Almost every one of us can remember a time in childhood when we went to a playground to have some fun on the slide, monkey bars, and swing. In addition, we usually spent some time on the seesaw, and I want to use it to illustrate the dynamics of dealing with the nature of God. Imagine yourself standing on that seesaw, straddling its center so that your right foot is on one side of the fulcrum and your left foot is on the other side. Now pretend that your job is to keep either end of the seesaw from hitting the ground. I can remember doing this years ago and recall the shifting tension under my feet. To keep both ends of the seesaw off the ground required of me constant adjustments in my weight distribution. These were small adjustments, mind you, but if I stopped making them for one second the seesaw became unbalanced and one end struck the ground. To keep both ends aloft, I was forced at all times to deal with the tension beneath me.
The attributes of God’s nature often appear to be on opposite ends of a spectrum. On one end, there is the picture of God as transcendent—far, far above us. On the other end, there is the view of Him as immanent—very, very near us. To our left, He is the merciful God; to our right, the God as tough as nails. He is omnipotent Creator and sacrificial Savior, the Revealer of Himself to us and the One forever hidden from us, Unity yet also Three-in-One. God, on the one hand, is absolutely sovereign; on the other hand sits the presence of evil in our world. He seems at times active and forceful, at other times passive and distant. He is righteous and holy, yet allows sin to reign in lives. His justice is tempered by His longsuffering mercy, His Person juxtaposed to His Spirit. To the Christian, He is God become man, everlasting Father and crucified Son, the Ruler of a Kingdom that is “at hand” yet is still to come.
Over the years I have found myself coming to accept these dynamics as integral parts of the religious experience. I have come to believe that all of us stand on a seesaw called faith, constantly striving to maintain balance. At first it all seems rather awkward to us. Indeed, we would like to have the tension in our hearts and minds removed. But over time, just like on that playground, the constant adjustments become easier and more natural. Eventually we begin to enjoy and savor the activity, realizing how vibrant faith has become. Faith in God becomes eternally relevant as we stand over the fulcrum of the divine paradox. If our faith is true faith, then to expect anything else is sheer folly. We cannot avoid this tension, for the object of our faith is the God whose nature stretches into infinity. This tension, says John Bright, is our “natural habitat.” No other should we seek or desire.
One further seesaw analogy, and I’m finished. When we ride the seesaw the conventional way, one person on each end, it takes a joint effort to keep it going. I have to pull when you push. I release my weight as you bear yours. To seesaw successfully, then, there must be cooperation. That’s what makes seesawing fun. No one likes it when one person takes control, suspending the person on the other end in air. That might be fun for a while, but eventually it wears thin. The one in the air will usually jump off and move elsewhere. So it is in the seesaw of life. Cooperation with those on the other side is our best option. We may never agree with them. They may always remain on the opposite side of faith. But we must strive to live with them in harmony. The Ruler of our “playground” has made this very clear.
-Dear God, You Sure Don't Act Like You're Alive (Day 59)
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