Anne Lamott, in quoting a priest friend of hers named Tom, wrote, “You can safely assume you’ve created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.”
But that’s the kind of god I prefer: a god of my own liking, a safe, controllable, and manageable god, a god who just happens to have the same political affiliations as I do; a god who assures me that a third piece of chocolate cake is as good for me as manna from heaven; a god that even likes my favorite football team over any other.
This god tends to look the other way at my less than admirable character flaws, saying something like, “Oh well, that’s just the way David is. He’s a nice guy, and his shortcomings aren’t really that bad.”
Furthermore, this god comforts me with the assurance that it’s okay not to love certain people, because they are either those unlikable, surly types, or they are evil people, or they are so good that they outshine me, and to love them would give them the wrong idea, namely, that god might love them as much as he loves me, which might mean I’m not as special as I think I am.
I must admit, this god is dangerous, but probably not for the reasons you think: this god is mainly a reflection of myself, and if left to myself and the god of my liking, I will descend into a life characterized by resentments, fear, guilt, and remorse.
Of course, I wouldn’t admit that; instead, I search for certain sacred texts or admirable quotes that legitimize the god of my own liking.
But the cold, hard truth is, my personal liking of God is not the first requirement on God’s job description.
The god I need should be perfectly holy and perfectly loving, all at the same time, a god that can purify me of my wrongs, while giving me both the desire and the power to please him, a god who loves me while instilling in me a passion for loving him and others.
But, the problem is, I’m not okay, not even kinda, sorta okay. I am a train wreck, and therefore helpless, in need of a god who can restore me to sanity, because I keep doing the same stupid stuff over and over while expecting different results, which is an apt definition of insanity.
So, if I’m going to be okay—if I’m going to be right, straight-up, acceptable, justified, living life with the confidence that at the end of my journey, I will hear the verdict of “not guilty,” then my okay-ness is going to have to come from beyond myself, because I don’t have it within myself to be okay. This god must therefore be a god that loves me just like I am: selfish, self-seeking, fearful, inconsiderate, and dishonest, but it must also be a god who loves me enough to build with me a life characterized by selflessness, humility, considerateness, honesty, integrity, and courage.
When I found God, I came to understand that he had reached out for me long before I ever knew him as the one, true God.
I understand this God, and then again, I don’t. He is elusive, untamed, not like a trained pet you can control.
Though I conveniently refer to this God as “he,” he is beyond any nomenclatures of gender. He is even beyond naming. When Moses asked for God’s name, God replied: I AM WHO I AM.” And then he told Moses, “Say this to the people of Israel: ‘I AM has sent me to you.’” (Exodus 3:14).
Jesus certainly agitated the religious stock holders of his day into a veritable, apoplectic fit when he challenged the god of their liking by saying this about himself: “Truly, truly, I tell you, before Abraham was born, I am!” (John 8:58). The reference back to Moses and God’s answer to his question was undeniable.
This God loves me (and you) just like I am, but loves me enough not to leave me just like I am.
So, you shouldn’t be surprised when I say that the more I get to know this God, the more I love Him, and the more I love him, the more I recognize that he is truly:
The God of my liking.