The most difficult thing about loving God may be that I never know where to start with him. I mean that about when I talk about him and when I talk to him. He really is cool enough to be the life of every party that ever happened and the last twenty-four hours or so of my life have been testament to that.
I was down in the Emerson Lobby just a few minutes ago with a few dozen-college students singing worship songs with an acoustic guitar. God was there! I’m not joking, he told me so. I was standing there wondering, “hmmm why should I raise my hands right now.” As I was thinking that, the song said “O God let us be, a generation that seeks, that seeks your face, O God of Jacob.” He said, “Reach up and touch my face,” so I did. Let me tell you about that. He was about seven feet tall maybe taller, his cheeks fit into my fully extended hands perfectly and he had a little bit of facial hair just barely past the length where it’s rough. He was wearing robes but he seemed very comfortable in them, in fact I think he let them get a little dirty just so he wouldn’t embarrass me, o yeah he was barefoot too. As I stood before him, hands raised, I didn’t need to say anything and neither did he. We just stood there, his contentedly smiling face in my hands, me adoring him both of our eyes closed just loving each other. It was great, a wonderful way to experience the love of the savior.
Last night, I was at the Gospel Service across the street at the Methodist Church just off-campus, God was there too, but it was very different. For one thing that was more or less my first time in a true “gospel service,” and it was just grand. If you have never felt the inclination to shout, “Hallelujah!” at the mention of his name you might not understand why these people keep bursting out at mentions of his glory. In fact, I imagine it would seem more than just a little strange. But this crowd had no problems with proclaiming his glory and having EVERYBODY hear about it. That place was so filled with joy bubbling over from heaven that people felt the need to shout about it. It was so wonderful; I couldn’t stop smiling the whole time. My friend Christine, who I was sitting with, was all kinds of into it as well, because apparently that’s the norm for her at her church in Boston where she is the only white kid in the youth group. I suppose the closest thing I have ever experienced to that was the Foursquare summer camp that is so near and dear to me. Basically, there are people laughing, crying, speaking in tongues, holy-rolling and being slain in the spirit everywhere. It is frightening for some, amazing for others but at the end of the night no one can deny God's power there.
For a third and still different experience with God, I went to the Compline service at the Episcopalian Cathedral in the U-District where the monks come out and sing Gregorian chants at nine-thirty on Sunday nights. The reverence in that church is remarkable, not to mention the peace of God. I like to lie on my back when I go to Compline and simply stretch out and relax in the presence of God; it’s sort of like Christian nirvana… maybe not. The monks sing for about a half an hour and it’s beautiful with soaring harmonies and the best reverb you will ever hear is in those old cathedrals. The monk’s version of “Amazing Grace” beats any version you will ever hear, without a doubt. It might be the most beautiful arrangement of any song ever written. However, my favorite part of the night was not “Amazing Grace,” nope it was what one of the monks said.
As the service came to a close the monk said, “Praise be to God, Amen.” I could not help but giggle a little bit deep down inside (and a little bit outside) because I was reminded of one of the speakers at the Gospel service who had said “Praise be to God, Amen!” in a glorious shout with his hands flailing in the air and the congregation cheering afterwards. When the monk said it however, he was very solemn, very pulled together, and only silence ensued. I was half tempted to jump up and shout, “Hallelujah!” but I didn’t, I just had a laugh with God as we remembered the moment. Yet both the monk and the reverend said it with equal amounts of love for the same glorious savior. And you know what else? His love for the two of them is equal too, but it’s also completely different.
God’s love for me is nothing like his love for the monk, or the reverend, or the gospel singers, or even the other SPU students that I was worshiping in Emerson with. His love for me is totally unique, and spectacular just like it is for all of us. I take it is a point of pride that no one knows Jesus like I know Jesus. There is no one else out there who can know the love of Jesus like I can, and dog gone I feel like a greedy little kid every time I say that and it’s AWESOME! My friend Tim the kilted southerner says that he is one of God’s favorite people, that he is definitely in his top ten people ever, if not in his fave five. I say I am right after him, and the only reason I am not higher is that I don’t have a kilt yet. What’s beautiful about that is every single one of us can brag about that same thing no matter what we have done, we can do nothing at all to make him love us less, AGAPE is something bigger than our faults. I was pondering this as I was worshiping in Emerson.
God showed up in the dorm lobby in Emerson Hall to spend quality time with a bunch of adulterers, liars, thieves, and murderers, hardly a desirable way to spend an evening. He went there to love people who have done him more harm than good. He wrapped us, his children, in his arms knowing that we will stab him in the back over and over again. As I was praying the other night God showed me that he would die a hundred times over for any one of us if that’s what it took. He would die for all of us one hundred times even if he knew we would never choose him. He would die one hundred times for a murderer who cursed his name just so that they could have the choice to choose him, even if he knew they wouldn’t. That’s how deep the father’s love is for us, and no matter who we are, where we are, how we worship or what we’ve done he wants us to know that.
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