For some reason, it's taken me nearly 50 years to realise just how bad at geography my religious teachers were. In a conversation last weekend I remembered the images we were presented with at Sunday School - a blonde, blue-eyed, white, radiant Jesus surrounded by ecstatically happy, ruddy-cheeked children on a verdant hillside with spreading oaks, beeches and willows and a stream (populated with trout and salmon) flowing past while a few Romney sheep contentedly grazed while their coats shone like newly-washed cotton wool.
At the time my infant mind couldn't believe the scene. I'd never been to Israel or England by then but something inside screamed "mismatch!" Now I know why - Jesus lived in Israel (mainly) and they don't have verdant hills, oaks, beeches, willow, trout, salmon or Romney sheep there … and Jesus sure as heck wouldn't have been blonde or blue-eyed.
What we've done, I realised, is made Jesus in our own image - the image of the painters of these religious scenes. In the same way, we've made God in our own image, not the other way round, as per the Bible. That's why there's no mystery about why there are so many different Gods - friendly ones, angry ones, spiteful ones, fatherly ones, loving ones, vengeful ones, forgiving ones - and why there's an equal number of versions of Jesus.
We see what we want to see, what we expect to see, what we've always seen. The only God (or Jesus) we can conjure up is the one from our past. It's like making up a picture of what a radio announcer looks like, from his voice. Then we meet him and he looks quite different. However, we cannot shake off the made-up version, despite the evidence of the real version.
If we've grown up with an angry God who then does something loving to or for us, do we notice? If we've grown up with a sullen God who then does something deliriously funny, do we notice?
Maybe, just maybe, if we decided, based on the lack of tangible evidence to date, that we haven't a clue what God could be like, would we be open to the grandest, most loving version of God that's possible? … and, by extension (if we are created in his image) the grandest, most loving version of ourselves?
Maybe, just maybe, being open and unknowing can lead us to where we could never have imagined going. Just a thought …
And where is Arthur Bayly going? His story continues from the previous blog ...
"Oh, yes, of course," said Arthur, relieved that he could talk to the Lord and a little intimidated that he was actually going to do it.
"Now, Arthur, the touchy bit, I'm afraid," said Mary, obviously faltering while she phrased the next bit. "Your situation is a little … a, interesting. There is a possibility, just a small one, that you could be followed at some time."
"I already am, Mary, by an Australian and his gang," said Arthur, smiling. That bit sounded quite exotic, quite … well, 007ish.
"You are?" asked Mary with evident surprise. "And we thought they … oh, he, was from New Zealand. Gosh … so you know you could be followed again?"
"Yes, I suppose I do," said Arthur, with the exotic label quickly fading while the fearsome one lit in bright neon lights. He wiped his brow.
"So, Arthur, we have a plan," said Mary, who loved plans, Arthur knew. "You're not planning on going anywhere today, are you?"
"No, no, I wasn't …"
"Good, so the plan is this," said Mary. "A tradesman's van will pull up outside your house at 10.30 this morning. He will knock on your door and you're to let him in. Understand?"
"Yes. Is that it?" asked Arthur.
"No, Arthur, I just want to make sure you understand every bit of the procedure," said Mary. "Now, you and the tradesman will exchange clothes and you can then go out and hop into his van. There will be a passenger who will give you driving directions. You can drive, can't you?"
"Uh yes, oh yes, I can drive though it has been a long time," said Arthur, wondering if it was all that much fun being James Bond.
"Now, the tradesman will be Toby McGuire, my secretary. He's younger but about your size," said Mary, obviously ticking things off a list as she conveyed them to him. "You'll be away for an hour or so, if your wife wouldn't mind plying him with cups of tea for that time … and please don't take your cell phone. It can be traced. Do you follow all that?"
"Ah, yes, I think so," said Arthur.
"Good," said Mary. "And good luck."
As Arthur put the phone down he realised his apprehension over meeting - and getting to meet - Lord Atkinson was not his only problem. He had another problem - Joan. How was he going to explain this strange turn of events, especially when she wasn't keen on him starting the project, anyway? As well as that, she'd asked little about the project and he'd told her little. And now, in forty minutes' time, a stranger was going to come through the door, exchange clothes with Arthur and stay in the house while Arthur drove off in his van to destination unknown. How much to tell and where to start? What a conundrum … and one that wasn't going away!
