A Natural Grace

Creative Design

“I believe in God the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth." I guess that makes me a creationist. Indeed, it's my opinion that the creation of the universe, along with everything in it, is about the coolest thing God ever wrought. From a creaturely point of view, that is. Otherwise we wouldn't be having this little chat.

The best feature of God's work is the life given creation. Not just the animate part, but all of it. The physics alone are wildly dynamic. Things tend to spin around alot. They move, zipping from here to there, sometimes at great speeds across great distances. We thought Isaac Newton had figured out the movement's rhyme and reason, but now it appears that he just peeled back the first few layers.

The chemistry can be about as mystifying. Elements shed a few electrons and become something they weren't before, and join other elements to become something even more different, then degrade awhile before dancing with a new round of chemical partners that brings on other forms, other purposes. The changes can both delight and make dizzy the observer.

It seems to me that God could have constructed a tableau, a perfect casting of reality that would remain that way forever. God could have engineered every mineral, plant, animal, and whatnot to be complete, finished, done, whole. God could have made a world without the need for growth, change, and development.

But thank God that didn't happen. God created not just a universe, but a process. God made it and set it free. God did not then turn and abandon the creation, like an aloof parent, but remained fully engaged, caring, nurturing, acting in history, every so often in dramatic ways. God maintains relationship with what God created, waiting, we venture to suggest, to see how this universe, this world — and yes, you and I in it — will turn out.

We live therefore, within an unfinished creation, one that is always in flux, never motionless, learning something new everyday. That goes for a shelf of limestone under Bluegrass, a stand of Dwarf Larkspur growing wild in the woods, the pair of Cooper's Hawks who patrol my neighborhood, keeping song birds mentally alert and physically fit. It applies to young Edward Trentham down the street, age six and into everything, and it also applies to a some folks we know pushing ninety who still wonder what they'll be when they grow up.

Does that make me an evolutionist? I should hope so. The mystery, the wonder, the majesty of God only expands when concepts like natural selection, genetic memory, a four billion year old universe, and the big bang theory arise. Charles Darwin, reprobate though he might or might not be, works well with the first chapter of Genesis. Genesis is the poetry, Darwin the prose, and the two compliment each other.

This past Spring, my morning walk took me through a favorite park. As parks go, it's a recent one, made from an old farm now allowed to go to sleep, the land reclaiming some version of ancient forms. About 7 am, as the sun was just clearing the treeline, I entered a meadow lit up by hundreds of spider webs. The dew was heavy that morning, and the wet webs glistened like jewels. They were everywhere, each about knee high, built on bunches of grass, last year's field flowers, and lower branches of stubby trees trying to make it big.

The webs are all roughly the same but no two identical. They are thick, double-fist-size tangles of silk, spun at seemingly random angles. Imagine tufts of Einstein's hair, wooly and uncombed, distributed over an acre or two. Each web contains a connected but distinctive section stretched underneath like a trampoline. It is less scattered than what's going on above decks, but only because it is of thinner, more compact construction. Perhaps it is the lair for the spider him or herself, though none are visible.

But what catches my eye the most is one web in particular, over which another species of spider has arrayed his arachnidal artistry. It's made of concentric circles, connected by lines radiating from the center to the last and largest circle; classic spiderweb, dotted by tiny droplets of dew. The kind photographers adore. Below is that wild conglomeration of web; above is that carefully spaced geometric pattern. Two ways to make a living, both with their own intelligent design.

So I'm into that, too. It is a marvelous phrase, intelligent design, and could be very handy if it were not for the way some have tried to force a certain definition of it on the rest of society. I feel sorry for those guys. They have hooked themselves into an argument they cannot win. Neither God's presence nor fingerprints can be "proven" within the logical systematics of the academic world, in particular the scientific part of it.

The original definition of "science" equates it generally with knowledge, or with any specific field of study. That's why, in medieval Europe, theology could be called "the queen of the sciences," and it meant something. Today such a phrase would get you laughed out of the university. That's okay; we can understand why. Over time, the word "science" became more and more linked to an empirical approach to knowledge, particularly in physics and chemistry (less so in biology, which used to wear the much more full-bodied title of "natural history"). Science was reduced to the "scientific method," involving theory, experimentation with measurable results, discussion among the scientific community, and the repetition (or not) of similar outcomes when other scientists performed the same experiment. The principle of public verifiability is very much in play here. There's little wrong and much right with the scientific method; it's a productive avenue toward truth. We would not want to live without it.

But there are other ways of knowing just as valid as the scientific. There is intuition, for one, knowing something because you know it, because it is a part of you, because you feel its vital assurance, deep in your heart, like knowing that freedom is better than slavery. It's not opinion, it's truth. Poets work best in the medium of intuition.

People of faith live by faithful insight. They live in a revealed world. Only what God discloses can be "discovered" by people seeking knowledge of the divine. What's important to know, to be, to do, has been given. What was given came at great cost: the creation of the universe, which opened the option for at least parts of the creation to oppose its Creator, and the death of the Son of God on the cross. And it can be a costly struggle to understand, appreciate, and receive what has been given. Most pointedly, it is difficult to live within the total love of God, and look to no other source for security.

There is much overlap in these ways of knowing. Scientists play hunches, and poets extend their range by reflecting on science. Like poets, people of faith also deal in intuition, imagination, creative visions, and beautiful music. And like scientists, people of faith make universal claims, such as testifying, in word and deed, that the nature of reality is relational, and always has been and always will be. At the creative center of the universe is the One God, triune, perfectly unified in life and purpose, and perfectly diverse in three persons, experienced by us as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

The relationship within God sets the stars on their courses, each star in the heavens affected by and affecting every other star as it skips around the galaxy, all of them spinning out light and elemental nourishment in awesome generosity. The loving relationship enjoyed by God before there was anything but God nudged the emperor penguin along a path of outstanding sacrifice in the harshest climate in the world just so another generation of emperor penguins could have their turn on the ice and in the sea. The dynamic interplay of the Lover God, the Beloved Son and the Spirited Love that moves among them calls us into lives of relational integrity with God and neighbor, caring for ourselves, our families, the poor, the sick, the oppressed, the victims of warfare, and the otherwise despised and neglected.

The living relationship that is one God in three persons casts a vision for the world that restores right relationship among Creator, created, and creature. Together they will dance in the realm of love and delight. Then there will be neither death nor deprivation, neither crying nor reasons to cry, but only love. And because that is God's Gospel truth about tomorrow, the people of God can — if they only would — live toward that truth today.

But you can't prove a word of it. Not scientifically. You can only believe it. Believe it because it's true. Believe it because it's the truest thing going. So let our intelligent design friends cease their attempts to prove their point and impose it on the school systems of America. It's bad science and, with their political bent, bad theology. People of faith are at their best when they proclaim what they believe and leave the proving alone. In simple declarative sentences we can offer our testimony: "We believe in God the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth." We are creationists. We are creationists who think that the evolutionary process is a fine way for God to exercise such extraordinary creativity. We are evolutionary creationists who see intelligent design in all sorts of things, and not just spider webs. To us, the natural world shimmers with the glory of God.

If other, more secular types see what we see, then so much the better. If they don't, we can't force grace seeking eyes upon them. But whatever their perception, our joy in the presence of the Lord remains full, open, and free.

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