The Tent of Meeting

Ask anybody about the God of the Old Testament and, believe me, they'll have an opinion. They might have no interest in Christianity or faith, but they'll tell you that he was the meanest and grumpiest person ever. That's putting it softly; I mean, ask Richard Dawkins. Jesus, on the other hand, people tend to like. Even atheists. Jesus, the friend of sinners, the one that was all about relationships, the one that talked to, visited, ate with, asked questions to, loved, and cared for people on such an individual and personal level that it made them feel more valuable than they had in all their lives. But the crazy thing is that there is no such thing as the "God of the Old Testament" or the "God of the New Testament," because they are the same person! Jesus was the human revelation of God; Jesus said that anyone who saw him saw the Father. But even as a Christian, I secretly felt like they were different people. Jesus felt far more intimate, relatable, and compassionate, while his Father only communicated with people as a mass and through certain chosen people. Neither did it make sense to think that maybe somewhere down the line, God decided to change and engage more intimately with his people, when the Bible talks about how God is the same yesterday, today, and always.

One thing that clarified things for me was actually reading the Old Testament. The Story of the Tent of Meeting especially challenged the stereotypes I had had about the "God of the Old Testament." You see, it turned out that having a mediator was actually people's idea. When Moses was leading the Israelites out of Egypt to the promised land, God decided to speak to them in person. But when the people heard God's voice and experienced its vastness and majesty, they were terrified and asked Moses to be the one to carry God's messages to them (Exodus 20:18-19). God conformed to their request, but the cool thing is that even then, God found a way around it. He asked Moses to build a tabernacle from the offerings that were given to God by those "whose heart [prompted] them to give" (Exodus 25:2). “Then have them make a sanctuary for me, and I will dwell among them," he said (Exodus 25:8). It is so beautiful for me how God wanted to build his home among the people from the offerings of the people. He is so personal, so connected to us humans. Surely, he could fashion a much fancier dwelling place for himself with any material he pleased. But for him, the whole point was for it to be a part of the humans he so loved. 

Exodus 33 talks about how Moses would go to the Tent and meet God "face to face" and God would speak to him "as one speaks to a friend." And it wasn't only Moses who had that privilege, but "anyone inquiring of the Lord." And guess what! People still didn't go to meet him. They were satisfied just watching Moses do it. But then there's Joshua, that young assistant of Moses, who - even after Moses left the Tent - remained there. I guess something about God's presence was so pleasant and alluring to him that he didn't want to leave it. Sometimes I wonder if that's all God really wants from us - to just be in his company and spend time with him; and yet, we spend so much time apart from him, running around doing things we think he'd rather have us do.

Anyways, back to the story. In Exodus 33:17, God tells Moses that he "knows him by name." Isn't that the coolest thing? I also wonder if perhaps the reason why I always assumed that God only knew a few chosen people by name during the Old Testament times was because only their stories were recorded, or rather, the major historic events were recorded through their narrative perspective. Perhaps each and every person in the masses had personal experiences with God and heard his voice speaking directly to them, but we never got to hear their story.

So clearly, God didn't change. God doesn't change. Which simply means that he is still that same God today, longing to meet you face to face and speaking to you as a friend would. "But there's no Tent," you may ask. Well, of course there isn't, dummy - you're his dwelling place. Get it?

Little Bird

I wish I knew what you are thinking, little bird;
I wish I knew your secret.

What do you think of us humans,
Running around doing important things,
While you jump from branch to branch,
Drinking water from the streams,
And eating crumbs from heaven,
While we run around toiling for something to eat?

What do you think of us humans,
Doing important things and earning our rest,
While all you do is be taken care of,
And fed in your nest?

While all you do is just be,
While we do and do and do...

Tell me your secret, little bird;
In whom do you trust that loves you so?

Childhood Book of Maps

My palm pressed on Mozambique
Over the young man, picking
Bananas from the tall trees.
I leap to Madagascar,
Where there’s a ring-tailed lemur
(I guess not the one singing
“I like to move it move it”).
I turn the page and see four
Faces, carved on a mountain,
“They must be famous,” I think.
Several fingersteps north,
Eyes peep out of an igloo.
Sneering sharks circle surfers,
Mountains, airplanes, elephants,
Ships and towers beneath my fingers;
I was a child, I believed it.

Warm Snow

Sam says that snow makes him warm. He says that when the snow piles up on the ground and the buildings, cars and trees, it makes everything seem bigger and taller. He says that it makes the overall environment feel smaller, cozier, warmer. He hugs himself as he says this and swings his feet in the air. 

“I hate the snow,” I say. I rub my thumb across the cracks of my dried skin. “It never made me feel warm.” I scratch my skin.

“That’s fair,” he says. Again he smiles his idiotic smile. What is there to be so happy about? I think.

“Well, I better head to class,” he says and jumps off the windowsill. He opens his arms for a hug and I can’t resist, even though I find his optimism terribly annoying. I slightly lean towards him from the windowsill and return his hug. “Try not to be too grumpy, okay?” he says into my ear. I smack his shoulder but can’t help smiling, a little. “Get out of here!” 

He chuckles as he walks away and disappears from my view. 

I’m alone again. I love being alone because I’m a loner. I hate it because I feel myself sinking into my darkest thoughts again, with no one to distract me. I duck my head between my knees, but can’t shut out the image of my life stretched before me like an endless dark road. I think about all the things I have yet to do, all the things I could be doing right now, and what a burden they all feel like. I think about how worthless I am for not doing anything with my time and that very thought exhausts me to the point of not doing anything. I hate myself for being stupid enough to be trapped in this cycle and yet I can’t seem to get out. I feel angry at myself, my days, my life, this stupid cold and how ironic it is that it should feel so dark when everything is covered in white, even the air.   

