Pondering the Patterns of God's Garden

Creation is messy… Creation sometimes appears random. Until you look more closely…

I have the largest flower bed on our cul de sac—maybe in my whole neighborhood.  It’s kind of a blessing and a curse.  I like gardening, and the flowers are always so pretty once they are planted and established. But there’s hours of hard work each year bent over on my hands and knees to get to the pretty part.  

Beauty doesn’t just naturally spring from the Earth.  Barren soil is not all that attractive.  

The "before" picture.
A large eyesore on my front yard.

When you dig in it you’re bound to get dirty—especially when it’s humid.  You can try wearing gloves but, generally speaking, gardening is not a good hobby for those who are averse to getting dirt under their nails.  

I find the process of creating my flower garden each year is less science and more art.  While there may be similarities from year to year in my garden, each year’s creation is unique.   I go to the nursery and procure a few flats of plants.  I always have some idea of what I want when I start out, but it’s somewhat random, based on what they have available, and what strikes me as good-looking plants.  

Once I start planting, the random element continues.  One "communes" with the soil for a sense of what plants should go where.  I planted a red plant here, so it would be good if other red plants were around it.  These plants are bigger, so they go behind smaller ones.  These I know make a good border, so I plant them on the edge of the garden.  Patterns begin to emerge after a while, but they are subject to random interruptions that I, the gardener, choose to insert.

At my church, we've been having a science and faith discussion.  We have been reading The Language of God: A Scientist Presents Evidence for Belief, by Francis Collins.  We’ve been talking about how God has used evolution to bring about creation as we know it today. As I was digging in the dirt of my garden recently, I started thinking about how creation is sort of like God working in a garden.  It's not that big of a leap to connect the two.  After all,  the Creation Stories of Genesis 1 & 2 take place in a garden.  Furthermore, John 20 describes Mary's first encounter with Jesus after the resurrection as taking place in a garden. When Mary first encounters the Risen Lord, she mistakenly identifies him as "the gardener".   I don't think it was an accident that those details in John's account of the resurrection evoke parallels to the Creation stories of Genesis.  The original first century readers would have surely noticed the connection as well.  The storyteller's message is clear: the resurrection of Jesus is the firstfruits of the "new creation".  

Anyway, back to my flower garden.  Look at the image at the top of this article again.  At first the flowers appear completely random; but stare at the picture long enough and patterns begin to emerge.  Those patterns aren't accidents; they were put there intentionally by the gardener—me. 

Probing the patterns of DNA.

Likewise, Collins argues that if you examine the DNA evidence in detail—which he has done in his role as head of the government's Human Genome Project—the patterns of creation (or language of God, as he calls it) begin to emerge.

For example, humans are clearly quite different than mice, so at first glance we might assume we were created completely independently of each other.  However, if you compare the DNA structure of a mouse to that of a human, you find surprising similarities, particularly in the portions of the gene that “code” for protein.  In other areas (called junk DNA), humans and mice are much less similar—but if you search, you can still find similarities.  Long story short, Collins shows that there is compelling evidence to suggest that at some point in our ancient evolutionary history there was a common ancestor between mice and men.  

In my garden, I interrupt the pattern at times, usually to “fit” a flower in an awkward space.  I introduce a variation from what might be expected.   Likewise, it seems God (nature) interrupts the genetic pattern at times.  For reasons science can’t (yet) explain, there is a random element introduced to the language of God through genetic mutations.  Collins explains that these mutations seem to occur naturally once in every one hundred million base pairs of DNA per generation.   To put this jargon in perspective, that means that any one of us has 60 mutations that neither of our parents had.  (So, X-Men fans, maybe there’s a sense that we are ALL potential mutants.)  Obviously, most mutations are either benign, and thus have little impact one way or another, or harmful, in which case they quickly die out in successive generations. However, once in a great while, a mutation comes along that proves advantageous.  Offspring born with said mutation then gain an advantage over those without it and it passes along.  

Collins concludes that evolution through random variation combined with natural selection seems to be the most elegant explanation of how God “gardens”. Darwin's theory was  developed in the 1800s (published in 1859), long before we could see what was going on at the cellular level.  However, it has stood up to rigorous scientific scrutiny and proven to be a remarkably accurate portrayal of how God (nature) actually works. There are, if you will, patterns that are used—but the patterns are imperfect.  Over long periods of time, those imperfections are what account for the diversity of life on Earth, which can all trace their way back to common ancestors.  Again, the theory only makes sense if the time intervals involved are immense—as in millions if not billions of years.  Truly our God is not in a hurry.  

