My idea of God is not a divine idea. It has to be shattered time after time. He shatters it Himself. He is the great iconoclast. ~ C.S. Lewis
Sometimes I can feel myself teetering on a precipice. I’m drawn to the edge.
I’m not in danger of stepping off and falling into disbelief.
That’s solid ground. I’ve believed for a very long time. That can lead to a different kind of precipice.
It’s the perilous step from the realm of mystery and grace into the free-fall of knowledge and stringency. It’s the allure of a place where I used to live; a land where I could firmly plant my feet and explain the will and actions of the Creator of the Universe.
There are times when I long for the easy comfort of certainty. When I miss well-ordered theology that allowed me to predict God’s moves, determine God’s mind, act as His interpreter.
There are moments when complacency overtakes contemplation. When I’m lulled into worshiping my favorite predictable, explainable, understandable, small god.
There is always an edge. I’m called, again and again, to practice a little iconoclasm; to deconstruct my preconceptions and misconceptions and icons.
He is the great iconoclast. God is the great Mystery.