God's a Lot Smaller than He Used to Be
My girlfriend and I were in New York for New Year’s Eve this year. As you may expect, the trip was indescribably exciting. Neither of us had ever visited the city before, and if the sights themselves weren’t enough to keep us thrilled, the view of several security helicopters constantly weaving in and out of the Manhattan skyline on December 31 provided a reminder that we were probably in the most important place in the whole world at that moment. I won’t go into the details of the weekend in this entry, except for one observation that got me thinking.

The flights into New York and the train ride into Manhattan went rather smoothly and without incident. Even finding the correct subway line and purchasing the proper tickets into town occurred without any hitches, and Ashley and I found ourselves very quickly taking an escalator up from the station on 5th Avenue. Suddenly and without warning, New York hit us. This was the evening of December 30, and it seemed that at least half the world had the same idea that we had—to stroll down 5th Avenue, buy a hotdog, and look at some buildings. After a lazy day of traveling, we were suddenly in the middle of a mob of people and were fighting to get across the sidewalk, to buy the hot dog, to take a picture, to throw away the hot dog wrapper. I’m not sure who uttered the phrase first vocally, but it resonated with both of us: “These people aren’t going anywhere.” They’re going. But I don’t think they had anywhere to be. I don’t think there was a pre-determined destination. Wherever they saw other people going, they were following. If someone pushed them, they pushed back. I’m not implying that there was any rudeness being displayed by all the tourists or that we were somehow more entitled to be in Manhattan at that time. I was simply amused by the way that so many people were rushing around within that five-block radius.

Looking back, I wonder how many of us live in this same manner. Is there any intentionality with the decisions we make, with the places we go, or with the people we spend time with? Too often I feel like I have to fill my life with things—every ounce of it—so that time is not “wasted.” And I feel like I’m compelled to do this more and more because the people around me are doing the same thing. You may ask, “What’s the problem with being industrious or active?” The problem does not lie in being those things. However, if we are nothing but industrious, if we book up our schedules so that we’re always looking ahead to the next thing, how can we honestly examine what we’re doing right now and realize its significance? Or, how can we make time to help someone in need if we leave ourselves no time to sacrifice? I’m convinced that we manage our time backwards. We fill up our schedules and see what thing we have to give up in the end instead of opening up our schedules and seeing what needs to be done

If God is to become the dominant force in our lives, we must allow him some time to use. This goes beyond the traditional “time with God” that we learned to practice in Sunday school. It means to live each day with an awareness of our place in God’s redemptive plan. It means to live more simply. It means to stop seeking self-significance in others, in activities, and in status and to acknowledge something greater than our own lives.

Two centuries ago, a poet was concerned that we may be getting too wrapped up in the minor concerns of society:
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

William Wordsworth was most likely not spouting off some Christian rhetoric or calling readers to “come back to God.” However, he did realize that there is some power in this world greater than ourselves, and by consistently ignoring it, our perceptions grow more and more self-centered. Ancient Greeks could look at the ocean and see a myriad of supernatural workings. It gave them a proper sense of self and a proper sense of the universe. It seems that our modern world has an explanation for everything—or more than one explanation for anything. If it’s not this it’s this. As a result, we see nothing supernaturally. This poses a major problem for Christians, for God is supernatural. And if we fail to see God as such, we have lost a proper perception of the universe.

Writers such as C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien lamented their observation that the fairies seem to have disappeared from England. It used to be that you could find one under any rock or behind any tree. Today, we hardly notice the trees. If we do, it’s likely because one’s gotten in the way. “Better cut this branch. It’s getting too close to the power line.” Our lack of vision for the supernatural makes me realize that God’s a lot smaller than he used to be. We figure we’re doing well if we slot off twenty minutes to read the Bible in the morning, yet we sometimes do that and then live the next twenty hours without an awareness of his indwelling Spirit. It’s my hope that today and tomorrow and the next day this Spirit will dance more freely in me with its counterpart in Creation so I will not be unaware that a dance is taking place. In the meantime, I’ll try to see where I'm going in this city and pay a little more attention to the trees.