The wind, howling from the heights of the Rockies, lashed tiny snow tornados across the moon-silvered Depression-era prairie. Half a lifetime later, the young man staring into the night would be short and plump, with a fringe of snow-white hair crowning twinkling eyes and a merry smile seeking the next excuse to laugh; but in that frozen hell, laughter seemed ashes of some spiteful dream.
With a stack of Kung, Armstrong, Frye and others by my side, I embark on a voyage of biblical exploration. I imagine hearing pitiful screams of tiny angels losing their grip on the crowded heads of pins. Often a phrase will cause me to lift my eyes and gaze out the window. Why didn’t Jesus tell his disciples about the universe his Father created?
To the God-inspired men who wrote the Bible, Earth was the centre of the universe God created for us. Prophets and kings would have found it easy to imagine a sovereign atop the clouds ruling his dominions, sending emissary angels to encourage or rebuke wandering desert nomads. How dramatically this clashes with our “modern” perspective in which our dear green and blue planet is so infinitely tiny as to almost surpass imagination. And there, perhaps, is the key.
The Church of St. Andrew and St. Paul, Montreal, proposed a daring theme for Lenten chapel services: questions often asked but seldom answered in church. One rearranged this wanderer’s worldview, like a kaleidoscope’s shifting pattern. “Why don’t miracles happen anymore?”
At lunch with lifelong friends, talk turned to the church which accepted my hesitant application for membership 10 years ago. They’re mildly puzzled. What about all the terrible things that God allows to happen? Look at all that has been done or not done by those who claim to follow Jesus Christ.
I approach church hungry for nourishment of the spirit, more filled with disturbing questions than easy answers.