Oh well, gird the loins, take a deep breath (a very deep breath) and wing it - just say whatever comes to mind. 'Yes, one must do just that,' he thought. His brain froze, his body rose and he wondered how he'd got himself in this pickle - life was so regular, ordered and predictable two weeks ago and he'd disliked it. Now, well, yes, it was anything but regular and predictable and, yes, he had to admit it, it was just the tiniest bit exciting. And fearful.
Putting on his sternest face, he strode up the short hallway, turned down the stairs and called for Joan before he reached the bottom.
"Yes dear," said Joan, from the kitchen. "Can it just wait a minute? I was just about to ring Dottie and thank her for her help over the funeral."
"No Joan," said Arthur, frowning rather seriously to himself. "That will have to wait. I'd like to talk to you now, please."
"Oh Arthur, you do sound masterful!" said Joan appearing in the doorway of the lounge where he was standing, waiting. She was wiping her hands on her floral apron. "What is it that's come over you? You're diff …"
"Joan, I'm sorry, but I don't have a lot of time," said Arthur, indicating her chair.
"Right, yes, if you insist …" said Joan, unused to such direction from Arthur.
"Now, at ten thirty a young man I don't know will come to the door," he said, discovering his mouth (or was it his brain that was in charge?) was diving straight in. No preamble at all. "I will let him in, we'll exchange clothes, I will drive off in his van and he will stay here with you until I return. Probably about an hour."
"Right, yes," said Joan. "This stranger - he's quite safe, is he? He won't be torturing me or anything will he?"
"No, of course he won't," said Arthur, not sure if she was joking or being very logical. "He's Mary's secretary, a nice young man by all accounts."
"That's good," said Joan, smiling. "What else did you want to tell me, dear?"
"I … ah, well, that's what's going to happen," said Arthur, expecting objections that didn't eventuate. "I can tell you more if you want to know more."
"not really, if you don't have enough time, Arthur," said Joan. I'll have a whole hour with this charming young man so I can drill him, can't I?"
"Yes, yes, I suppose you can," said Arthur, now wishing she did want to know more so he could tell her. "It's about this Atkinson case, actually."
"Yes, I had guessed that," said Joan. "I'd like to know more about it some time but there's probably not the time now, is there?"
"Well, I could make a start," said Arthur, wondering where that bossy and demanding Joan had gone. A quite pleasant one had stepped into her body somehow, recently.
At the time my infant mind couldn't believe the scene. I'd never been to Israel or England by then but something inside screamed "mismatch!" Now I know why - Jesus lived in Israel (mainly) and they don't have verdant hills, oaks, beeches, willow, trout, salmon or Romney sheep there … and Jesus sure as heck wouldn't have been blonde or blue-eyed.
What we've done, I realised, is made Jesus in our own image - the image of the painters of these religious scenes. In the same way, we've made God in our own image, not the other way round, as per the Bible. That's why there's no mystery about why there are so many different Gods - friendly ones, angry ones, spiteful ones, fatherly ones, loving ones, vengeful ones, forgiving ones - and why there's an equal number of versions of Jesus.
We see what we want to see, what we expect to see, what we've always seen. The only God (or Jesus) we can conjure up is the one from our past. It's like making up a picture of what a radio announcer looks like, from his voice. Then we meet him and he looks quite different. However, we cannot shake off the made-up version, despite the evidence of the real version.
If we've grown up with an angry God who then does something loving to or for us, do we notice? If we've grown up with a sullen God who then does something deliriously funny, do we notice?
Maybe, just maybe, if we decided, based on the lack of tangible evidence to date, that we haven't a clue what God could be like, would we be open to the grandest, most loving version of God that's possible? … and, by extension (if we are created in his image) the grandest, most loving version of ourselves?
Maybe, just maybe, being open and unknowing can lead us to where we could never have imagined going. Just a thought …
And where is Arthur Bayly going? His story continues from the previous blog ...
"Oh, yes, of course," said Arthur, relieved that he could talk to the Lord and a little intimidated that he was actually going to do it.
"Now, Arthur, the touchy bit, I'm afraid," said Mary, obviously faltering while she phrased the next bit. "Your situation is a little … a, interesting. There is a possibility, just a small one, that you could be followed at some time."
"I already am, Mary, by an Australian and his gang," said Arthur, smiling. That bit sounded quite exotic, quite … well, 007ish.