There are some other explanations or theories that explain how we got here.  For example, Collins has a chapter on Intelligent Design (ID), which suggests there are “gaps” in evolution that science can’t explain (e.g., lack of fossil evidence), and in these “gaps”, God had to have intervened in the creative process.  While ID might initially look like a cleaner explanation of creation—and is one that explicitly puts the Creator in the process—Collins concludes the theory doesn’t stand up to rigorous scientific analysis. It also lapses into a common theological fallacy of placing God in the gaps.  That is, there is an acknowledged “gap” in our scientific understanding of these processes at this point.  That must mean that thisis where God stepped into the process.  The problem arises when subsequent scientific investigations find an explanation for what used to be attributed to God.  We have the makings of a theological crisis!

In contrast, the theory of evolution suggests God is part of the whole messy—but glorious—unfolding of creation from Genesis to Revelation.  It’s similar to the role I play as gardener creating my flower bed each year; I have to be involved in the whole process: e.g., buying plants, planting, weeding, mulching.  Be warned though: Just as gardening gets you dirty, you’re sure to get some “dirt” in your nails if you dig in to the details of evolution.  It might stretch your faith to think of God working this way.  There’s so much baggage surrounding the “e-word”.  It’s seen as opposing faith, but I don’t think it is intended to be that way.  

The God of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob is also the God of the genome and evolution.  Evolution is simply the means that God has used—and continues to use—to create, or if you will, to garden.

Science has shown us that change is constantly happening on levels our eyes cannot see (i.e., DNA)—but it will typically take millennia for those changes to result in a favorable adaptation, much less a new species emerging.  Randomness is clearly required for evolution to work.  Does that mean God cannot be part of it?  Is it possible that what we see as random is not in fact random to God?   If the process is random, if it were to happen again, it might not turn out the same way.  Is that a problem?  Maybe some other lifeform would become dominant this time? (But for an asteroid crashing to the Yucatan Peninsula ~66 million years ago, maybe the dominant form that evolved would’ve been reptilian.)  But then again, what if God is in control, and we trust God to deal with the details. Perhaps the Creator’s whole point in doing all this was the end result (at least so far): the human race.  As Daniel Harrel says in Nature’s Witness: How Evolution Can Inspire Faith, “Natural selection doesn’t have to mean godless selection.”  Perhaps God uses natural selection to “reign in” the randomness of mutation and point the whole process of creation toward its intended end.  That’s my working assumption, at least for now.  

How about you?? What's your take on evolution?  Does belief in evolution sit squarely with your faith in God?  

Ponderings on the Presence of God

I can now add a yurt to the places I’ve slept... 

For Memorial Day weekend, my family stayed a few nights at a campground in Lancaster, PA.   We had the experience of camping (e.g., hanging out around a campfire, eating hot dogs and hamburgers and making S’mores) but then we could go inside to three-star accommodations when it was time for bed.  It was like a hotel room with a campsite out back. The pullout bed was quite comfortable.  

It was nice to get away from the “normal routine” for a few days.  To simply brew a pot of coffee and come have a few minutes to sit on the deck outside our yurt in the morning was good.  I realize I don’t engage in this practice as much as I once did—and I miss it.  There is always some task or responsibility that calls me—and I have a hard time ignoring them to focus on prayer.  Ironically, many of the morning noises at this place reminded me of home: Canada Geese (many of whom no longer seem to return to Canada), Mallard ducks, other birdsongs, woodpeckers.  But the change of scenery—and removal of "regular responsibilities"—seemed to make all the difference.

As I sat on the deck, I looked upon a small grove of trees near the yurt.  I began to concentrate and became aware of so much activity going on that I hadn’t noticed when I first sat down. That little micro-ecosystem was teeming with life!  Many different birds were moving around singing their songs and doing what God made them to do.  Then I wondered: How many plant species were in just that little area alone?  How many creatures are there that I cannot see?  As the first line of Gerald Manley Hopkins poem,God’s Grandeur, puts it: “The world is charged with the grandeur of God.” The question is:  Am I “tuned in” enough to notice?

