To Trust

On Tuesday, an orthodox rabbi from Jerusalem visited my Pauline Theology class. (He didn't talk about Paul much, but who cares? How often do you find a strictly orthodox Jew who believes in Yeshua as meshiach and wants to talk to students in a Christian seminary? Not often.... It was very cool.)

He made a statement that has stuck with me through the following days: "The will of God is that we praise Him in all things. Praise doesn't necessarily mean dancing and singing, though it can mean those things. It means calling on God."

He went on to explain that in calling on God in either joy or sorrow, we are acknowledging Him as the sole God who reigns supreme over all things, to whom our worship and prayers are directed. (Shema Israel, Adonai elohenu, Adonai echad....) He is God alone. He is the one who has made all things, and He is the only one with the power to truly fix what has been broken.

Another thing I've been thinking about lately is the idea of the Greek term for "worry." It implies a fracture of the mind, brokenness, splitness. One part of the mind goes one way (toward self, toward worry); another part trusts in God. Again, we've got a reinforcement of the idea that God is one and that as people created in His image, His plan for us is to avoid "splitting" our minds, but rather, to trust in Him with all of our hearts.

I'm not sure how to connect these different thoughts coherently right now (it is, after all, rather late at night). Yet there's something here I (and maybe you) need to get hold of.

Maybe sometimes the most we can do is say, "God, I don't understand what is happening. I need you. Please carry this burden for me." And then we trust. And wait. Maybe longer than we would like, but we do it. And maybe we aren't "happy" about it, and maybe it's ok that we don't have to be fake and pretend to dance all around out of joy when really, we're not terrifically joyful.

But maybe it's ok. To be quiet. To trust. To do what we can do. But to let Him be God.