Listening and asking them questions... thoughts on the presence of God

 

“Where are you?”

--Genesis 3: 9

 

In the readings for Mass today we heard that profoundly important story of Adam and Eve and the Fall (Genesis 3: 9-15).  The reading begins just after the eating of the forbidden fruit.  God comes into the garden and calls out to Adam, who is hiding from Him.  There is so much that can be said about this simple and relatively brief story, so much truth to be discovered, so much insight into the psychology of sin, of shame, of scapegoating.  Adam hides because he is naked, because he is vulnerable to the view of another—because he is self-conscious and doesn’t want anyone to notice some aspect of his nature, his being (his sin).  When questioned, he tries to obfuscate: tries to deflect attention on himself by shifting it to God’s sudden appearance. “I heard you walking in the garden and hid because I was naked.” As if he has not always been naked, as if that is not the way he has always appeared before God.  Then when questioned further, he shifts the blame to Eve.  But it’s not only her fault; God is still to blame.  “The woman YOU put here with me...” (3:12) is the real problem! And then Eve, who was just thrown under the bus, turns and blames the serpent. It’s not my fault, it was that damned serpent! “The snake tempted me...” (3:14).  Ask yourself, isn’t that still the way sin works? We get tempted, we do something we’re ashamed of, and as soon as someone finds us out we start looking for someone, or something else to blame.  It’s not my fault. It’s the media, it’s the economy, it’s society, my parents, my husband, my wife... My fault (or sin) is never truly mine, but can always be explained away as the result of someone else’s choices or behavior.     

Anytime we are tempted to think of how backwards and unenlightened people used to be, how primitive they were; how they wouldn’t understand the complexities of life today, wouldn’t grasp the psychological or emotional or social ramifications of a particular action or choice---just pause and reread the first few chapters of Genesis.  It’s all there.  Modern psychology and morality have nothing to teach the ancient writers of the Hebrew Bible.

 

But there is one small aspect of this story that I want to ponder for a moment today: the way that God talks with Adam and Eve. It’s a series of questions. The first thing God does is look for Adam. Talk about a theologically profound image. Adam and Eve have disobeyed God’s command and fallen into sin, and instead of abandoning them, or smiting them, God goes looking for them.  Ponder that for a week or two.  But what caught my eye this morning was the questioning.  “Where are you?” God calls out, but why? God is omniscient and knows exactly where every hair on Adam’s head is at every moment, why does He need to ask? He doesn’t... And that, to my ear, is a clue to the reader. God doesn’t need to ask Adam where he is. God doesn’t need to ask who gave the fruit to Adam? God doesn’t even need to ask why Eve ate from the forbidden tree. God knows. So, why does God ask?  Because it is in the very nature of God to invite us into relationship. To ask us questions, and to listen to our answers.  God asks not for His benefit, but for ours. So that we can reveal ourselves to Him. So that we might freely open ourselves entirely to Him, to His love, and to His mercy.

 

Listening to this story today, I suddenly found myself thinking of another image of God asking questions and listening.  It is from the story of Jesus as a child getting lost in Jerusalem. When Mary and Joseph finally find Him, He is sitting among the elders in the temple, “Listening to them and asking questions...” (Luke 2:46).

 

This is how God reaches out to people. He asks questions, and He listens.

 

How much better would the world be today if we all acted the same?  If, instead of trying to blame someone, or shame someone, what if we acted a little more like Jesus? Instead of casting blame or shame, what if we—instead—each began asking more questions and listening to the answers?  

 

We may not agree with what we hear, but we may find that a door has been opened—both in us and in the person we listen to. And we may find that opening that door changes more than opinions, it changes the world.  Because that’s how God works.

 

What do you think?

Reading the boring bits--some thoughts on all those cubits, the new temple, and the love of God (in the final chapters of Ezekiel)

 “The Lord is there…”  --Ezekiel 48:35

 I just finished reading Ezekiel and was wondering a bit about all those cubits and all those details about walls and widths and columns and chambers and gates, that whole new temple thing that seem to take up so much of the final chapters of this strange book.  Starting in chapter 40 and through the end of chapter 42 we get all these measurements.  This wall or this gate or this alter is so many cubits by so many cubits, etc etc.  It begins to feel like an architectural plan more than a prophetic book.  Even St. Jerome was troubled by the strangeness of this section.  He hoped readers would not find them “frivolous” but admitted that they made him feel like he was knocking on a locked door[1].  So many specific measurements, it begins to feel overwhelming.  I am certain many readers are tempted to simply skip ahead—to the good stuff!  Why not?  This temple (as described) was never built, and according to many commentators, never intended to be built. It was symbolic; representing to the reader an ideal or a vision of God’s eternal temple. Something like that.  And so, once we get the idea—it’s big and its stately and it’s glorious—why bother with the minor details: like how many inner and outer rooms and how many steps and how many columns, etc. etc?  What’s the point? Because there doesn’t really seem to be one…

 

But, I have to ask the same question—only with a little less exasperation in my voice: What’s the point?   Because I am certain, in God’s word, there always is one.

 

And here is what I would propose: Consider the sparrows.  Are not five of them sold for two pennies and yet not one is forgotten before God. (cf. Luke 12:6 & Matthew 10:29-31). Jesus reminds His disciples again and again that the little things (and the little ones) matter; assuring them that every hair on their head is numbered by God.  In other words: details matter. 

 

But why?

 

I’ve been thinking about that.  I wonder if it has something to do with love? When I first fell in love with my wife, everything she did fascinated me, every opinion she had, every whim, every idea, every song she sang or book she read, every flavor she liked… I wanted to know. I wanted to know whether she liked mustard or ketchup on a hot dog, wanted to know which Beatle she liked better: John or Paul, popcorn with butter or without, The Post or The Chronicle… I hungered to know everything about her. And every little detail mattered. Everything she shared with me—including her preference for ketchup on a hot dog (eek)-- was just one more reason to love her.  And I remembered them.  Because I was in love, every detail mattered.

 

I wonder if –in some way—God isn’t reminding us of that here in this lengthy list of seemingly meaningless measurements and boundaries. Is God reminding us that everything matters. Everything we do, everything we think, all of it matters. Because we matter. Because God loves us, not just collectively, but each and every single one of us individually. He loves us so much that He knows the number of hairs on each and every one of our heads. And, even knows the number that fell out on the bathroom floor this morning.

 

One more thing to note.  The book of Ezekiel ends with these words:

 

“The name of the city in future must be: The Lord is there.”

 

The Lord is there…  In the new Holy City, this symbolic city that Ezekiel describes. The Lord is there.  This city where every detail matters, where every small act is intentional. Where even the measurement of a wall or the height of a step, matters. Everything matters. Because everything and everyone is important—is loved.  The Lord is there—in that place of love.

 

What if we lived that way? What if we rose from bed every morning certain that everything we were going to do that day mattered, not matter how large or small the thing was. Everything from making the coffee to answering the phone, from saying hi to a neighbor, to waving at the UPS guy.  From going for a walk to picking up the trash by the curb.  All of it, each act, each humble little deed of kindness or compassion, done with love and humility… everything matters.  What if we lived with that much love?  What kind of witness would we be for the world?

 

I think if we lived like that, people might look at us and say:  The Lord is there.

 

I guess what I am saying is this: when you are listening to God, pay attention and don’t skip over the boring parts, even in life. Because quite often that is exactly where God is waiting to meet you…

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[1] The Jerome Biblical Commentary 21:84 (Ezekiel 40: 5; p. 363); Prentice Hall, New Jersey, 1968.