Divinity 101 – A God Built In Our Image And Likeness

Note: This is the first in a two-part blog on the Nature of Divinity.

He was finally old enough to understand, and grateful enough to begin repaying the debt. He was a three-month-old kitten that had been rescued by my dear friend, Arlen, whose mission in life is to save and protect abandoned animals. He had been the recipient of her unconditional love, nursed back to health by her Naturopathic genius and invited into self-confidence by her willingness to accept all of his idiosyncrasies. He now deluged her with gifts. He started by chasing golden Autumn leaves around her back garden. They attempted to dodge his attentions by hitching a ride on passing winds. He would pounce on one, spear it with his sharp claws, clamp it firmly in his mouth, bring it inside the house and lay it triumphantly at her feet. She accepted without demur.

Then one day he graduated to hunting fauna. His practice with leaves had proven invaluable and soon he caught a little mouse. He pushed his way through the animal flap in Arlen’s back door and presented her with this new token. The greatest gift an animal can give us humans is to first draw us into its reality and then bestow membership of its species upon us.

Isn’t that cute! Sometimes we reciprocate by anthropomorphizing them, ascribing all kinds of human characteristics to Fido or Kitty. Mostly, however, we reserve that kind of compliment for God. The greatest honor we can bestow on Him is to make Him “one of us”; to make Him a “personal” God; to give Him a mega-human personality; and to define Him by ascribing to Him human traits. He must just love the leaves and mice we lay at His feet!

Theology is currently in a messy state; what with Atheism, Agnosticism, Non-theistic spiritualities, Deism and Theism. In particular I find the oscillation between Deism (“God doesn’t give a damn about us”) and Theism (“God will damn you for saying that!”) to be amusing. So to complicate things even further, I’ll throw in a spanner of my own: I do not believe that God is a PERSON.

I live in the heart of the Cosmos, on the outer reaches of the Milky Way Galaxy. I have a deeply personal relationship with it. But the Cosmos is not a person. I do not have to anthropomorphize it in order to be in a personal relationship with it. Since I am a person, the only relationship I can have with it, is a personal relationship.

I live in the heart of the forest near Healdsburg, California. I have a deeply personal relationship with it. But the forest is not a person. I do not have to anthropomorphize it in order to be in a personal relationship with it. Since I am a person, the only relationship I can have with it, is a personal relationship.

I live in the “heart” of God, whether I am in the Milky Way Galaxy, or Healdsburg, California or on vacation to my ancestral home in Cork, Ireland. I have a deeply personal relationship with God. But God is not a person. I do not have to anthropomorphize “Her” in order to be in a personal relationship with “Her”. Since I am a person, the only relationship I can have with “Him”, is a personal relationship.

By saying that God is not a Person, I do not mean that She is distant, remote or uncaring but, rather, that She cannot be described as a PERSON. That is far too limiting a descriptor because God is LOVE UNLIMITED. It is so difficult for us to imagine a love that is not confined to physical, emotional or mental modalities. In particular, we think that ultimate love is the feeling we have in special, intimate relationships. We think that if we were to regard all sentient beings equally, that would mean diluting our love. An all-embracing love seems impersonal and therefore generic and bland; it threatens our narcissistic egos, which can only find self-worth by competing, by being told they are special, different, greater, more attractive or more appreciated than all other egos. We insist on a sun that neglects the gardens of others to focus its rays only on ours; we want a tide that doesn’t lift all ships, but just our beloved boat.

Because of this, if the great mystics ever put words to their experiences of God, it is always in metaphors, analogies, parables and poetry. So I will imitate them and end this essay in such a fashion.

God is the curiosity of a kitten

and the ecstatic playful gamboling of a lamb.

She is the unconditional, face-licking forgiveness of a puppy

and the solid groundedness of a mountain.

He is the creative resilience of the grasses

and the unfettered freedom of the winds.

She is the girly giggling of the creek

and the seductive winking of a star on a frosty night.

God has already taken out membership of all Her created

species, but has a citizenship that transcends them all.

So if you offer Her a leaf or a mouse,

incense or Eucharist,