Tue 3 Jun 2008
Red Cars Are Fast
Posted by tom cottar under personal
While we were out guitar shopping/dreaming a few days ago, my 7-year-old spotted a red sports car out of the truck window as it whizzed by and said, “Dad, red cars are the fast ones, y’know?”
“Really…?” I responded.
“Yep. The red ones are. Cuz they’re red.”
Flashback: I said the same thing when I was young. Exactly. I remember saying it. It’s perfectly acceptable logic for a first grader.
How much of our understanding of God (theology) is like that? We glimpse a little bit of God working somewhere…doing something, and build an entire construct around what God is like. Next thing you know, we’re spouting off mis-truths like ‘red cars are the fast ones’. And we can easily have our world jacked.
First, God is limitless. Exponentially and infinitely huge. Knows all. Sees all. Nothing slips by Him. His reach extends into eternity. His love is boundless. His mercy wider than can be measured. His grace is deeper than we can ever exhaust. Yet he feeds the sparrows and knows the number of hairs on your head. Huge. Infinitely huge. In fact, he’s beyond words–the name he has given himself is I AM, because it perfectly and completely defines him.
Second, we are created, however, with an amazing-but-amazingly-limited brain. Our understanding of anything….everything…is absolutely 100% colored by our perceptions, environment, culture and moods. We can never be objective about anything. When we spot a red car, we call it ‘red’ only because we relate it to how we perceive some former object that someone deemed ‘red’. Of course, that person called the former object ‘red’ because someone told them that something similar was ‘red’…and so on and so on. (Of course, it should go without saying that none of this means that the item is NOT red!) Our understanding of anything is ultimately based on our understanding of other things and assimilating those thoughts into something new.
And to further muddy the waters, our language seems to be even more limited than that. Language is an ever-evolving organism. Ever had a tough time putting something into words? Your heart could express it but English (or Spanglish) just couldn’t get it done?
So we’re stuck trying to express and understand a limitless God with rickety facilities. Like trying to build a staircase to the moon using only Legos. And as an aside, this is my struggle with worship music these days: the greatness of God can never be fully explained in worship…yet we must worship.
The Good News in all this is that God revealed Himself in the person of Jesus. If you’ve seen him, you’ve seen the Father. You can’t read the Gospel of John without hearing how we ‘can know the truth’…God has revealed Himself to us by His limitless Holy Spirit, through Holy Scripture and through the whole of the person of Jesus. As we see and begin to piece together what we know of God, we tend to build theological systems based on those glimpses. Of course, we filter them through our culture. Our perceptions. Our interpretations. Our environment and our mood.
The danger is that we sometimes grasp a (true) nugget of God’s truth and paint a (flawed) picture of what we’ve seen. Without the perspective of ancient church fathers and the abundance of God’s grace, we’d get it wrong even more often than we do. We see the Red Car and how ‘fast’ it is.
I’ve seen this on my own blog. Lately I’ve perused some of my archives and thought, "wow. ..really? I said that?". And I’ve thought of deleting them…a sort of revisionist history of where I am spiritually today. but that would paint a false picture of my journey and it would take glory away from God as he continues to mold and shape and redeem me. More and more I resonate with NT Wright’s quip, "I’m confident that half of my theology is wrong at any given moment…I’m just not sure which half."
Thank you, Jesus, for grace that not only fills in the gaps, but that covers the whole thing.
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June 3rd, 2008 at 8:32 pm
I rarely read again something I’ve written in the past. I know I’m unlikely to be very happy with it today. Sometimes something I wrote will hold up well and still decently reflect my thoughts and the manner in which I would choose to express them. But that’s definitely the exception, not the rule.
I have the same sort of experience as a programmer at work. When I’m showing someone something I coded initially years ago, I usually feel like I need to apologize, especially if they’re going to have to work on it. I feel like I’m saying, “I’m really not that bad a programmer.” The reality is that it reflects a melange of my skills and experience at the time as mediated by the demands, timeframes, and resources I had with which to produce it. The things I write always come in on time and under budget, accomplish the primary goals, and continue to be used for years (or even decades). By any measure as a programmer, that’s “success”. And yet I cringe when I have to walk something I wrote long ago. It does not reflect my current knowledge and skills or probably even what I would have preferred to have done back then given an ideal world.
The same is true of writing of any sort, but especially the writing which accompanies our journey with the God made known in Jesus of Nazareth. It freezes in time a photo taken through the window on the train of that journey. Had I not thought and felt what I thought and felt at that time, it’s unlikely — for good or ill — that I would be in the same place in that journey that I find myself today. Something I wrote may actually turn out to say little or much about God, but it always speaks of me. I have breathed my breath into it. Such life as a writing has may or may not have some tint of the breath of God, but any such coloring it may have has always been tempered through me. And as such it reveals at least as much about me as it does about whatever the topic of my writing might have been.
Maybe that’s why the idea of blog has never really been attractive to me. I don’t want a site which collects things that I have written that are best forgotten. Having written it is time to move on.