"You are?" asked Mary with evident surprise. "And we thought they … oh, he, was from New Zealand. Gosh … so you know you could be followed again?"
"Yes, I suppose I do," said Arthur, with the exotic label quickly fading while the fearsome one lit in bright neon lights. He wiped his brow.
"So, Arthur, we have a plan," said Mary, who loved plans, Arthur knew. "You're not planning on going anywhere today, are you?"
"No, no, I wasn't …"
"Good, so the plan is this," said Mary. "A tradesman's van will pull up outside your house at 10.30 this morning. He will knock on your door and you're to let him in. Understand?"
"Yes. Is that it?" asked Arthur.
"No, Arthur, I just want to make sure you understand every bit of the procedure," said Mary. "Now, you and the tradesman will exchange clothes and you can then go out and hop into his van. There will be a passenger who will give you driving directions. You can drive, can't you?"
"Uh yes, oh yes, I can drive though it has been a long time," said Arthur, wondering if it was all that much fun being James Bond.
"Now, the tradesman will be Toby McGuire, my secretary. He's younger but about your size," said Mary, obviously ticking things off a list as she conveyed them to him. "You'll be away for an hour or so, if your wife wouldn't mind plying him with cups of tea for that time … and please don't take your cell phone. It can be traced. Do you follow all that?"
"Ah, yes, I think so," said Arthur.
"Good," said Mary. "And good luck."
As Arthur put the phone down he realised his apprehension over meeting - and getting to meet - Lord Atkinson was not his only problem. He had another problem - Joan. How was he going to explain this strange turn of events, especially when she wasn't keen on him starting the project, anyway? As well as that, she'd asked little about the project and he'd told her little. And now, in forty minutes' time, a stranger was going to come through the door, exchange clothes with Arthur and stay in the house while Arthur drove off in his van to destination unknown. How much to tell and where to start? What a conundrum … and one that wasn't going away!
Oh well, gird the loins, take a deep breath (a very deep breath) and wing it - just say whatever comes to mind. 'Yes, one must do just that,' he thought. His brain froze, his body rose and he wondered how he'd got himself in this pickle - life was so regular, ordered and predictable two weeks ago and he'd disliked it. Now, well, yes, it was anything but regular and predictable and, yes, he had to admit it, it was just the tiniest bit exciting. And fearful.
Putting on his sternest face, he strode up the short hallway, turned down the stairs and called for Joan before he reached the bottom.
"Yes dear," said Joan, from the kitchen. "Can it just wait a minute? I was just about to ring Dottie and thank her for her help over the funeral."
"No Joan," said Arthur, frowning rather seriously to himself. "That will have to wait. I'd like to talk to you now, please."
"Oh Arthur, you do sound masterful!" said Joan appearing in the doorway of the lounge where he was standing, waiting. She was wiping her hands on her floral apron. "What is it that's come over you? You're diff …"
"Joan, I'm sorry, but I don't have a lot of time," said Arthur, indicating her chair.
"Right, yes, if you insist …" said Joan, unused to such direction from Arthur.
"Now, at ten thirty a young man I don't know will come to the door," he said, discovering his mouth (or was it his brain that was in charge?) was diving straight in. No preamble at all. "I will let him in, we'll exchange clothes, I will drive off in his van and he will stay here with you until I return. Probably about an hour."
"Right, yes," said Joan. "This stranger - he's quite safe, is he? He won't be torturing me or anything will he?"
"No, of course he won't," said Arthur, not sure if she was joking or being very logical. "He's Mary's secretary, a nice young man by all accounts."
"That's good," said Joan, smiling. "What else did you want to tell me, dear?"
"I … ah, well, that's what's going to happen," said Arthur, expecting objections that didn't eventuate. "I can tell you more if you want to know more."
"not really, if you don't have enough time, Arthur," said Joan. I'll have a whole hour with this charming young man so I can drill him, can't I?"
"Yes, yes, I suppose you can," said Arthur, now wishing she did want to know more so he could tell her. "It's about this Atkinson case, actually."
"Yes, I had guessed that," said Joan. "I'd like to know more about it some time but there's probably not the time now, is there?"
"Well, I could make a start," said Arthur, wondering where that bossy and demanding Joan had gone. A quite pleasant one had stepped into her body somehow, recently.
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