I joined the ranchers, farmers, and town folks who slowly gathered on a quiet Sunday morning in Bastrop, Texas. For several years, that “house church” had met in Bob and Sue Long’s home.
Although they invited me to speak, I quickly realized the real speaker that morning was Bob and Sue’s dog, “Whiskey.”
As soon as everyone sat in a circle, Whiskey wandered in and plopped down in the loop of boots and fell sound asleep. Totally relaxed, no concerns about religious etiquette or expectations. No fear of going to hell. She didn’t know or care that it was Sunday. The dog radiated the fullness of her dogness.
She was a portrait of Peace in the Presence. The people sang. Whiskey slept. And God saw that it was good.
One of the largest and oldest questions all humans face: How do creatures live in the presence of their Creator? Do I live from the fullness of God’s Fatherhood and design, or do I feel the need for continuous self-protection, affirmation, and cosmetic surgery?
For me, it all took me back to when my uncle Harold died in a tractor accident in 1992. His siblings all worried about the impact of his death on their father. That was perfectly logical and understandable; Grandpa had lost his wife, Harold’s mother, just 30 days earlier. So, on that day, everyone whispered, tiptoed, and avoided conversations or eye contact with Grandpa.
Finally, he nailed his daughter, “Vita, what’s going on around here?”
She broke. “Oh, Daddy, it’s really bad.”
“I know it’s bad. I just need a name.”
That moment revealed a 95-year-old man who was at rest in his home, the universe, and the awesome God he’d known for nearly a century. He could face anything because of the great arc of his life and faith. Like a holocaust survivor, that arc had carried him beyond all that was theologically starched and packaged.
Pascal wrote “All of humanity’s problems stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone.”[1] Grandpa had learned to be at rest in the Presence. Although he was a flawed man, he knew that whatever came from the hand of God would not injure him; it would not disturb his identity and security.
Whatever your beliefs, assumptions, fears, or doubts, you are surely aware of an Awesome Presence. He is always there, loving us, unsettling us, confirming us, confronting us, stopping us, sending us. He does not intend to destroy us. We are the works of His hand. What makes us think he produces junk?
We do not understand Him. But, as Whiskey would tell you, “Relax. The Presence is safe.”
[1] Blaise Pascal, Pensées, fragment 139 (Brunschvicg edition) / 136 (Lafuma edition)
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