Christianity is often accused of believing in a "God of the Gaps." What her detractors often accuse the Church of is justifying belief in God by pointing to the "gaps" in human knowledge. Gaps which they - as good children of the enlightenment - know will inevitably be filled in by the March of Human Progress™.
Certainly we know this is a false accusation. Our belief does not rest in gaps, but rather in encounter. As to knowledge, in many ways the more profoundly we understand the natural world, the more profoundly we meet its maker. But I think they may be on to something with this "God in the Gaps" concept.
The image for this post is my attempt at recreating the cross on the tabernacle of my parish. I've grown rather fond of it over the past several years. But as I was looking at it the other day, I realized that it isn't a cross at all. Not really.
"But Jeremiah!" you exclaim, "Of course it is! Look at it! Besides, you could do worse. Stop complaining!"
Yes, of course it is. Sort of. And no, this is not an aesthetically critical post. That's not what I'm getting at. But In some sense, this isn't a cross, and I think there's something important there.
Look at this cross. Really look at it. The cross is not in the pattern, but in the spaces left in the pattern. Four angular constructs, demarcating the outline of a cross. A cross suggested, with arms unterminated, in the gaps, but nevertheless the Cross.
A Cross of the Gaps
But isn't that fitting?
Recall Elijah's encounter with God after fasting. Earth, wind, and fire roar and shake, but it is in the silence that God whispered. A few weeks ago we heard from God's cheeriest creation, Job. Despite every loss and pestilence, and the urging of friends and family to "curse God and die," he found God in his misery, close to him at every moment.
The Psalmist proclaims his trust in Psalm 23:
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff comfort me.
As we enter this season of Lent, we will hear about many deserts, or rather the same desert in many ages. We will hear of the "people whose hearts go astray and who do not know God's ways,". We will hear of temptation in the desert, in the empty places.
And in every empty place? In every gap? God.
Everywhere in nature we see the impression of God, the implication of Him. The Psalmist says again in Psalm 139:
Where can I go from your spirit?
From your presence, where can I flee?
If I ascend to the heavens, you are there;
if I lie down in Sheol, there you are.
If I take the wings of dawn
and dwell beyond the sea,
Even there your hand guides me,
your right hand holds me fast.
But it's not just nature, and it's not just silence. Consider the demoniacs who were freed, the lepers who were cleansed, the sick who were cured. Consider Matthew 9.36 which says, "At the sight of the crowds, his heart was moved with pity for them because they were troubled and abandoned, like sheep without a shepherd."
Consider too the words of the Magnificat: "...he has filled the hungry with good things...he has lifted up the lowly...", or Psalms 34.19: "The LORD is close to the brokenhearted, saves those whose spirit is crushed."In the silence, in our brokenness, in our emptiness, in our insignificance, Jesus lowers His heart to us, dwells with us in the gaps.
Deus misericors qui habitavit in nobis, miserere nobis.
