Religion of Order

The following are some thoughts I had after reading the first chapter of Walter Brueggemann's The Prophetic Imagination.

What does it mean to have a “religion of order,” or, as Brueggemann calls it, a religion of static triumphalism? Well, first of all, everything is nice and tidy when we worship a God of order. I can write off the drunk guy on the corner because his life represents chaos, and I serve the God of order. I can safely ignore the young people who want to change things in my church because things might get messy or disorganized, and I serve the God of order. Sure, God brought order out of chaos when he created the world. Sure, God brings order to the chaos of my life. But it is one thing to say God brings order out of chaos, and entirely different to say that God is a God of order.

What do I mean? Well, if God is a God of order, how do you explain the chaos he brought into the life of Job? If God is a God of order, how do you explain him using a fish to swallow a man who refuses to obey? If God is a God of order, why does fire and thunder and lightning accompany his presence at Sinai? Why does he appear to Moses in a bush that is on fire but doesn’t burn up? After all, doesn’t order demand that something on fire burns? Most of all, how do you explain the Spirit of God as a wind that blows where it will? Is this not a perfect picture of disorder? (Or, at the very least, that God can’t be manipulated.) Isn’t the point of that statement the unpredictability of God? Sure, God is dependable, but is that really the same as predictable? I don’t think it is.

It is this issue of predictability that is really at the root of worshipping a God of order. That which is ordered is utterly predictable, and that which is predictable can be manipulated—the core of idolatry. Idolatry was never primarily about making images out of gold or wood. This was only a symptom of the disease. The disease was manipulating deity. If I can craft a god with my hands and set it up in my home, I have exerted control over the deity. If I am responsible for feeding or caring for the idol, something the ancients believed, then I can again exert some control over the deity. If I keep him or her well fed, then he should bless me with children or good crops. If my crops go bad or if there is drought or famine then I know the deity is displeased and I go out of my way to pacify him. In the end it’s all very ordered and predictable, that is, it’s idolatrous.

What does this have to do with us who have never made an image? Well, have you ever had any of these thoughts: “I’ve done good this week, God should bless me.” “I’ve been having my quiet time regularly, so God is supposed to make things go well.” “I’ve been missing my quiet time, so God doesn’t like me right now.” “I’m afraid to drive today because I looked at pornography last night so God has removed his protection from me.” “I’ve hit every red light, God must be mad at me.” All of these thoughts are idolatry. Why? Because they assume that God has to act in certain ways as a result of our behavior. This is manipulating God, and the God of the Bible refuses to be manipulated. Yes, he often chooses to bless us in response to our obedience, but this is his choice.

We even use Scripture to manipulate God. Have you ever thought that you could make your children believe by teaching them all the right things? After all, didn’t God say, “Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it?” Do you know the pain of wondering what you did wrong because your child has rejected God? As lovingly as I can I want to tell you that that is idolatry. God will not be manipulated by your good works. David was a “man after God’s own heart” but most of his kids were creeps. The proverb quoted above is just that—a proverb, a generalization. This is different than a promise—it’s a statement of what is generally, not always, true. Notice that no parent in scripture is ever held responsible for the actions of his children. Even Eli, whose sons were wicked, was judged not for the actions of his sons but for his action of not holding them accountable.

I had lunch today with a friend of mine whose twenty-something daughter has shown no interest in Jesus. He admitted to me that he and his wife have been tempted to look back and try and figure out what they did wrong. Then he told me, “But we just can’t go there.” He’s a practical guy, and he recognizes that there’s no benefit to getting stuck in a myriad of doubts that can’t be resolved. But more than that, he went on to say, “I can’t be Jesus in her life.” Wow. He gets it. He sees that ultimately it’s God who draws people to himself, and no matter what he does or how much we pray for his daughter he can’t force her to faith or demand that God act in a certain way. He can “be Jesus in her life” in the sense of loving her and caring deeply for her, but he can’t save her. Only God can save.