Tuesday, December 18, 2012

elementary, my dear watson

When did you see God at work?

I see God at work like it's my JOB, y'all. Which, of course, it is. I get paid to notice the things that might otherwise go missing (and sometimes, I think, to forget that I noticed. But that's beside the point.). Let's get a little Wittgensteinian and embark upon a trove of Philosophical Investigations. Is it a rabbit, or is it a duck? Rabbit! Duck! Rabbit! Is it coincidence or is it God? Coincidence! God! Coincidence!

I saw glimmers of God at work (my eyes flickering back and forth between circumstance and coincidence, of course) in:

The Case of the Angry Train Apology

The Case of the Perfectly Timed Gift Given in Ignorance of Actual Circumstances

The Case of the African Adoption

The Case of Decade-Old Angst Wiped Clean

The Case of the Grace-filled Grieving

The Case of Loving What Turned Out To Be Enemies

The Case of the Upturned Lives

The Case of the Surprising Fidelity

The Case of Friends Falling in Full-Out Love

I'd rather not ascribe each and every movement to God. I doubt God causes football games to be won or lost, moves to be made, traffic to flow. God - if she is a high-level processor at all - has just got to be smarter than that. Delegate, lady! Get a hireling arch-angel to be in charge of that crap! [And, while you're at it, I mean, if you think about it and you have an extra minute or two, send one of those bike-messenger seraphim to remind us that you do NOT rain down a massacre of kids in exchange for our failure to behave in sufficiently exclusionary and bigoted ways.]

Still. God moves in the world. And it's important, I think, to notice it. And if you do notice - that thing that's just a little off, just a tad too real to be completely explicable by the obvious (too much duck, if you will, for our rabbit-filled world), just shout it out:


I'd call that magnification. I'd say our souls are the ones who get to do it. And our spirits? Oh, they get to rejoice, in a God who saves us from lives of eternal, duck-filled boredom.

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