Why God Annoys Me

God is infuriating sometimes.

Why? Well there’s quite a lot of reasons. For a start, he insists – just like my mum does – on always being right. This would be fine, obviously, both in the case of God and of my mum, if it wasn’t for the fact that I, also, am always right. Since God is always right, and Mike is always right, the rather irritating possibility emerges that we might disagree about something, and then, surely, reality itself will be forced to implode.

Attached to this dilemma is the whole issue of God’s elusive behaviour. As tempted as I am to keep being silly, this is actually a really serious thing. There are quite a lot of times where I am convinced that God is able to do something, and I’m sure that he ought to do it, that it’s the sort of thing he loves to do, and I ask him to do it, and then he doesn’t. Or even just every day – I know that he’s capable of being tangibly present with me. I’ve experienced it many times, and I know loads of other people who have too. And I really want more of that – I think, surely, if I was more tangibly aware of you with me all the time, or even most of the time, that would be better, it seems to me that that would be better in so many ways. But he doesn’t do it.

And there are loads of reasons that I know for why he might not do this or do that, but if I’m honest with myself, I still don’t really get it. And there are things where even though I accept that he actually is always right and I’m sometimes wrong, it is really, really, frustrating; it’s really hard for me to accept that I don’t know everything – I hate it. It wouldn’t even be so bad if he always sat me down and gave me a full explanation of why he was right – if he actually tried to persuade me. On some things he does. But then some times, like my mum used to, when he says something or does something or refuses to do something and I ask him ‘Why?’ he just says, ‘Because I say so’. In fact, I’m even making it more palatable for the purposes of blogging here – he doesn’t so much say ‘Because I say so’; actually he has taught me stuff through the Bible and through his Spirit and through other people over the years to the point that I can’t help answering myself for him. I ask ‘Why?’ and then that annoying bit of me that will not be silenced says, reluctantly, ‘Look, he’s bigger than you. You are small and human and often quite stupid. He’s the perfect, eternal, and almighty God of the universe – King of kings, Lord of lords, God of the ages, Creator of all things seen and unseen, of all that you can and cannot imagine – he’s allowed to be mysterious. It is, in fact, to be expected.’ And even though in a lot of ways that is marvellous and beautiful, I cannot pretend that it’s not also really, really hard. Several times in the last couple of weeks, as I’ve been reading and thinking and struggling with some big question about God and the world – what the right thing to do is, what God really thinks – I’ve found myself genuinely hitting things in frustration. Because it really really matters and it’s really really difficult – sometimes genuinely impossible. And that is infuriating.

But then today I was thinking about this bit of bible that I’ve loved for a long time. And I looked at it again, and it really was like honey in my mouth. I’ll let you read it first – he’s talking about all the ways that Christians know about and experience God:

“We know in part and we prophesy in part, but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away. When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways. For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.”

The bit that really gets me in that is the very last line. “I have been fully known”. It’s important to note at this point, that there are two different types of knowing – there’s knowing about, and there’s personal knowing. If someone asks you whether you know Michael Hood you wouldn’t say, “Yes, he’s 5 foot 8 inches, brown hair with a few greys emerging, lots of freckles, born 4^th May 1994…” because that’s not what they mean. Knowing about someone is very different to knowing them personally. And definitely what Paul (the writer of this bit) is talking about is knowing personally – it’s seeing “face to face”. And that’s not just true of us knowing God, it’s true of him knowing us as well. And here’s where it gets deep: there’s a bit where Jesus was asked about who would enter into eternal life with him, and he said that there would be some who would, but there would be some who wouldn’t, because there are people to whom, in the eternal moment, he says: “I never knew you; depart from me.” He says there are people, many people, who he’s never known. Now of course God knows everything, he knows everything about everyone – but we see here that there are still people he never personally knows. Because personal knowing is voluntary. It’s vulnerability. To be known like this we have to allow someone to know us – we have to give ourselves to them and let them see us.

