Why We Fear The One Who Made Us

  A preview of April's email-only article.

Caleb Woods

DOES IT EVER seem like God is hiding from us?

If he's really out there, why won't he show us his glory?

It turns out there's a good explanation for this phenomenon, something we're examining in this month's email-exclusive article.

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Here's a snippet of this month's exclusive:

GOD CANNOT BE contained in any analogy we could conjure, but have you ever considered the paradoxical nature of our sun? Without the sun we could not survive. But were we to venture too near the sun we would perish as well. Even gazing at the yellow dwarf proves injurious.

 

God is a little like the sun. We cannot stand in God's presence without ceasing to exist. And yet, since God is our creator and sustainer, we would not exist at all without him.

 

When Moses asked to see God's glory, God replied he would show Moses his "goodness," but he said, "you cannot see my face, for man shall not see me and live" (Exo. 33:19, 20). Even Moses, who met regularly with God, could not survive an unveiled glimpse of the Almighty.

 

Job was well aware of the awesome, terrifying, and potentially fatal repercussions of an interaction with God. And yet, what he wanted most above all else was an audience with the Creator so he could plead his case. So after preparing his arguments, Job requested two things of God: "Withdraw your hand far from me, and let not dread of you terrify me" (13:21).

 

This passage is intriguing. Here's why.

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If We Are God's Masterpiece, Why Are We So Broken?

Sin results in dust, but God has a restoration plan in place.

Thrive by Daniel Popper, photo: Marianna Smiley

 

THE BOOK OF Job is one of contrasts. You see the uprightness of Job juxtaposed with the evil of Satan. Job is wealthy and healthy one moment then brought to poverty and disease in the next. But perhaps the biggest contrasts we see are the stark differences between expectation and Job's reality.

Job's friends expect that only the wicked should suffer, so they blame him for his problems.

Job knows he's innocent, but he eventually gives up trying to convince his friends and instead starts petitioning God for answers. Job essentially holds the same expectations his friends have, which renders his downtrodden reality all the more puzzling considering his blamelessness. It's the classic, Why do bad things happen to good people? question that just about every human everywhere throughout time has asked at one point or another.

In the midst of these petitions, Job asks God the following:

Deus intra Machina: The Incredible Story of When God Subjected Himself to His Own Creation

A preview of December's email-only article.

Jill Sauve

Did you know I write a monthly article just for email subscribers? It's true!

This month we're discussing the incredible story of Immanuel--God with us--and what that means for you and me this Christmas season.

Here's how it starts:

 

As the creator of our universe, it is no big deal for God to restore the material. For the Israelites in the wilderness he supplied bread out of thin air in the form of manna. He provided water from a rock so they could drink. He restored Job's fortune and health at the conclusion of the man's trials. And God even restored the life of Lazarus though he was dead for four days.

Nevertheless for God to restore humanity from the curse of their sins, something radical had to occur. You see sin, no matter how innocent it may seem, must have a consequence. The most extreme of these consequences, as God warned the first couple, is death.

This isn't some kind of power play or overreaction to eating a piece of fruit, although such a result is certainly the right of an omnipotent, omniscient, God. Instead, death is a natural consequence of sin. All sin results in death.

 

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Our Relationship Status with Food: It's Complicated

Photo by Grant Barker

Did you know I write a monthly article for my email subscribers?

This month I wrote about how food can aid our knowledge of spiritual things. Here's how it begins:

No matter how you slice it, our relationship with food has always been complicated. The food that tastes the best also seems to be the worst for us. Too many doughnuts and cheeseburgers will render us obese and lethargic. Too little food? You’ll surely die. 

Spiritually speaking, our dealings with food might be even more bizarre. In the beginning, Adam and Eve tasted fruit they weren’t supposed to touch, even though they didn’t have to eat at all since death was not yet a thing. 

Because of those bites, we lost paradise, God cursed the ground, and suddenly not only was food now required for survival, it also became difficult to obtain. 

And that’s just the beginning. 

We don’t even have time to address vegetarianism, clean and unclean food, manna and quail in the wilderness, the Passover lamb, unleavened bread, food sacrificed to idols, Nazarite vows, our daily bread, cooking goats in their mother’s milk, fasting, eating with sinners and a whole multitude of other issues. 

Nevertheless, food provides a critical conduit for spiritual knowledge and realization, both as a metaphor and in the actual act of chowing down. This isn’t some sort of new age mysticism I’m hawking here, but stick with me as we focus in on two specific Bible passages with eerily similar wording. Coincidence? I think not, but I’ll let you be the judge.

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Maybe Vegetarians Know Something We Meat-Eaters Don't

Fifteen years ago I almost died. Not literally, but I felt like death, and I may have been okay with that outcome. What happened?

I stopped eating meat.

Photo by Monica Infiesto

This was one of those Lenten convictions I had back in my more pious days. And what better to give up for Jesus than the one thing I love the most? What’s next? Coffee and football?

I know I’m making light of it, but I assure you the decision was born out of a desire to please God and get nearer to Him, and I think I accomplished that goal.

But when I do something, I like to do it right. So I gave up eggs and fish too. But not dairy. Then I literally would have died. Suffice to say I ate a lot of Mac and Cheese and minestrone those forty days. (If only I had known about hummus back then.)

I felt drained and fatigued much of the time during those forty days. These sensations were perfect for accomplishing my Lenten goals of relying on God more, but as a way of life? I shudder at the thought.

On the other side now, I wonder how vegetarians and vegans do what they do and survive. Thrive even. One of my favorite athletes, hall of fame tight end Tony Gonzalez, turned pseudo vegan while still playing professional football, consuming only 20% of his protein from animals—primarily fish.[1]

And yet, as untenable as it sounds to me, maybe vegetarians are on to something. Maybe deep down they know something we carnivores don’t understand.