For a long time, I’ve wondered about divine transcendence, or at least its defining dominance over the image of God.
My wondering started when, as a toddler, I sat cross-legged under a large dining room table and shared all my intimate chatter with a God who, according to my favorite book, listened to all “weeny” sounds, including mine. Thus I learned that I mattered. I followed my listening God looking in all the traditional places—Sunday School, church, seminary, retreats, Bible study, getting ordained priest to be closer to the Christ. Everywhere I looked God was always portrayed as transcendent, far off, high, almighty. There was the idea of divine immanence—the God who existed and operated from within, of whom I’d heard, and about whom I write. It gets published, yes, and I do not hear or see much about this close-up God for whose presence I’ve so longed. Was there something wrong with me? Or was there something wrong with traditional teachings, imagery and language? I had swallowed transcendence, yet never really digested it.
I’m old enough now to make up a new word: transimmanence. God should be both transcendent and immanent in public prayer. Is it time to bring the God I met under the table out from under in transimmanent language and song?
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We recently watched a Netflix documentary, “Pope Francis, a Man of His Word”. It is a well done movie about, let’s say, the travels of Pope France around the world. Details of his travels are interspersed with some of his own words of wisdom. He knows and speaks many languages, but he speaks mostly in his own first language, Spanish. Subtitle captions are provided. As I watched mesmerized, I chuckled thinking, “Is the Pope Catholic?”—a phrase that describes something we think to be unquestionably obvious. After I watched this magnificent film, I found myself in awe at the catholicity of this man’s actions and message, and at the same time I thought: “This isn’t even that Catholic!” What I meant was that this amazing leader, by direct word and action, knocked the stuffy, stiff, preachy, rule-bound rigor right out of the tradition-bound institutional Church’s backbone—in an intimate, kind, and wise way. He simply did this with his own presence. He was never not the Pope, that is, not trying to pretend he was not who he is, holding the high office he does. He was authentic, that’s all. I remembered Vatican II and Pope John, 23rd in 1970, saying something like: ”I want to throw open the windows of the church so that we can see out and the people can see in.”
Perhaps Pope Francis dares to embody this transimmanence?
I recall the early Church “Fathers” struggled to define orthodox Christianity. They had similar ideas about the nature of Christ.
Wanting more, however, I shall continue to beleaguer my listening God with my battering ram mind, the same at 84 as it was at 4.
Some people call this nagging. I call it faith.
