It was the most unusual Christmas gift. My 7th
grade teacher combined her study of different world religions with the hobby of
choice in the seventies, ceramics. She painted 28 little Buddha statues in
pastel colors and mine was yellow with a pearl sheen. I carried it home to my bedroom,
recently redecorated in brilliant yellows and oranges with macramé hangers holding
terrarium globes. Joanna Gaines hadn’t even been born yet, so the décor was all of
my own inspiration! My little yellow Buddha blended in on my bedroom wicker shelf
like a hazy sunrise over an autumn wheat field.
But I knew there was no chance that my parents would let me
keep it. I had been well trained in the Christian God and knew Buddha was not
him. I could not have been more surprised when Mom said ‘Well, I guess you can
keep it, as long as you don’t worship him. He’s just a lump of clay.”
Years later I lived and worked in a world far more
heterogeneous than the one I knew in seventh grade. I met many people with
different gods. I learned I could respect differences in our beliefs without
changing mine. I never dissed other people’s gods, but I took opportunities to
brag on mine.
I learned that my God hears me when I talk to Him. He answers
back when I call. He keeps His promises to me. He loves me like a good father
loves his child. He searches for me when I wander. He is alive. He is powerful.
His works on my behalf.
The prophet Jeremiah compared my God to the other gods of his
day:
Like scarecrows in a cucumber patch, their idols cannot
speak. They must be carried because they cannot walk. Do not fear them for they
can do no harm – and they cannot do any good. [Jeremiah 10:5, CSB]
It turns out that Mom’s response to me was wise parenting. We
do not need to fear what can do no harm. Neither should we credit power to something
that has none. Like scarecrows in a cucumber patch, they must be carried. Mine carries me.
No comments:
Post a Comment