Field Trips, Potters, and the God Who is Far Away

Once upon a time long, long ago (four years ago), in a far away land (Chattanooga, Tennessee) I went on a field trip. Yes, as late-twenties seminary student, I spent a summer taking one of the best courses of my life with Lauren Winner, and that woman took us on field trips. It was a class on biblical imagery for God, and Lauren had this miraculous sermon-writing-tool she called relocated exegesis.

Her theory was, that if we wanted to talk about God through the biblical imagery of earthly things (e.g. rock, shepherd, true vine), we should learn more about that ‘thing’ in its environment. This resulted in a thousand different spectacular and memorable teaching moments. Two highlights that come immediately to mind are a fabulous sermon by Lauren on Jesus as Mother Hen and a class field trip to a vineyard where drinking wine to our heart’s content was the homework. Toto, we were not in Cleveland any longer.

The most memorable part of the course for me occurred on the field trip where I least expected it. To talk about God as Potter, we visited a ceramics studio in Chattanooga. Of all the biblical images for God, Potter was the one I felt most familiar with and, therefore, least interested in. I grew up near a church called The Potter’s House. I heard TD Jakes preach on it many times. I had taken pottery lessons as a child and again in college. I got it: God is the artist in charge who makes and remakes us. Check.

The goal for the field trip was not anything religious, but rather, for the potter to teach us about her trade. She talked about materials, tools, and techniques. She let us play with clay and told us about her products. She told us about how water can make things work easier, fire is necessary to set, and how cracked pots can be repaired. It was fun, but I had a very, “yeah yeah yeah, I already know all of this” attitude. And then something changed that.

* * *

The potter gave a demonstration of throwing a vase on the wheel, and I happened to have the seat right in front of her. As the wheel turned, she brought the clay up, put pressure in certain spots, and the once sloppy mess began to take form. She was talking all the while, and people were asking her questions.

A colleague of mine asked the potter something (I wish I could remember the question), and the Potter sat back in her chair, contemplating for a moment to give a thoughtful answer. In doing so, she removed her hands from the almost-vase, but she kept her foot on the pedal. She was leaned back, hands off, but the wheel— and, thus, the vase— spun and spun and spun on.

In the moment she leaned back, something instinctive and automatic happened in me unconsciously: I jolted forward in my own seat, hands out, ready to catch the falling would-be-vase. But it didn’t fall. It just kept spinning, and I’m sure I looked silly. And then that potter looked me dead in the eyes and said, “It can spin for a moment without my touch. My eyes are on it even when my hands are not.”

And that right there, my friends, is the greatest two-sentence sermon I have ever heard. I’m telling you, if I had not been a Christian already, I think I would have yelled, “SIGN ME UP!” in that very moment.

* * *

I know so many Christians, myself included, that panic the moment we feel far from God. We feel like we are spinning, spinning, spinning, and God’s touch is nowhere to be found. We long for Divine nearness, particularly in chaos. Once you have experienced that kind of God-with-us-ness, you don’t want to be without it. Especially not when everything feels wildly out of control, and you’re not sure if you’ve yet to become what you’re supposed to be.

Maybe you feel right now that world is spinning a bit too fast. I’d stick out my arms to catch you, but you’re not going to fall, no matter how dizzy you get. I don’t make many promises because I don’t think Christianity makes many, but here’s the one I know for sure: God is with you, no matter how it feels. God’s eyes are on you even when God’s hands are not. You can spin for a moment without God’s touch.

I say this while fully convinced that we can actually experience moments when we sense God’s nearness is a holy, near-tangible way. There are moments when the earth becomes ‘thin space’ and heaven feels as close as the breeze on your skin. There are times when we sense God’s presence or it’s easy to trust that God is with us.

And there are times that aren’t like that.

In case no one has told you: those times are okay, too. You’re still a good Christian then, too. God still loves you just the same then, too. Yes, God is a God who draws very near, but God is also a God who is afar off. If you feel like God is far away, you’re right. Jeremiah 23:23 says, “‘Am I only a God nearby,’ declares the Lord, 'and not a God far away?’” God is bigger than only being close by.

If you’ve been searching for a divine encounter and coming up short, I’d beg you to remember those are not the only spiritual experiences we get in this life. Everything is spiritual because we are spiritual beings. And God is kind enough to be made known by things we are already familiar. Bread. Water. Wine. If you know something about these things, you know something about God.

As we enter into Holy Week, I pray that the world might slow down for you and be thin space once again. As we remember Christ’s journey to Jerusalem, let’s remember that he will say, ‘My God, why have you forsaken me?’ and also that those words will not be his last. They won’t be your last either.

Sunday will come, my friend. Sunday always comes. And even if you don’t feel it, new life has its eyes on you.

*  * *

If the Lord don’t come and the creek don’t rise,

Casey