extent, religious life was calcified by tradition. And a radical ascetic counterculture existed on the fringes of Jewish society, believing that Israel had gone terribly astray.
Generally, these ascetics lived away from the population, in the desert, periodically showing up to rage against the ills of society. (They were hermits, but they were not wackos … well, a few were.) Jesus’ cousin, John, called The Baptist, was of this community. And since each of the four Gospels begin Jesus’ public life by describing his relationship with his cousin, a seemingly wild ascetic dressed in animal skins, it is reasonable to assume that Jesus spent a considerable amount of his “hidden life” living and learning in the desert. We know that at the conclusion of his stay, Jesus was anointed with water by his cousin. So if we can accept all this as at least likely, then we could also agree that Jesus lived the desert life of an ascetic while he spent years preparing for his divine mission.
When I was a child, I was taught a prayer verse: “Jesus, meek and mild, humble of heart.” What a laugh! In truth, Jesus was an outcast from proper society, disrespectful of the laws of the temple and of the laws of ritual purity, continually ridiculing the precious anointed of the temple elite. He challenged the religious establishment at every chance. From the get-go, Jesus was a threat to the pompous. He was totally beyond the confines of tradition and totally without fear of authority. He ignored the laws of the Sabbath, regularly curing the sick and caring for the poor on the Holy Day. He preferred the company of the lowly and the despised. He ministered to whores and all other unclean types. He drank and partied with all the wrong people. He even dealt with the Romans fairly, and with the centurion compassionately. And, because he was homeless, he depended upon the support of women and sought to elevate their dismal status. Further he attacked arrogance and hypocrisy at every opportunity: “You filter out the gnat but you swallow the camel whole.” He truly was a pain in the posterior of the establishment.
And yet Jesus was such a fantastic lover! What wonderful commands he left with us: “As the Father has loved me, so I love you … love one another as I have loved you.” And talk about Tough Love: “Love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you. Bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.”
Wow! That’s scary.
But if Jesus was only a radical lover, He would have been no more than a footnote long ago. This lowborn Jew was fully a man. He suffered. He lived in anguish. He feared his death to the point of sweating blood. As a man, he knew full well the trouble he was getting into. Because he challenged religious authority, he thoroughly alienated the establishment. Meanwhile, the Roman rulers wanted but one thing: civil tranquility. Killing a troublesome Jew meant nothing to them. Ultimately, his death was excruciatingly painful. He died an unclean man, cruelly mocked and abandoned by all but a handful of women and young John, barely a man.
And yet he boldly claimed divinity! This man–this wonderfully radical man–audaciously claimed to be as God. But how can that be?
As a man, how did Jesus achieve so much in three short years?
If he were not heroically different from us, why would he do what he did?
But how, if truly were he one with God, could he have been deserted by himself on the cross?
And if a Divinity, why did he so debase himself for a clod of clay like me?
If I am to believe all this, I must overcome incredible doubt.
Ultimately, I can never understand this mystery. It truly is incomprehensible. I consider myself to be a beneficiary of The Enlightenment, and I cherish that heritage. I believe in the crucible of proof. But I cannot prove the divinity of Christ. I can only believe. And yet his life, his teachings, his ravings, his willingness to give his life for me and for those I love … well, that defeats all reasoning, doesn’t it?
And so, at the end of it all, I have no other choice than to accept this radically loving man as my Lord. But don’t ask me why. It is my belief, that’s all.
