Kind of True and Kind of Not True to say …All Things Are Possible

All things are possible with God is kind of not true because God can't lie, can't die, can't be unfaithful, can't force someone to love, can't bake cinnamon rolls, can't make a circle a triangle, and can't make 2+2 equal 7. (My friend, Tom goes into more detail about all of this is in his important book, God Can’t.)

All things are possible with God kind of is true because relationship is what moves the world, and a co-creative relationship with the divine just might bring out the most interesting possibilities. 

This doesn't have to decrease God's strength, though it does reframe the way we imagine strength, which is to say … relational power is stronger than authoritative power.

Lots of people walk away from the idea of God because of the issues present within authoritative power, namely one: If God can fix all problems single-handedly (as many religious people claim), but doesn't do it, then his goodness is suspect. 

And while I affirm the freedom people have to "walk away from God," I would also want them to know that some of us are proposing a different kind of God: a God interested in a consensual relationship, that is, a God of love. (I write about consent a lot in Theology of Consent.) If God is love, then S(H)e wouldn't be able to coerce or force because that kind of action would be antithetical to love. If God is love, then S(H)e would be entangled with everything and doing the very best S(H)e could do to help everything move forward in goodness. And if God is love, S(H)e will never give up. 

Love introduces limits. Again, not being able to single-handedly control things is a limit, but this is good because we want a God who doesn't override agency. However, if we keep the withness part in play at every level, then agency gets to be taken into account, and doors of possibility might be opened. 

Personally, this approach has meant everything to me. In the months and years following our daughter's death, it became the only way I could hold all the antagonism. (If you’re looking to wrestle with grief’s antagonism, then check out indigo: the color of grief). In some ways, my theological disassembling and reassembling boils down to one idea: Love's ability to control the antagonism is limited, but Love's ability to persist through the antagonism is unlimited.

I was wrestling with all of this when I wrote in The Reconstructionist ... 

Love is a self-donating, perpetually kenotic, fractal-like energy. It has no interest in power and, at the same time, has all the power. It became my strength in the months and years following our daughter's death. 

I was so thankful to learn that God wasn't interested in hierarchical power, which placed Him (Her) at the top of the organizational flow chart. If there is such a thing as a flow chart, S(He) is at the bottom, or better yet, infused within the flow itself. God wasn't separate from Christ at the crucifixion. He was "in Christ reconciling the world to Himself." And in the Father's embrace of the wreckage on top of the hill outside Jerusalem, I saw the Father's embrace of the wreckage on Highway 75 outside Wichita.

if God was present to Jesus in his death, 
then God was present to our daughter in her death, 
and God is present to all of us in our deaths. 

The more I thought about it, the more I realized you could only say one of two things about a God so close to death: S(H)e was there either because S(H)e was directly responsible in making it happen or because S(H)e was in solidarity with us as it was happening. If it's the former, well, I have no need for a god responsible for the end of life, dreams, hopes, and growth. We have enough of those gods. They're everywhere, not least of which in our religious systems. But if it's the latter, I'm highly intrigued because I do need a God of love, life, and solidarity. 

Amen. 

unsplash image: @ryan_hutton_