And yes, anything we can say about the essence of God must always be held in tension with an effort to say that is not God. God is light. Yet he is unlike any light to which we can compare him. And his light makes any light we’ve known the same as darkness. God is just. Yet God’s justice is revealed in his infinite and forgiving mercies. People speak of God’s glory, yet Jesus came into his glory and his power as he was lifted up on a Cross. If you overemphasize any catophatic statement about God you will err. But then you will err if you fail to make any such statements as well. And as much of mystery as we must always locate in the essence of God, we must always keep in mind that the Father makes himself known to us through the Son and manifests his energies through the Spirit. He is a God of infinitely unknowable mystery and God who gives himself in communion with us giving us himself as life and sustenance and to bring us into the mystery of the interpenetrating life of the Trinity.
On some days N.T. Wright is more confident than others. I’ve listened to many, many of his lectures and sermons now. Sometimes he is sure as little as a quarter of the things he most believes are wrong. Other times, it’s a third. And sometimes it’s half. The rub is always the same though. Which fourth? Which third? Which half? If you live that way, at least you won’t be shocked when you discover you were [gasp] wrong …
June 4th, 2008 at 9:46 am
good word… maybe there’s some humility that grows among the soil of ‘this-is-what-I-currently-believe-but-God-can/will-change-it-at-any-moment’. The rub is that, given my fundamental upbringing, there’s always a pull to build your theology into a brick wall (to borrow a phrase from Bell, though I don’t always agree with him). If one of the bricks are attacked, removed, or in danger of crumbling, then the whole wall is in danger. Scary thing for those who live in Brickworld.
nowadays, i’m more confident (not necessarily comfortable) in knowing the security of the framework of my theology, and knowing that Jesus holds the tension in his mighty hand. Like the springs on a trampoline. The springs may give a little now and then, but the frame is unchanging.
guess I’m trying to focus on the frame.
June 4th, 2008 at 10:24 am
That’s so far removed from my experience that, while I can observe it in others, I don’t think I’ll ever truly understand it in any meaningful way. I simply cannot see through that lens at all. Of course, any effort I might make at the attempt is further hampered by the fact that I don’t really want to place myself in that position, even just to better understand. I find it extremely uncomfortable and unsettling.
I have, of course, heard the analogy. And I even read that chapter of the book once when enjoying a book store. And yet, I’m not sure I could confidently say I even have a frame of theology or “worldview” on which I rely. I speak as someone who has swapped out entire frames more than once (or jumped from one trampoline to another if you prefer that image). I don’t think I place much confidence in what I think about God at any given moment.
When I think about my experience in this frame, I immediately sense that it is different and has more profoundly changed the way I perceive many things and thus the way I act. This trampoline has been unlike any other. But it is not and has not been different because of what I think. (In fact, it has probably operated on me in spite of what I think in the moment.)
No, when you jump within this framework, you discover that it’s not actually a trampoline at all. Rather, as you walk within it, you discover the Christian frame is a dance. You are not bouncing by yourself or even “with” or alongside others or even alongside God.
Rather, you discover that when you thought you were bouncing around within a framework of belief, you were actually starting to dance with one Jesus of Nazareth, Jewish Messiah, Lord of Heaven and Earth, and relentless lover of man. And rather than struggling to learn to bounce, you find that Jesus is teaching you the steps of the dance of the Trinity as he leads you through its movements. And he is the most gracious and patient of teachers as you clumsily stomp on his feet, trip over imaginary cracks, and stumble over your own feet. But as you learn to dance with Jesus, you discover those rhythms of grace awakening within yourself. The steps become more and more natural. And you begin to realize that there are many others dancing around and with you. This is a dance which has no beginning or end. But it has a center. And that center is Jesus.
I don’t think I have a framework. Even within the bounds of Christianity, I have tried on a number of different frames and may have more to try. But Jesus seems to have taken root, to be planted, firmly in the center. And he seems more unshakable and reliable with each passing moment. Around him grow other understandings. I understand the Trinity, for example, more and more as I understand Jesus. (Maybe it’s because I’ve known and worshiped such a variety of gods that I understand almost innately that we don’t know God and through that lens understand Jesus, but that we only know God at all through the lens, life, and person of Jesus of Nazareth. That’s why I answer any question about “God” in terms related to Jesus.)
I do agree that bouncing on a trampoline supported by a flexible framework of ideas is much better than rushing around trying to shore up an adobe wall of bricks in the face of the raging torrent of the flood. But I think I prefer to bounce off the trampoline and dance with Jesus. I’m not sure I invest much confidence in any theological framework unless it helps me dance better.
June 4th, 2008 at 10:35 am
dancing?

I thought you were an ice skater…
June 4th, 2008 at 10:45 am
That’s roller skating. I don’t ice skate. (A few hard-won laps around the Galleria notwithstanding.)
It does occur to me that at least a mini-frame is emerging. If something someone says about God is inconsistent with what I know and understand about Jesus, I tend to look askance at it and avoid it. Of course, that all depends on how well I’ve gotten to know the real, actual person named Jesus of Nazareth as opposed to my own or someone else’s constructed idea of him.
Hmmm. I guess it’s just a dance after all.