What if God is not Who I want Him to be? What if I've been mistaken through all these prayers, and His real character is something...abhorrent to me? Though a bit of theological upheaval may be appropriate, wrestling through other's constructions of God should prompt us to spend more time in the company of the One we claim to love. Rather than personal context, I offer the following excerpt from Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion written by Gregory Boyle. (Father Boyle is a Jesuit priest and the founder and executive director of Homeboy Industries.)
...What seems to vex us is our tendency to conjure up a tiny God. I remember arriving at a CEB (base community) meeting in my very earliest days at Dolores Mission. Spanish, in those days, was more of struggle than it is now. When I arrive, an older lady, Lupe, strong and influential in the group, has gotten her hands on this tiny brochure. It's a message from the Blessed Mother, and, boy, is Mary pissed! There apparently was an apparition somewhere in New Jersey. A woman is calientando a tortilla, and when she flips it over, Ay, Dios Mio!, there is an image of La Virgin in all her glory. So apart from imminent plans to build a cathedral, say, right in this kitchen, Mary has come with a message. This little brochure explains it all. So Lupe is holding us hostage and has completely derailed our meeting. Mary is gonna let us have it, she tells us, and she is not one bit pleased with the state of the world, and everybody is going to hell on the "Dynamite D" train. This is the gist. I feel hopeless to bring us back on track, no match for the fluidity and command of Lupe. She has us in her thrall for some time, until Socorro, a respected and elderly "church lady," a sacristan and gentle soul, pidio la palabra. She daintily poises her finger in the air, asking to be heard. The only power I have in the group, at this point, is to permit her to speak.
"Well, you know," Socorro begins with a quiet strength and humble tone, "I am from a ranchito in Mexico. I've never been to school. I can't read the Bible. I certainly can't read that fine foleto you've brought to our meeting, Lupe." Then she pauses as if to employ some other unseen second engine. She gears up and rears up and looks straight at Lupe. "Pero, te digo una cosa, Dios no es asi." (I'll tell ya one thing, God is not like that.)
...What seems to vex us is our tendency to conjure up a tiny God. I remember arriving at a CEB (base community) meeting in my very earliest days at Dolores Mission. Spanish, in those days, was more of struggle than it is now. When I arrive, an older lady, Lupe, strong and influential in the group, has gotten her hands on this tiny brochure. It's a message from the Blessed Mother, and, boy, is Mary pissed! There apparently was an apparition somewhere in New Jersey. A woman is calientando a tortilla, and when she flips it over, Ay, Dios Mio!, there is an image of La Virgin in all her glory. So apart from imminent plans to build a cathedral, say, right in this kitchen, Mary has come with a message. This little brochure explains it all. So Lupe is holding us hostage and has completely derailed our meeting. Mary is gonna let us have it, she tells us, and she is not one bit pleased with the state of the world, and everybody is going to hell on the "Dynamite D" train. This is the gist. I feel hopeless to bring us back on track, no match for the fluidity and command of Lupe. She has us in her thrall for some time, until Socorro, a respected and elderly "church lady," a sacristan and gentle soul, pidio la palabra. She daintily poises her finger in the air, asking to be heard. The only power I have in the group, at this point, is to permit her to speak.
"Well, you know," Socorro begins with a quiet strength and humble tone, "I am from a ranchito in Mexico. I've never been to school. I can't read the Bible. I certainly can't read that fine foleto you've brought to our meeting, Lupe." Then she pauses as if to employ some other unseen second engine. She gears up and rears up and looks straight at Lupe. "Pero, te digo una cosa, Dios no es asi." (I'll tell ya one thing, God is not like that.)
2 comments:
a beautiful story. thank you so much for sharing it.
Experiencing God brings authenticity to our language.
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