Wrestling with the truth

Do you believe in a personal, intimate God - a friend who wants to be known by us? Or do you believe in an awesome, mysterious God - a king who is above and beyond human reason or understanding?

Do you believe that we are saved by faith alone? Or do you believe that faith without deeds is meaningless, and that the way we treat others has eternal consequences?

Do you believe in a God of grace and forgiveness whose love is unconditional? Or do you believe in a God of judgement who hates injustice and longs to rid the earth of all sin?

Do you believe that the world is a fallen place that has the potential to corrupt and lead us astray? Or, do you believe that the world is full of good things and creative potential that God made for us to enjoy?

Do you believe that pain and suffering are an anathema to God, an unwanted consequence of the fall? Or do you believe that they are an intrinsic part of life, used by God to shape us into the people he created us to be?

Personally, I believe the answer to all these questions is yes and both. The longer I have been a Christian, the more aware I am that the Christian faith involves holding apparently opposing beliefs in tension - grace and judgement; faith and works; King and Friend. And, most of the time, when ‘God-fearing’ individuals or groups disagree over these and other issues – in a kind of theological tug-of-war – then the truth is most likely to be found at the point of tension between the extremes.

In our Christian walk, it is always tempting to look for definitive answers to difficult questions, like Job in the Old Testament and the rich young man in the New Testament. But God doesn’t answer Job’s question about suffering, at least not directly (Job 38-41) and nor does Jesus give a straight answer to the rich young man’s question about the key to eternal life (Mk 10:21). In other situations, Jesus responded to questions with another question or with a parable that opened up more questions. It’s not that Jesus discouraged discussion and reflection – quite the contrary – but he seems to discourage neat and tidy solutions of the sort we often crave.

I would like to be able to explain everything, to understand all things. But, increasingly, I have come to realise that being a Christian is not about searching for a true and consistent ‘theology of everything'. As Christians, we are called not to understand fully, but to follow; not to know the whole truth, but to trust in the One who is the way, the truth and the life. It's as simple and as complicated as that.

[An extract from a prayer by Blaise Pascal, quoted in Philip Yancey's book, 'Where is God when it hurts?']