Dearest Rachel –
It would be understandable for you to think that my biggest issue with God would be the fact that He took you from me. After all, your absence has left a hole in my life (and Daniel’s, and really, everyone you ever touched, to a certain extent) that has yet to be filled, assuming it even can be. That void has been with me on a constant basis; sometimes just sitting there in the corner of my peripheral vision, sometimes looming over me as if to devour me, but always there in one form or another.
And yet, it’s not a concern. I know that my loss isn’t one that is uncommon to mankind; it just came too early in life for my tastes. Consider Job, and those that he lost as a form of testing from God (his children, who it’s universally thought of ought not be outlived by their parents); if he could endure that without cursing God for it, surely, so can I. What’s more, I know that, thanks to our mutual faith, we will see each other again one day. And while it’s true that day may be a long way off from my perspective, what are thirty or forty years (and that’s being absurdly generous to me and the way I’ve kept myself up, you’ll agree) in comparison to eternity? I might as well compare a trip to the other side of the world against that of the Voyager spacecraft, of Pale Blue Dot fame.
Why, it might even be argued that I’ve been able to embark on a path of self-improvement that I would never have bothered with in the midst of the contentment of domestic life with you. After all, when everything is satisfactory (note that I didn’t say ‘perfect’: we both know better than that. But we were agreed at the time that there was too much out there in the wide world to enjoy to concern ourselves overmuch with those relative trifles), why upset the apple cart? But now, there were things that could be done – and others that still need to be – in my life, and so I’ve found myself doing them, whether I really want to or not (and I’ll be honest, there are times when I’m not entirely sure), in order to attain a certain simulacrum of that same domestic happiness that the two of us once shared.
So no, I can’t allow myself any bitterness or anger towards God for that one moment of disaster. What does bother me, however, is something that was discussed last night at Bible study: the question of His sovereignty and our free will.
I’ve reminded you before of our mentor, Mr. P, and his take on the subject; you know, how the wording on the gate changes depending on whether you’re looking at it from the outside or the inside (although, since you’ve actually seen it, I doubt it’s anything like that in your side of reality; I’d be curious to know what it does look like, but I suppose I can – and will have to – wait). The question of how much free will we as humans have has been a topic of great debate since time immemorial, especially given God’s all-encompassing nature. If He is controlling everything, where does that leave us and our responsibility to choose to be with Him or not? Does He do all the choosing, and we just think we come to Him? Or is there a certain level at which we make that decision?
I’ve always clung to what Peter wrote about God not being willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance. This makes sense to me; why would God create a human for the sole purpose of casting him into hell at the end of his days? Now, it’s true that God is holy, and cannot have sin in His presence (I live the analogy, flawed though it may be, of Him being allergic to sin), so we must have that cleaned away to approach Him (hence, Jesus’ suffering and sacrifice); those that refuse to must be sent away from His presence to a place where He specifically is not – and since He is not there, holding everything together, like He is throughout most of the universe, it is essentially akin to an eternity in the middle of a fission reaction. It’s a fair summation of what hell, as has been described to us for ages, is like. But that’s a matter of one’s own choice; if one does not wish to follow God – despite perhaps not understanding the consequences of that decision – such is the result. Humans get their wish – but you know what they say about being careful what you wish for.
But in our discussions last night, Joel only touched on that passage when I brought it up in discussion. The scriptures he laid out for discussion suggested that every decision that is made throughout existence is made by God; He is not sitting on His thumbs waiting for us to make up our minds. Now, I agree that He doesn’t need us to make our decisions, but that’s because, to God (who exists outside of what we perceive time to be, at any rate), we’ve already made that decision – or refused to make it, which is a decision in and of itself – so yes, He has no need to wait for something that’s already happened, as far as He’s concerned (and is happening, and is yet to happen – really, it’s all the same to Him). He is playing chess with us and the universe at large in so many dimensions that we can’t count them all, let alone presume that we can keep up with Him in the few we’re aware of.
This foreknowledge is, in some ways, problematic enough, as He’s aware from the beginning who will and won’t choose to come to Him – which, if you think in terms of wanting everyone to come to Him, has to be heartbreaking for Him, considering the price He paid for all of us. But when the topic turns to predestination, then it really gets nasty. It suggests that he created some of us – most of us, in fact, given that Christianity is just one of several predominant religions, and is also competing with secularism and humanism for our spiritual attention – simply to be written off and disposed of into hell. It suggests a god (small ‘g’) not unlike that of the demonic Chernobog in “Night on Bald Mountain” from Disney’s Fantasia; cupping his frenzied supplicants in the hollow of his hand for a moment before growing bored and letting them slip through his fingers into the magma below. That’s not a god even worth worshipping or serving; if nothing else, what would be the point? If He’s decided to cast you aside, or lift you to heaven, He will do it, and you have no say in the matter, so why expend the effort? Maybe a little gratitude if He makes it clear that you’re ‘in the club,’ but with a deity that capricious, who can tell?
Such malevolence, I just can’t accept. And yet, I’m referred to Romans 9, where the pot has the audacity to ask its potter “what are you doing?” We don’t have the right to ask? This is supposedly the same God who, in order to rescue us from ourselves, offered His own Son to pay the penalty that we couldn’t (and said Son asked, at the last minute, if there wasn’t some other way to accomplish this, so there must not have been). Clearly, He cares for us; so why would He object to us asking the question?
Of course, just because He lets us ask doesn’t require Him to answer. But the lack of an answer leads to certain very unpleasant conclusions about Him, if you take a wrong turn. For myself, I can’t accept that we haven’t been given at least some agency toward whether or not to choose to follow Him; considering what He went through to prevent us from being destroyed, it doesn’t seem right that He would railroad the vast majority of us into rejecting Him.
It’s almost a pity that you have the answers now, I suppose, but you can’t convey them back here to us; it would settle so much, now, wouldn’t it?
Anyway, I’ll keep in touch with you, honey. Keep an eye on me, and wish me luck; I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 