Comedian W.C. Fields was reading the Bible one afternoon, when a friend asked him what he was doing. “Looking for loopholes,” the actor responded wryly.
I wonder if somewhere within the intended humor of that statement, there lies a revealing glimpse of our often-ironic approach to God, and similar approach to truth itself. That is, there is something completely irrational about thinking of God as an entity that can be manipulated; there is something incredibly ridiculous about defining truth to suit oneself.
Yet within the current mindset, truth is quite comfortably understood in terms of preference, and God is readily comprehended as one who must prepare a defense for our own thunderous line of questioning. How did we arrive at this state of mind? Even as Christianity is discriminated against in the name of intolerance, do we not see the irony? Even as God is plucked out of schools, his name slandered in irreverence, have we not seen the staggering results of life without a higher law? Even as we live in anger with God for existing, angry at life for being unreasonable, do we not see our own contradictions?
Truly, the need for sound thinking is clear, the need for moral absolutes keenly felt, and our need for the God both holy and merciful — undeniable.
A similar burden was once carried by one of God's prophets to the people of his day. The prophet Malachi screamed of crisis during a time when people were asleep in comfort. The manner in which God speaks through this final Old Testament prophet is fascinating. Through Malachi, we hear a series of distinctive questions and answers in a dialogical fashion, and we get an eye-opening glimpse of the often-cynical, often-illogical cries of humanity in light of the cries of God’s heart to us.
Malachi's message came at the end of a thousand year period of God's revelation to his people. The next voice to be heard centuries later was that of John the Baptist preparing the way of Christ. And yet historically, the people of Malachi’s day were standing in a period of almost eerie stillness. There was no looming threat to be addressed, no extraordinary prospering to be consumed by. Yet their hearts had grown cold and weary. Their worship was tired. Their complaints had no end. It was Malachi who pointedly voiced the irrationality of their half-hearted approach to God, the sheer irony of finding the almighty God wearisome.
The opening lines of the closing book read powerfully, “I have loved you, says the Lord. Yet you say, in what way have you loved us? ...A son honors his father, and a servant his master. If I am a father, where is the honor due me? If I am a master, where is the respect due me?” (Malachi 1:2,6).
In these words, God still calls. Truth is not relative. It is incredibly personal. “If I am Father, where is the honor due me?” He is dissatisfied by empty worship because He exists, because He lives, because He has loved us, though we continue to ask “in what way?” Spoken in perfect tense, his words signal present implications, past actions. Though you know not what you do, I have loved you, says the Lord. (See e.g. Luke 23:33-34.)
How do we respond to this love? How do we approach Him? There is a reason Jesus called it the greatest commandment: You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength. His name is great, beyond the borders of Israel, beyond the ways we try to limit Him, and He wants to be your one consuming desire. He has left no room for loopholes.
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Copyright © 2005 Ravi Zacharias International Ministries (RZIM). Reprinted with permission. "A Slice of Infinity" is a radio ministry of Ravi Zacharias International Ministries.
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Another version from 2/18/08:
Comedian W.C. Fields was reading the Bible one afternoon when a friend asked him what he was doing. The actor responded wryly, “Looking for loopholes.”
Somewhere within the intended humor of this statement probably lies a revealing glimpse of our often-ironic approach to God. That is, if God is real, there is something irrational about thinking in terms of an entity that can be manipulated; if there is such a thing as truth, there is something ridiculous about defining it to suit ourselves. But we do this regularly.
Author A.J. Jacobs always assumed that “religion would just wither away and we’d live in a neo-Enlightenment world.”(1) When this did not happen, he figured he should examine whether he was missing something essential to being a human or whether half the world was simply deluded by the existence of God. So he decided to follow literally every command in the Bible for a year -- including not trimming his beard and making tassels on the corners of his garments. In his book A YEAR OF LIVING BIBLICALLY he describes his experiment, which he admits held a bit of irreverence. In the end he draws the conclusion, “I now believe that whether or not there’s a God, there is such a thing as sacredness.”(2)
Many, including Jacobs, point out the irony of his experiment -- namely, deciding to follow the Bible literally is hardly the same thing as deciding to follow God. Yet the popular approach to theological inquiry is not much different and is often equally suited to our own interests, the difference perhaps being that we rarely point out our own incongruous thinking. Truth is comfortably understood in terms of preference, and God is readily comprehended as one who must prepare a defense for our own thunderous line of questioning, even as we question this God’s very existence. Somehow we have arrived at a state of mind where we can live in anger with God for existing, where we can each choose our own brand of reasoning and be frustrated with life for being unreasonable -- and see none of the contradictions in our words. Or else we simply choose to overlook them.
The prophet Malachi screamed of crisis during a time when people were asleep to their own incongruous thoughts. Malachi’s message came at the end of a thousand year period of God’s revelation to the people of Israel. The next voice to be heard centuries later was that of John the Baptist preparing the way for the Messiah. Yet historically, the people of Malachi’s day were standing in a period of almost eerie stillness. There was no looming threat to be addressed, no extraordinary prospering to be consumed by, no real reason to be moved by much of anything. Whether for lack of excitement or for excess of ease, the hearts of the people had grown cold and weary. Their worship was tired. Their complaints had no end. It was Malachi who pointedly voiced the irrationality of their half-hearted approach to God, the sheer irony of finding the almighty God wearisome.
Through Malachi, we hear a series of distinctive questions and answers in a dialogical fashion, and we get an eye-opening glimpse of the often-cynical, often-illogical cries of humanity in light of the cries of God’s heart to us.
The opening lines of the closing book read powerfully, “I have loved you, says the Lord. Yet you say, ‘In what way have you loved us?’... A son honors his father, and a servant his master. But if I am a father, where is the honor due me? If I am a master, where is the respect due me?” (Malachi 1:2,6). The inquiry is direct and personal, referencing a great story of pursuit and belonging. If I am Father, why am I the one being questioned? While you have grown cold and weary, I have loved you. Yet you ask, “In what way?”
In these words, in the midst of whatever inconsistency we may or may not see, I believe God still beckons. This declaration of love, which could easily be spoken in anger, voiced as one taking back the words and years of care, is not at all spoken in terms of retreat. On the contrary, spoken in perfect tense, the phrase “I have loved you” signals past actions, but present implications. The immense history of God’s pursuit and care is indeed called to mind, but the sentiment remains unscathed, present and active. It is as if God is saying, though you know not what you do, I have loved you. Indeed, similar words would be spoken again centuries later. “And when they came to the place called the Skull, there they crucified him, along with the criminals -- one on his right, the other on his left. But Jesus said, ‘Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing’” (Luke 23:33-34).
Perhaps God is dissatisfied by empty worship, not out of greed or arrogance, but because God’s love is so far from empty itself. Perhaps God is grieved by barren, distant images of abstract religion, not out of legalism or fastidiousness, but because God lives so much nearer than we know. And perhaps God is frustrated with indifferent inquiries as to divine love and character simply because the statement is true: “‘I have loved you,’ says the Lord.”
How do we respond to this love? For one, there is really no need for loopholes. And if we will remember the immense demonstration of this love in history, there is also no reason to ask “in what way?”
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1. A. J. Jacobs, A YEAR OF LIVING BIBLICALLY: ONE MAN’S HUMBLE QUEST TO FOLLOW THE BIBLE AS LITERALLY AS POSSIBLE (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2007).
2. Ibid., 329.
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Copyright © 2008 Ravi Zacharias International Ministries (RZIM). Reprinted with permission. "A Slice of Infinity" is a radio ministry of Ravi Zacharias International Ministries.
