But this post on Anderkoo needs to be shared.
Obama’s theology of reconciliation and perfection
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Monday, March 10, 2008
Who does God say that I am?
Who does God say that I am? That seems more than a little backwards. And yet it is an important question.
A few years ago, I read "Letters to a Young Doubter" by William Sloane Coffin, in which the elderly Christian encouraged his young friend to consider what it might mean to "let God tell you who you are." There are so many voices in this world trying to tell us who we are. Tune them out and listen to God's voice.
This concept hit me like a ton of bricks. I later learned that if I knew anything at all about twentieth-century American religious history I would have known that the Rev. Coffin was one of the major Christian figures and "it is God who tells us who we are" was his constant refrain. Oh well, I know that now. And it is definitely a refrain worth repeating.
This of course raises the question: if it is God who tells us who we are, what is God saying? Well, when I actually sit down and listen, God tells me that I am his own good creation. I am fearfully and wonderfully made, knit together in my mother's womb by the very hand of God. Yes, I screw that up, and yes that needs to be addressed, but that comes second. First and foremost, I am God's precious and wonderful child.
When I know that, really deep down in my soul know my own inherent goodness, then who needs anything else? Chasing after success and prestige seems pretty ridiculous. When I really hear God's voice and am secure in that knowledge of my goodness, then I don't need to prove anything. I can be much gentler with everyone else because I am better able to recognize that they also are God's good creation, despite how they might be mucking things up at the moment.
This Leviticus project from January continues to haunt my thoughts. A friend of mine has said how Leviticus taught her that she is a terrible sinner, and with that knowledge she can be much more forgiving of those who have hurt her. This makes no sense to me at all. When I see myself first and foremost as a terrible sinner, even a forgiven one, then all I want to do is hide under the bed. I'm in no shape to be reaching out to anyone. When I know that I do sin and need (and receive) forgiveness but underneath it all my essence is profoundly good, I can also recognize that profound goodness in everyone else.
A few years ago, I read "Letters to a Young Doubter" by William Sloane Coffin, in which the elderly Christian encouraged his young friend to consider what it might mean to "let God tell you who you are." There are so many voices in this world trying to tell us who we are. Tune them out and listen to God's voice.
This concept hit me like a ton of bricks. I later learned that if I knew anything at all about twentieth-century American religious history I would have known that the Rev. Coffin was one of the major Christian figures and "it is God who tells us who we are" was his constant refrain. Oh well, I know that now. And it is definitely a refrain worth repeating.
This of course raises the question: if it is God who tells us who we are, what is God saying? Well, when I actually sit down and listen, God tells me that I am his own good creation. I am fearfully and wonderfully made, knit together in my mother's womb by the very hand of God. Yes, I screw that up, and yes that needs to be addressed, but that comes second. First and foremost, I am God's precious and wonderful child.
When I know that, really deep down in my soul know my own inherent goodness, then who needs anything else? Chasing after success and prestige seems pretty ridiculous. When I really hear God's voice and am secure in that knowledge of my goodness, then I don't need to prove anything. I can be much gentler with everyone else because I am better able to recognize that they also are God's good creation, despite how they might be mucking things up at the moment.
This Leviticus project from January continues to haunt my thoughts. A friend of mine has said how Leviticus taught her that she is a terrible sinner, and with that knowledge she can be much more forgiving of those who have hurt her. This makes no sense to me at all. When I see myself first and foremost as a terrible sinner, even a forgiven one, then all I want to do is hide under the bed. I'm in no shape to be reaching out to anyone. When I know that I do sin and need (and receive) forgiveness but underneath it all my essence is profoundly good, I can also recognize that profound goodness in everyone else.
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