The bible actually uses the word “know” as a euphemism for sex, and I think that’s incredible. “Now Adam knew Eve his wife, and she conceived…” And when I think about it, it actually makes so much sense, because the Christian vision of sex is of utter, intimate, knowing. I remember somebody telling me once about a couple of our friends who were going out, and they’d started having sex, but the girl had told this person that even though they’d had sex a few times now this guy had never once taken his shirt off. Because he had a bit of a belly, and he wanted to keep it covered up. Now I know that that’s story is sort of funny and quite weird, but I genuinely was so, so sad when I heard it. I just thought it was tragic – that they were having sex but he was still ashamed, still holding back and covering up; he still didn’t feel like he could be naked with her. Because if you believe like I do that our bodies and our minds and our souls are all wound up with each other, then being naked together is an utterly beautiful thing. To be absolutely exposed and vulnerable to each other, but to feel completely safe in that. To feel completely and unconditionally and ecstatically embraced – all of you, exactly as you are, every curve and dimple and imperfection – loved. And for someone to surrender themselves to you at the same time – to let you see them entirely, know them fully, and love them completely. It’s an incredible thing, isn’t it?

So when it says that I will know God fully, even as I am fully known, that gets me. He knows me, and I will know him, in the deepest, most intimate, most beautiful sense. And he’s not just another person – he’s the perfect one. He’s the risen Son. He’s the matchless, indescribable King, the true hero, the ultimate rescuer and the maker of the ultimate sacrifice. He’s the inspiration for every beauty of creation. The True Lover, my first love. And I am just broken and small and insignificant; but somehow I will know him, and he knows me.

And this truth has two effects on me. First, it makes me desperate to let him in, right now. Because like I say, knowing personally is a voluntary thing, so I really want to volunteer. I want to – weird as it sounds – get naked with him. I want to give him all of me, all the imperfections and knots and shadows, and also I want to give him my very best. I want to surrender every ounce of my brilliance to him and every bit of brokenness.

Someone told me a made-up story once about a young boy, who had a big collection of really beautiful marbles. And then one day he met this girl who had an amazing collection of shells. And he was looking at all her shells, and he liked them a lot. And she saw his marbles, and she loved them! So they decided to make a deal. They agreed that that night he would choose his ten best marbles, and she would choose her ten best shells, and they would bring them the next day and swap. So the little girl went home, found the best ten shells she had and put them in a bag. And the little boy did the same with his marbles. But as he put them in the bag he started looking at them again and thinking about how lovely they were and how he really did like them. Especially the very best ones. He didn’t want to give those away. They were his favourites. So he took out his very favourite marbles and hid them under his pillow, and put some others in the bag instead. The next day they swapped, just like they’d said. And that night the girl played with her new marbles for hours and she loved them – and she slept soundly with the little bag in her hand. But the little boy couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned all night worrying, one question turning over and over in his mind: “What if she kept her very best shells?”

And so whenever I get frustrated that it feels like God isn’t giving me what I want him to, I remember that story and I look under my pillow for the bits of me that I’ve refused to give to him. Because first and foremost I want to be known by God. I want him to have all of me.

And the second effect it has is to give me a certainty to hold onto in my uncertainty. In the times of anger and confusion at God for insisting on being huge and mysterious, I can hold onto this. Right now I know him in part – and it’s a pretty incredible part. I know him in Jesus, who came and revealed God’s character to us so that we could understand it, and revealed that fundamentally, it was love. I know that he loves me fiercely, and I know loads and loads about what he is offering me and what he wants me to do. Plenty to be getting on with. And I know him in the Spirit of Jesus that lives inside me, even though it’s tricky to pin down and sometimes much more obvious than others. What I know of him already is honestly greater than anything else I’ve ever known. But that’s not everything, because at the moment I only know him in part. One day, I will know him fully, face to face. And every drop of frustration and pain will melt into joy. I will approach the unapproachable. I will take hold of the uncontainable, incomprehensible glory of God himself, and I will know him, as completely as he knows me.