Seen and unseen

I've just read the first two novels in Hilary Mantel's trilogy about Thomas Cromwell. I never would have guessed that the life and times of a fifteenth century English statesman would enthrall me. But both books, Wolf Hall and Bring Up The Bodies, were the sort of reading material that had to go with me everywhere, on the off chance I might found myself with a string of free minutes to gobble down a few pages. I hated coming to the end of the second one, but I couldn't stop myself.

In this week's issue of The New Yorker, there's a profile on Mantel. I read it first, with relish. Mantel told the interviewer that she no longer believes in God, but that her religious upbringing influenced her life tremendously. "When you're inculcated with religion at such an early age, or when you're receptive to it, as I was, you become preoccupied with the unseen reality," she says. "This other world, the next world, to me in my childhood seemed just as real as the world I was living in. It wasn't that I had a mental picture of it--it was that I never questioned its existence. I used to conduct a lot of imaginary conversations with God. I don't think Jesus was any less real to me than my aunts and uncles; the fact that I happened not to be able to see him was pretty irrelevant to me."

Her words stuck in my craw, because I so want to "become preoccupied with the unseen reality" and for the other world to seem "just as real as the world I'm living in." I've been trying to train my eyes to see that way.

I've been grappling with the idea of the "unseen reality" for years, and especially lately while reading Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts. Voskamp believes in God, but not with no-questions-asked certainty. After her own grappling, she's come to the conclusion that our perception of the world around us--and whether we believe that God is orchestrating all things for good--dictates how much joy we'll get out of life. I'm down with that.

The rub, of course, is the believing. God is invisible and silent, and many of the people who believe in him don't inspire me. In fact, they shake the mustard seed of faith I'm trying to grow. Sometimes I'm rocked by the thought that I so want the unseen world to be real, that I will myself to believe it. Mantel, who no longer believes, confirms that thought. She describes her season of belief as a childhood preoccupation, something she grew out of.

But here's another way of looking at it. The seen world is real, palpable--and hurtling by at great speed. In a few days I'll be 42. Lately I've been having trouble reading small print. I'm not old! But there's no denying I've reached the halfway point. I know I can't count on the seen world. It's like water through my fingers. So I turn back again to Scripture.

So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. (2 Corinthians 4:18)

"The things which are seen are temporal - wealth, pleasure, fame (i.e. the three idols which the people of this world adore) - are all to endure but for a little time. They will all soon vanish away. So it is with pain, and sorrow, and tears. All that we enjoy, and all that we suffer here, will eventually vanish and disappear. The most lingering disease will soon cease; the evils of the deepest poverty, want, and suffering will soon be passed. There is nothing on which the eye can fix, nothing that the heart can desire here, which will not soon fade away; or, if it survives, it is temporary in regard to us. We must soon leave it to others. How foolish then to make these our portion, and to fix our affections supremely on the things of this life? How foolish also to be very deeply affected by the trials of this life, which at the furthest can be endured but a little longer before we shall be forever beyond their reach!" 
--American theologian Albert Barnes (1798-1870)


There is nothing covered, that shall not be revealed; and hid, that shall not be known. (Matthew 10:26)

Orchid

Last week, on our 9th wedding anniversary, Lee brought me an orchid. We were both a little amazed by this flower. See below.

Lately I've been wrestling with my thoughts about God (what else is new). And it occurs to me that God made this intricate and gorgeous flower, and He also made...dirt and mosquitoes and fungus. It all seems so hard to believe.

I'm reading two books. Death by Suburb, by David Goetz, and One Thousand Gifts, by Ann Voskamp. The second book is written in poetic language, which better suits the ineffable quality of our God, who creates flowers like the one above.

In both books, Chapter 5 is about suffering. Goetz suggests that instead of always trying to throw off our cross, we might "see all things as coming from the hand of God, even, or especially, the cross itself." Voskamp goes even further, explaining that darkness--the hard stuff that makes me angry and anxious--actually births new life and even joy. It's a matter of perspective. Do I really trust God? Then it's OK to let things go.

Isabel didn't get into the Family program I was hoping for. (It's an exclusive program where one group of kids stays together from 2nd - 5th grade, go on their own special field trips, and have excellent teachers.) The teacher Isabel DID get was new to second grade and in her final year of decades of teaching. It didn't seem to be a choice placement.

I struggled with it for a while, feeling like Isabel had been cheated. But these authors, especially Voskamp, have changed my thinking. It's a matter of perspective. If God allowed Isabel to be placed in this class, then good will come out of it--even if I don't see it. Trust.