The Mysterious God

 

The Mysterious God




Inspired by Genesis 1:1-3 and John 1:1-5 and 14



Before time had a name, before space had a shape, before even light and darkness were separated, there was something. Or perhaps, someone. The Word was there. Not just as sound, not just as story, not just as thought. The Word was. And the Word was with God. And the Word was God.

I imagine it sometimes, a vast, silent, endless emptiness—like the stillness of midnight before the first dawn. There’s nothing but the tension of possibility, a quiet that’s almost too deep to hear. And then—light. Not the light of lamps or suns, but a bursting, living light. The Word spoke, and it was. Light leapt into being, dancing across nothingness, carving shapes, painting time into existence.

I sit here, in my ordinary, cluttered life, and I try to picture it. But the picture refuses to fit. I grew up thinking God was distant, a figure up high on some invisible throne, nodding or frowning depending on whether I got it right or wrong. I saw God as a strict judge, a lawkeeper, someone whose love was measured, whose patience had limits. Sometimes I imagined God as a grumpy grandfather, arms crossed, disapproving of my small mistakes.

Yet Genesis says: “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, and the Spirit of God hovered over the waters. And God said, ‘Let there be light.’ And there was light.”

And John reminds me: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The Word became flesh and lived among us. We saw the glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.”

If God is the Word, then God is not distant. God is not silent. God speaks. God enters into the world, into the mess, into the ordinary, into the brokenness, into my life.

I have carried images of God like baggage. Sometimes they were comforting: God as protector, God as provider. Sometimes terrifying: God as punisher, God as strict scorekeeper. And sometimes just empty, a distant idea I could think about but never touch. These images have served me, sometimes, but they were incomplete. They missed the reality of a God who creates light in darkness, who becomes flesh, who dwells with people rather than towering over them.

I remember a moment, a few years ago, standing in a quiet forest. The sun had just risen, and the fog clung to the ground. I saw light bending through the mist, and for the first time, I understood a truth I had only read about. God is not a figure with a long white beard or an unyielding throne. God is the Word—the creative, sustaining, compassionate force behind everything. God is the one who brings light where there is darkness. God is the one who enters the mess of life.

And I begin to realize: my God is mysterious. Not absent, not silent, but mysterious. A mystery that invites me to look, to wonder, to step closer.

I have often wanted God to look like me imagined. I wanted control, certainty, and easy answers. I wanted God to be predictable, to fit in the boxes I had drawn. But the Word, the light, refuses to be boxed. God is alive, moving, present even when I do not recognize it. God is in the water, the wind, the trembling human heart. God is in the Word that became flesh. God is in the life of Jesus, who shows me what God is really like. Grace and truth. Not condemnation. Presence. Invitation. Love that does not withdraw.

I think about light. Not just the light of day, but the light that shines in the darkness. The darkness did not comprehend it. It could not control it. It could not push it away. The light came anyway. And in that light, I see my incomplete images of God dissolving. I see the fear I carried about judgment soften into awe and hope. I see the control I sought fall away as I recognize the freedom in God’s mystery.

And then I see God in the ordinary moments too. In the way a friend laughs when tears are close behind. In the way a child sleeps, utterly safe and unaware of danger. In the way a stranger offers kindness without expecting anything in return. God is present in these moments because God is present in all moments, even the ones that seem small or messy.

I start to understand that the mysterious God is not a concept to master, a riddle to solve, or a figure to fear. God is a presence to encounter, a life to follow, a love that changes me from the inside out. God is light in the dark. God is Word made flesh. God is here.

I realize now that my previous images of God were partial truths. God is protector, yes, but not distant. God is judge, yes, but merciful. God is lawgiver, yes, but also grace. God is father, yes, but not distant. God is creator, sustainer, redeemer, healer, friend, shepherd, guide, and the very Word who spoke the universe into being. My imagination of God was like looking through a pinhole; now the light spreads across the sky, and I see more, even if I cannot see everything.

I sit in silence, letting the Word speak. Letting the light shine into the shadows of my heart. I admit the fears I have, the doubts, the images that fall short. I open myself to the mystery. And I pray:

"Reveal yourself to me, God. Show me who you really are, beyond my fears, beyond my limited imagination. Shine your light in my darkness. Let your Word take flesh in my life, guiding me, loving me, teaching me. Open my eyes to your presence, and let me see you as you are, not as I imagine. Amen."

The mysterious God does not answer with thunder or fire. God answers with light, with presence, with a Word that enters the world. Sometimes that Word comes through scripture. Sometimes through a friend, a stranger, a quiet moment in nature. Sometimes through suffering, when the false images I cling to crumble. Sometimes through joy, when I catch a glimpse of the divine in laughter or in creation.

I begin to notice the invitations all around me. The Word whispers in the turning of seasons, in the rhythm of my heartbeat, in the unexpected acts of grace that come when I least expect them. I feel the pull to step closer, to trust more, to release my old ideas and step into something deeper.

And I understand that mystery is not absence. Mystery is invitation. Mystery is the space where light shines and shadows flee. Mystery is where God’s Word becomes flesh, where God’s presence touches the ordinary, where God’s love reshapes me from the inside out.

I write these words not as certainty, but as a record of discovery. I write them as an acknowledgment that I am learning to see God differently. That I am learning to let go of old fears and embrace a God who is living, creative, and present. That I am learning to recognize the Word in my life, in the world, in moments both large and small.

And so, I continue to walk, not with the weight of false images pressing down on me, but with the freedom of encountering the mysterious God. The God who spoke light into darkness. The God who became flesh and lived among us. The God whose Word still moves, still speaks, still transforms.

I look forward to tomorrow, not knowing exactly how God will appear. Perhaps in the laughter of a friend, perhaps in the quiet of my morning prayer, perhaps in a sudden understanding that lights up a difficult truth. I do not need to control the mystery. I only need to be open, to listen, to watch, to follow the light wherever it leads.

And in that openness, I feel the Word speaking again: life, creation, hope, love, presence. I feel the light enter my darkness, filling what was empty, softening what was hardened, calling me to a deeper trust.

The mysterious God is here. The mysterious God is with me. The mysterious God is Word, light, and flesh. And I am learning, one breath, one moment, one revelation at a time, to see God as God truly is—mysterious, yet intimate; powerful, yet gentle; eternal, yet present.

I do not have all the answers, and I do not need them. I have the Word. I have the light. I have the presence. And I have a heart willing to see God, to be transformed, and to follow where the mysterious God leads.

In October of 1965, over 61 years ago I made a decision to follow Jesus Christ. It was the best decision I ever made.

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