And Then There's The Christlikeness Thing

But wait a minute. Wait just a minute, though. One impression I’d like to correct. One idea I’d like to straighten out right now before you get the wrong idea here. Get the wrong cockamamie idea here. And that has to do with this Christlikeness thing. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but if so. Well. It’s worth mentioning again. The idea here isn’t to become like Christ. The idea here isn’t to imitate Christ so that we can become like him. Because frankly. Honestly. This is what we call around these parts pissing into the wind. It’s what we call around these parts pushing on a rope. It’s what we call around these parts here an idea that’s pretty as a pig.

I mean. What we would be talking about is trying to be like God. Trying to be infinite and omnipotent and omnipresent and perfect and pure glory and pure beauty and pure truth and pure love. Just like God. Well. I don’t know about you. But I’m thinking there’s just the one God. Just the one tripartite God. Not likely that through sheer will power I’m going to get into that ballpark. Through sheer wanting I’m going to get into that league. Through sheer diligence and assiduous prayer I’m likely wedge myself in there somewhere and morph God into a quadrate or a quadripartite type of God. God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit, and God the Bill. No. Nooooo.

Not likely. Not a. Not a. It’s just not in the cards at all. So what I’m saying is something else. Something altogether different, as I recall someone from Monty Python saying somewhere. What we’re looking for is a chance to spend time in God’s presence is all. A chance to pull back the beads or the blinds or the shades or the veil and to enter through a doorway of his construction and enter the room in which he spends time. I’m not saying all his time, because I think there are probably many rooms in which he spends time. And the room into which he allows me entrance is likely different from other rooms in which he lives.

But I don’t know. See. I just don’t know. I’m piecing this together from an incomplete set of puzzle pieces. I’ve got about one corner piece and a few edge pieces and a whole bunch of middle pieces, and as I’m working with these I’m getting the sense that there are a whole lot more missing than are here. Maybe. Oh. About a hundred to one. About a hundred puzzle pieces missing for the one that I’ve got here in front of me. So the picture I’m constructing is. Well. A bit incomplete. A bit short on specifics. On the particulars. A bit pathetically full of holes. Is what I’m thinking. And I apologize for that. I’m sorry for that because I really would like to understand this. I really would like to comprehend how this all goes together. I really would like to put the big picture together here. But. Well. God has given us what he’s given, is what I’m thinking. If he wanted the big picture to be clearer in its details, in its edges and its middle, he would have been. He would be. Clearer. He would have given us all the puzzle pieces to work with here.

So when I talk about making a congenial home for the Honored Guest. Letting the Honored Guest have free access to all the places. All the rooms and gardens and alleyways and streets and abandoned lots and garbage dumps on our properties. I’m not trying to say that you will be perfected. That you will be made perfect by the Honored Guest. No. Nooooo. Nothing could be further from the bright hot light of the truth. Will not. At least on this particular earth and at least in these particular four space-time dimensions. Will not be made perfect. God is perfect. We. Well we. Are the imperfect adopted brothers and sisters of Christ. And we are thoroughly pleased to be allowed entrance periodically into one or two rooms in the Father’s house.

And this. This other idea of. Well. That we will never reach perfection here but that we can gradually. With great patience and faithfulness and perseverance and hard work and denial and love for God. Approach perfection. Well, as I say. This also is a load of. Oh. I don’t want to return to my pig metaphor. And I apologize for even the hint of this metaphor. But the problem is that we’re number one or number two here in Iowa. I keep forgetting which one it is. One or the other. In terms of pig production. In terms of pork production. And so. Well. It’s a natural metaphor for someone like me in a state like this. In a state that is always talking about the difficulty of balancing ecology with economics. If you know what I mean.

I mean. What I’ve seen in my clearly limited. Clearly mitigated. Clearly imperfect. And I’m sure somewhat distorted. But nevertheless instructive experience. Is that human beings are. Well. Human. They remain human. No matter how much time they spend with God. No matter how much they do out of love for God. Out of the autonomic. That reflex love action that is built in by God. No matter how built in the love response. No matter how much latitude they give their Honored Guest. How much liberty. Authority. There still is this human business.

There’s still this. Well. It’s a little like trying to turn a pig into. Oh. An ear of corn. I mean. With modern plastic surgery techniques. With modern surgical methods. To the untrained observer. To the casual observer. There may be a slight resemblance after years of surgeries. After many many operations that I’m too squeamish to get into. And the poor pig. He. After all that. He remains. He is. Whatever wishful thinking we may engage in. We may wish to employ. He remains. Unfortunately. Recalcitrant. Uncornish, finally. Unmaizelike. If you get my drift.

But oh. Let’s not go the other way either. Let’s not say. Well then. Well then. It doesn’t matter what I do. If perfection or the approach to perfection isn’t possible. Well then. I’ll simply wallow. I’ll simply defecate all over the place and wallow in it.

No. It does not follow. I’m sorry. There is no reason anymore for wallowing. There is no more excuse. We have Christ after all. He does hose us down. Every day. Every new day. Without fail. He comes out of the house, pulling on his overalls. Gadding about in the yellow, orange, and red level light like some nature boy. Some farm boy completely thrilled with nature. And he hoses all of us down. Every single one. And we are pink and brown and black and yellow and clean. We are doused with the warm clean water ultimately from heaven itself. And bathed in the pure level light that God has created for us. And our pleasure.

But this is no excuse to wallow, is what I’m saying. No. When Christ comes bounding out of the house in the morning, pulling on his overalls, what I’m saying is that it would be nice to be. Well. Not all that dirty. Not all that filthy rotten dirty. It would be nice to have just a little mud here and there. A little dust here and there, and that’s about it. The less, the better. Because. Well. It’s always a shame to disappoint him. A person feels better, the less one does of this. The less, the mess. So to say. Because this. This cleanliness in one’s personal habits. This tidiness in one’s person. I don’t know. There’s something aesthetic in it. Isn’t there. A symmetrical just-so sense to it. A sense that one is doing pretty well with what one has. Some way.