THE RHETORICAL ORACLE

Do we admire athletes and artists because they triumph over human limitations to achieve excellence? And, by contrast, do we not worship God as we should because we think everything comes so easily for Him?

Why are we not overwhelmed to the point of apoplexy at the unparallelled scientific genius, the artistic beauty of all of creation? Do we hate the fact that we didn’t do it? Are we jealous that we have to work and fail and work some more to achieve objectives, and that HE doesn’t? Is this the true motive behind evolution? That we ultimately get the credit, and not some “intelligent Designer?”

Why do we not marvel at the dexterity with which He orders and coordinates trillions upon trillions of thoughts, actions, and occurrences without error, and without violating our volition, and yet cheer wildly the carnival juggler who can keep three rubber balls in the air?

Why do we, who cannot keep our own lusts in check, not wither at the thought of the Power that can control oceans, storms, behemoths, galaxies, AND the ability to force us to love Him?

Is it easy for you, Lord? Should it even matter that it is?

Shouldn’t we LOVE flawlessness? Don’t we desire the effortlessly beautiful woman who looks wonderful without working at it? Don’t we love the singer with the six-octave range and perfect pitch? Don’t we idolize the athlete who can execute impossible feats without effort?

Shouldn’t we be floored that someone as important and perfect as God knows us? By name? And yet loves us?! Don’t we wish the same of the famous actor?

Is it not amazing that God, GOD(!), would stoop to give Himself for we so unworthy?  Who else could, or would, do it?

Should we serve a God who sweats?

Who strains?

Who squints?

How then, would He be different from us? Should God have to double-check His paper before turning it in, or ask for directions, or add a little salt, or use a thesaurus, or look for the keys?

If everything didn’t come easily for God, how could we have total faith?

Wouldn’t there be the possibility that He would eventually get tired, or stumble, or that His muscles would give out? 

Or that the devil might win?

How could we have ultimate confidence in someone whose motor might eventually throw a rod?

Is there any middle ground? Can one be indifferent in the face of such brilliance? Such power?

Such love