Margaret's Bench -- April 2007
It’s April, and
the dandelions are popping out everywhere, shamelessly yellow.
If dandelions could write their own creation story, I wonder if
the story would say that the first dandelion was made in the
image of God.
In which case I suppose God would be yellow. And that the
yellowness of God would be a key theological issue debated over
the generations.
Great dandelion theologians would rise up and
prophesy about God’s yellowness in ways that rang fundamentally
true to dandelions in general.
God would possess the perfect yellow, pure and true, more yellow
than any mortal dandelion could be or imagine. All the
variations of dandelions’ own yellows, in contrast, could only
echo God’s holy yellow.
Which might make some dandelions appear closer to God than
others—closer than those poor souls who, through no fault of
their own, grew up to be just a little too pale, or a little too
orange. Dandelions with the purer, more Godlike tone would be
honored, revered, perhaps even worshiped.
From one meadow, region, or year to the next, God’s yellow might
be interpreted in slightly different gradations or tints.
Variations in worship would of course arise.
Now, I have no problem with the idea that God
includes yellow. I see yellow in the world. God created the
world. Clearly, the potential for yellow exists in God.
But as soon as I say that God is yellow – immediately, I feel
how greatly reduced God becomes in my own mind. “God is yellow”
may be true, in the same sense that “God is blue” and “God is
that peculiar faded green-gray that some (but not all) of the
needles on the hemlock outside my office window turn in late
autumn” are true, but none of those sentences have any real
content. God immediately and effortlessly sidesteps any such
reduction.
Human beings prize intelligence. We also prize analytical skill
combined with foresight: the ability to plan ahead. We want
those traits for ourselves, we want our children to have them,
and we see a greater abundance of those traits in our children
than they may actually possess.
Which makes me wonder, when we argue and fuss and struggle over
God’s supreme intelligence and perfect plan, if we might be
falling into a dandelion trap.
Now, I have no problem with the idea that God includes human
intelligence, in the same way that God includes dog intelligence
and dandelion intelligence. I'm just wondering: Could it be that
saying God is intelligent conveys about the same amount of meaningful
information as saying God is yellow?
It’s spring, a season of unfolding mystery. So maybe I’ll just
drop that question on the ground and leave it for a while.
More on this subject at another time. For now, spring is busting
out all over, and it’s time to go outside and play.
-- Margaret
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