I felt a bit like Jacob waking up from his dream at Bethel (Genesis 28:10-17). Up until that moment in the story, Jacob was too busy doing his own thing (mostly hiding from his twin brother Esau, who last he knew, wanted to kill him for tricking him into giving Jacob both his inheritance and birthright) to be conscious of God.  It’s only when he was forced out into the wilderness, on the run, removed from all the noise of his “normal” life, that he got a glimpse of what had been there all along—he just hadn’t taken time to notice.  

I started to sing Francesca Batistelli’s, Holy Spirit, a simple tune I often use as my prayer to welcome God’s Presence, saying “Holy Spirit you are welcome here.  Come flood this place.  Fill the atmosphere.  Your glory God is what our hearts long for, to be overcome by your Presence Lord”.  On this morning, however, it was the words of the bridge that particularly spoke to me:

Let us become more aware of Your presence.

Let us experience the glory of Your goodness.

A quick survey of Scripture shows that the idea of being aware of God’s Presence has changed over the centuries.  It’s interesting I stayed in a yurt—a semi-permanent tent—this weekend.  At the time of Moses and the Exodus, God’s Presence was believed to dwell in a yurt, or a tent if you prefer. The Tabernacle was literally a moving Temple for God (see Exodus 26–27 for details on how it was made).[1] It was a pretty elaborate structure that clearly would have taken some work to set up and take down at each stop along the way.  It was like the yurt I stayed in this weekend—only on a larger scale, and much more ornate as would befit the place where God’s Presence was believed to dwell.

When Joshua takes command following the death of Moses, God promises to be with him wherever he goes (Joshua 1:5-6).  I’ve always interpreted this as a promise that God would be with Joshua personally, as we might interpret it today. And perhaps it was like that for him.  But it occurred to me (maybe because of where I was that morning) that the theological concept of God dwelling in individual hearts really didn’t exist when Joshua lived. I think it’s more likely that Joshua probably heard these words as a corporate promise from God—to be with the People of Israel always, i.e., through his Presence, which was located in the Tabernacle, which literally went with God’s People wherever they went.

FOOD FOR THOUGHT: Joshua likely wouldn’t have thought of God with him personally.  Is it possible that in today’s world where so much emphasis is place on God’s Presence with us personally (i.e., “in our hearts”) that we’ve gone to the other extreme?  Have we downplayed—or even forgotten—the corporate dimension of God with us.  Consider for example: Do you routinely think of  encountering God’s Presence when you go to worship on Sunday morning?  Should we “go to church” expecting such an encounter?

During the reign of King David, Israel enjoyed a period of stability and prosperity as a United Kingdom (all 12 tribes of Israel together), and the people decided a tent was no longer sufficient to house God’s Presence.  Although it’s never clear that God is fully behind this idea, the people insist that God needs a “permanent” home.  Discussion of the Temple starts toward the end of David’s reign, but the Temple isn’t built until David’s son Solomon becomes king (1 Kings 6). The Presence of God was conveyed to the Temple with much fanfare. 

Unfortunately, Israel’s “golden age” didn't last very long.  After King Solomon (and the seeds of division are planted long before that), Israel spiraled into civil war and split into a Northern and Southern Kingdoms—detailed in 1 & 2 Kings.  The Northern Kingdom (consisting of 10 of the 12 tribes) was largely wiped out by the Assyrians, leaving the smaller Southern Kingdom (the tribes of Judah and Benjamin) with Jerusalem as capital.  A little later in history, the Babylonians invaded Jerusalem and take the best and brightest of Judah (the name for the Southern Kingdom) off into captivity and kill the rest.  During that invasion, the Temple was destroyed.  

It’s difficult to estimate how big an impact that had on the Jewish people.  While the Temple was rebuilt at the time of Ezra and Nehemiah (Ezra 6:13-18) it was never restored to its former glory.  Not only that, but the people themselves had been changed by their time in exile.  Years spent cut off from the Temple and all that was familiar to them forced them rethink where God’s Presence dwelled and what it meant to be a people with God.  During this time, the beginnings of synagogue worship were established. So, while the Second Temple is built, it never becomes the center of worship that the First Temple was. 

