God Doesn’t Work For Me

“I’m glad you found something that works for you.”

He said it kindly, genuinely happy for me to have found meaning and purpose in my beliefs about God. I said, “Whether or not my beliefs work for me is not the point. I just want to believe what’s true, and live accordingly. I want to know what God is really like—not what I want him to be. My opinion about you doesn’t determine who you really are, and my opinion about God certainly doesn’t change who he is.” God is himself. He is not obligated to work for me—as if my own little self were the centre of all things—he is the centre, and the reason I work at all is because of him. So I’d much rather live in the light of reality, even if it makes me squint, than live in the shadows of my own comfortable delusions.

We all know how much of a problem fake news is in politics, national and social issues—but how much more serious is it to invent or believe misinformation about God himself, the foundation of truth and reality? If we misunderstand the Creator, how can we ever understand or properly relate to any part of his creation—including ourselves? We’ll misapply everything, like trying to play a piano concerto on a drum kit. Which is probably why our world is so loud and chaotic. It’s only when we recognise the Conductor of creation that we can begin to understand the music he planted in our souls. God doesn’t work for me. I’m not his boss, I don’t set his agenda. He sets mine.

“I’m glad you found something that works for you.”

No, I found something far better. I found Someone that finally makes sense of me, that overwhelms and terrifies me and comforts and loves me with a love that is larger than the unaccountable galaxies spinning beyond imagining and sharper than the iron nails on a wooden cross and stronger than the grave. I found the Way, the Truth, and the Life. I found Reality himself. And nothing can ever be the same.