In the Lap of God

I’ve been reading a book on apophatic spirituality. I always try to have a book on theology and spirituality going. Apophatic spirituality is the "negative way." To find God, you strip away everything you know about God until you get to the last kernel of truth: there is God.

I’ve realized that I don’t like apophatic spirituality. Instead of stripping away, I prefer to add things that I already know about God, and in the end, I find God. I add love, grace, mercy, beauty, truth, nature, animals, cats, dogs, Advent, Christmas, a snowy day — this is how I find God.

What really turned me off was that the author was doing backflips to make his point. That’s always a red flag for me. If you have to argue yourself silly to make your point about God, then there’s a problem. Thoughts about God should ultimately be simple. Like when John says, “God is love.” There — that’s pretty simple, and it says it all.

I also write a journal. I’ve been writing since I was eighteen years old. It’s a spiritual discipline. Last night, I was writing from a spiritual prompt. The topic was: “What are you reaching for?”

I was kind of stumped. I’ve realized that at this point in my life, I’m not really reaching for things like I did when I was younger. I’m not reaching for giant dreams or accomplishments. Instead, I find myself reaching inward. I look inward for God, for Christ, for meaning in life.

Then it dawned on me. Yesterday, I reached for my grandson Graham as he was waking up from his nap. I went to his bedroom and silently opened the door. He was all tucked into his blankets. He was out. It was a precious sight. I gently rubbed his stomach. He slowly opened his eyes, smiled, stretched, and held out his arms to be lifted up.

I reached for him.

I lifted his warm body and held him gently in my arms. He wrapped an arm around my neck and said, “Pop, upstairs.” We gently climbed the steps to the living room. We sat in the leather chair by the woodstove, which was giving off some nice heat.

Graham’s a cuddler. He sat in my lap as I gently rocked him. He looked at the Christmas ornaments we had hung before his nap.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. We just rocked, looked, and soaked up the warmth.

Last night, when I was journaling about what I’m reaching for, it dawned on me that if I’m reaching for God, then I need look no further than Graham in my lap. This is the most perfect description of what God is. We are to God what Graham was to me. Sometimes God wants nothing more than to hold us in the divine lap. 

This is why apophatic spirituality doesn’t work for me. I’m not going to strip God away from this loving embrace. I’m not going to strip away a child from a manger. I’m not going to strip away God gently rocking us, like a grandparent rocks a two-year-old.

I’ve learned that theologians need a two-year-old grandson to teach them about God. There is just something about reaching for their little arms wrapped around your neck, warm from the blankets, that teaches you all you need to know about the Holy One.