The Second Temple was expanded around the time of Jesus as part of a massive construction project by Herod the Great.  By the time Jesus was alive, the expanded Second Temple dominated the skyline of Jerusalem once more.  Meanwhile, God seemingly had been confined to the Temple again, with access strictly controlled by religious leaders called Pharisees—who imposed countless laws surrounding purity and access to God.  The Pharisees were allowed to continue their quaint religious practices as long as they cooperated with the Romans. So, in a way, since the Pharisees are puppets of Rome, Rome is ultimately controlling access to God, which presents a problem that Jesus (being himself God) can’t ignore. 

In a sense, when Jesus overturned the tables the Temple Courts (e.g., John 2:13-22), it was more than just the moneychanger’s stalls he was disrupting that day.  He was disrupting an entire corrupt system of worship. Symbolically, Jesus’s turning over the tables in God’s House represents setting God’s Presence free. (Not that is was ever really confined, but people had come to view it that way.)  Jesus also foreshadows that the building, as impressive a physical structure as it was, would one day lay in ruins.  The Second Temple was destroyed in 70 AD as retribution for an uprising by the Jewish people. (Interestingly, Jewish theology envisions a day when a massive Third Temple will be established where God 's Presence can once again dwell.)

In the New Testament, we see God’s Presence back on the move again.  This time, God is not carried in a yurt, or confined to a certain physical place where the people have to go to encounter God (Acts 17:24), as hinted at earlier, now God’s Presence dwells in the heart of every believer (1 Corinthians 6:19).  God, promises to follow us wherever we go.  At the Ascension, Jesus promises his followers he will be with them always, even to the ends of the earth (Matthew 28:16-20). No longer confined to a physical body, the Second Person of the Trinity once again is free to reign over Creation.  Jesus now has much more freedom of movement than when he was confined to a single human body. 

This freedom of movement is further enhanced through the action of the Holy Spirit—the third person of the Trinity of Father, Son, and Spirit—who Jesus promised his followers would come and continue to instruct them, and did so dramatically on the day of Pentecost.  Scripture teaches us that the Trinity is not static, but dynamic, always on the move. (We draw it as a triangle, with each Person in a fixed place, but think of it more as a spinning triangle—like a fidget spinner—shown right). The movement of the Holy Spirit is often depicted as wind blowing or breath—or the flutter of dove’s wings. 

Last week was Trinity Sunday on the church's liturgical calendar, when we ponder the mysterious three-in-one nature of God.  The Father and the Son and Holy Spirit sometimes act as three distinct beings, but exist as a unity—e.g., described in John 14—and we who believe are drawn into that relationship.  Paul says frequently that Christ is in me and I am in Christ.  Ergo, where we go, God goes.  Jesus can literally be in any location where one of his followers is located.  As Eugene Petersen stated it in one of his book titles, “Christ plays in 10,000 places,” which I’d call a conservative estimate.

Which brings me back to the deck our yurt in Pennsylvania.  I wasn’t in church this past Sunday morning, but I was with God; I was in God’s Presence.  Now clearly the Pastor’s spouse is not advocating not attending church.  Quite the contrary.  The witness of Scripture in both the Old and New Testaments is that God often shows up most powerfully when the People of God are gathered together—e.g., Pentecost.  Furthermore, I’m a bit dubious of the person who says, “Oh I don’t need to go to church; I experience God out in the world without organized religion.”  While I don’t discount the notion that organized religion has “problems,” or that it is possible to have profound encounters with God in isolation, my experience is that, in general, we are most able to discern God’s Presence in the world when we make a regular practice of gathering as a community to worship. It’s as if regular participation in corporate worship tunes our senses to “become more aware of God’s presence,” and “experience the glory of God’s goodness” when we are on our own in the world. Clearly, if God is in all and works through all, then it makes sense God is with me—and with you—wherever we find ourselves.  The question is the same as the one Jacob wrestled with: Are we aware enough to recognize it and respond?

REACT TO WHAT YOU'VE READ:

*  In what setting(s) do you most naturally feel God’s Presence: In church?  Outside church?

*  In what setting(s) would you like to be able to “become more aware” of God’s presence?

*  In what ways to you “experience the glory of God’s goodness”?

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[1]Technically, God’s Presence dwelled in the Ark of the Covenant, which was housed in the inner most part of the Tabernacle (and later the Temple), the Holy of Holies, which only the high priest could enter—and only on the Day of Atonement.