I look at the snow again. But what if that weirdo was right? What if the snow might actually be warm? 

My Bubble Theory of Time

For some time now, I have been a collector of snow globes. I buy one from every new country I go to and, occasionally, people who know about my collection bring me new ones from their travels. I have lined them all up on one of my bookshelves and find them to be the closest resemblance to my Bubble Theory of Time.

Imagine that each snow globe - henceforth, bubble - encloses a single moment from your life - henceforth, increment of time. Maybe in one of them, you are preparing to dive into a swimming pool or walking through the doors of your new house for the first time or watching one of your kids step on the sand castle that the other one made. Each of those increments of time are enclosed in separate bubbles and lined up in a chronological order. That long chain of bubbles is your life.

To you, the bubble you are in feels like the present, so all the ones that come before are the past and the ones that come after are the future. From where you're standing, there's a distinct past, present, and future. But suppose you could look at your chain of bubbles from the perspective of an objective being; someone who is outside of your bubbles and can see the whole chain. Someone outside of time and space. From their perspective, how would the bubble you currently think you're in be any different from all the others, when in each one of them you think that you're in the present? Think about it; the you in bubble 3 thinks that (s)he's in the present, just as the you in bubble 3587 does. Even the you in bubble 87,000,000 thinks that (s)he's in the present, even though from your current perspective, you haven't even gotten there yet. Let's say, right now you are in bubble 4,0840,132 from your perspective. How does this bubble stand out from all the other ones for the objective being, when, just like in all the other bubbles, you believe that it is the present?

It doesn't. In fact, for the objective being, there wouldn't even be a difference between the bubbles you consider past and the ones you believe to still be in the future. Not only would there not be a past, present, or future, but all the future bubbles would have already happened.

Now that's something, isn't it?

Humility

I used to think that humility meant trying to believe that you are not as beautiful, smart, or good as you secretly believe you are. It felt like something dishonest and I hated the concept of it. Then one day, I came accross this interesting quote that started a whole new chain of thoughts in me: "True humility is not thinking less of yourself. It is thinking of yourself less."

In his talk about developing strong, lasting, godly characters, Anglican Bishop N.T. Wright says:

“Jesus taught that when your character is fully formed, you won’t be thinking about your character at all. You’ll be thinking about how much God loves you and you’ll be thinking about whether it’s your turn tonight to go and visit old Mrs. Jones in the hospice. Loving God and loving your neighbor."

If you walk into a room and all you can think about is the zit on your forehead or panic about what people will think of your hair, all you are thinking about is you. Even though you clearly have a bad opinion about yourself and your looks, you are not humble. You somehow believe, whether consciously or not, that everyone in that room is thinking about you and your appearance; in other words, that you are the center of the universe. However, if you walk into that room without giving a second thought to how you appear, focusing on the people you are meeting, enjoying the conversations you are having, it is not only a liberating thing, but a shining example of true humility.

In his The Screwtape Letters, C.S. Lewis (1941) masterfully expresses this idea:

"[God] wants to bring the man to a state of mind in which he could design the best cathedral in the world, and know it to be the best, and rejoice in the fact, without being any more (or less) or otherwise glad at having done it than he would be if it had been done by another. [God] wants him, in the end, to be so free from any bias in his own favour that he can rejoice in his own talents as frankly and gratefully as in his neighbour's talents - or in a sunrise, an elephant, or a waterfall." (p. 73)

I think the reason we so often want to cling to our accomplishments and the praise we get for them is because we tie them to our worth. It is a wonderful thing to have talents and aspirations, to design cathedrals or to sing beautifully or to be the fastest runner. But our accomplishments are a shaky foundation to base our value on, because no matter how good we are, there will always be times when we fail or not be the best. 

I will never forget this one time when someone close to me was telling me about how his job makes him feel. "When I'm productive," he said, "I feel more fulfilled, I feel more proud of myself, I love myself more..." He went on listing more things, but his voice blurred into the background after I caught that tiny unconscious confession. He loves himself more because he is productive. It pained me to hear him say that, because I started wondering what would happen if there came a time when he was unable to be “productive.” 

The firmest foundation for my worth that I have found is God's unconditional love. That, even as he will always help me grow and become better because he loves me, he will never reject me if I fail and that there is absolutely nothing I can do (or not do) to make him love me any more or less. 

When thinking about what Jesus said about having to lose your self in order to find it (Matthew 18:25), I immediately think of all the macho guys I have met in my life. If you dare to question their strength or courage, they will not only threaten you but go to every length to prove you otherwise. But why? If they are so sure that they are strong, why do they need every other person in the universe to proclaim it too? It's because they don't know it. At the core of their behavior is an insecurity, a shaky identity that they need to defend at all costs. But imagine if someone walks up to the prince of England and says, "You are not a prince." At best he will simply laugh and say, "Sure, sure, whatever you say."

Now imagine the macho guy, who not only knows that he is strong and doesn't need to prove it to anyone, but also knows that even if he isn't, that's okay, because the world doesn't revolve around him. Instead of focusing on himself, his eyes rise up to see the unconditional love of the One that created him. Because he is no longer busy worrying about his reputation, his mind is now free to see others and care for them. Because he no longer believes that his value depends on how invincible he appears to others, he can be freed from the constant battle of trying to prove himself and breathe the light fresh air that comes with honesty. Humility, in fact, will have set him free.