The Reason Most Religious Folk (Likely) Don't Actually Love God
A few years ago, Christian Wiman’s collection of essays called My Bright Abyss entered my orbit at just the right time. I was personally battling a painful Molotov cocktail of vocational disappointment, depression, and spiritual disillusionment (the likes of which I am still not entirely healed from) when I read:
But what a relief it can be to befriend contingency, to meet God right here in the havoc of chance, to feel enduring love like a stroke of pure luck.
For this reason I tend to afford Wiman’s words a special place to do their soul-work—to the extent my soul is vulnerable and open to it.
As a religious person—by background and, for a while, by trade—the following snatch of poetry by Wiman offers at least one compelling reason as to why most religious folk (likely) don’t actually love God.
I do not know how to come closer to God except by standing where a world is ending for one man.
To love God (and, for that matter, to become God’s love) always and forever begins with that person right beside you or in front of you. Or that person over there. Or that person far, far away. Or that person I haven’t seen yet.
Wherever a world is ending.
Lord, help us.