I know less about God than I ever have before in my life.
But how can that be so? I have spent my entire life filling a church pew nearly every Sunday morning, no matter if there was a dirt floor beneath my feet in Guatemala or pristine chandeliers hanging above my head here in America. My parents drilled it into us as kids - if it's Sunday, your backside had better be warming the pew of a church somewhere.
Over the years, I accumulated more and more knowledge, learning the Bible verses, stories and doctrines. I went to church camp for years, literally singing Kumbaya around a campfire and feeling the warm fuzzies of it all. (I even won 'Camper of the Year' in 1998.) I went overseas on short-term mission trips on multiple occasions, bouncing between Guatemala, Kenya, Russia, New Caledonia. I can't tell you the number of Bible studies I've completed over the years, pages and pages of notes stacking up, taking up space in my filing cabinet and computer hard drive. I've read various commentaries, debated doctrines, been to conferences, read countless theology books, led small groups, facilitated women's times, and taught in the children's ministry. Heck, I've even published articles about God, writing as if I might actually know what I'm talking about.
I am like the apostle Paul (although simultaneously very aware I am nothing like Paul on countless levels) as he rattles off his resume in Philippians 3:4-6:
If someone else thinks they have reasons to put confidence in the flesh, I have more: circumcised on the eighth day, of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews; in regard to the law, a Pharisee; as for zeal, persecuting the church; as for righteousness based on the law, faultless (NIV).
And yet, despite the spiritual resume, the stockpiles of knowledge and the passing of time, still I'm convinced I know less about God than when I first came to know him decades ago.
What really lies at the heart of that statement is not merely an intellectual recognition of how much literal knowledge I possesses (or don't) about God - but rather a recognition rooted in marvel and wonder, a sheer sense of disbelief. Like David in Psalm 8:3-4, I ask with a hint of mystification in my thoughts and in my prayers to God,
When I consider your heavens,the work of your fingers,the moon and the stars,which you have set in place,what is man that you are mindful of him,the son of man that you care for him?
C.S. Lewis writes in his famed children's series, The Chronicles of Narnia, of four siblings - Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy - who discover an enchanted and mysterious land through the doors of a seemingly common wardrobe. Through this wardrobe, the children are magically transported to the land of Narnia and encounter the schemes of the White Witch, an evil sorceress who has placed the land under a spell. Along with Aslan the lion, a good (but not tame!) and powerful king, the children wage war in order to restore peace to Narnia, which they achieve. The children eventually return from the wardrobe and back to their ordinary lives, but there does come a day in the fourth book, Prince Caspian, when they journey back to Narnia.
It is here that Lucy, the youngest of the siblings, searches for Aslan. She discovers him in the wood, rushing to him:
And the next thing she knew was that she was kissing him and putting her arms as far round his neck as she could and burying her face in the beautiful rich silkiness of his mane."Aslan, Aslan. Dear Aslan," sobbed Lucy. "At last."The great beast rolled over on his side so that Lucy fell, half sitting and half lying between his front paws. He bent forward and just touched her nose with his tongue. His warm breath came all round her. She gazed up into the large wise face."Welcome, child," he said."Aslan," said Lucy, "you're bigger.""That is because you are older, little one," answered he."Not because you are?""I am not. But every year you grow, you will find me bigger."
Like Lucy, I am older and I am finding God bigger.
This is how I can say I know less about God than ever.
He hasn't changed one iota, not in my lifetime and not in all the lifetimes before me. He has not literally grown bigger, just like Aslan had not grown bigger. But just as Lucy's view of Aslan had changed, my view of God has changed.
The passing of time has sharpened my awareness of my limitations, my shortcomings, my sinful tendencies, and I've discovered that maybe - just maybe - I don't know it all after all. Likewise, the passing of time has sharpened my awareness of the vastness, the greatness, the magnitude of the God who does know it all.
Age has a way of humbling us and teaching us that God is far bigger than we dared to dream, and we as humans are infinitely smaller than our egos are willing to admit. I see who I am - and who I am not - with greater clarity relative to who he is.
It is this realization that humbles me, that leaves me feeling mystified and positively stumped that God should ever bend down to make himself known to me. I read his Word and I think, "How is that I'm still learning things afresh, things I've read dozens of times before, but as if I've never read them before?" I pray and think, "How is it that he still bothers to listen to me, still chooses to bestow his grace upon me?"
It's because I am growing and I am finding him bigger.
When I get to heaven, I want to wrap my arms as far round God's neck as I can, gaze into his large wise face and say, "You're bigger."
And then spend all eternity finding out just how big he really is.
"For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known" (1 Corinthians 13:12).
"What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord..." (Phillipians 3:8).
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