That a mere God of nature is insufficient was forcibly brought home to me while I was watching a circus performer throw daggers and toss balls. The performer, placing a man against a wide board, some ten feet distant, hurled a bunch of daggers into the board on either side of the man, each time missing him by only one or two inches. Then he began tossing balls until the air seemed full of them, and not one ball fell to the ground. Having witnessed with amazement his great dexterity, these thoughts occurred to me:
"I wonder what he is like when he talks? If he is married what does his wife think of him? If he has children how do they feel toward him? Or if he is a single man, what would I think if he should wish to marry my daughter?" I then realized that I knew absolutely nothing about him except that he was a dexterous machine. Then falling into a homiletical mood I thought of the great skill of God. "How wonderfully He can toss balls, and strew the milky way, and hurl Pleiades and Orion! Before such infinite skill the performance which I have just witnessed is ridiculous." Then the thought forced itself upon me, "What would God be like if He were to talk? What kind of a person should we find Him to be if He walked our streets, and engaged in business, and sat at the table as one of the family circle?" I then realized that if God could only toss balls and direct atoms we should really know nothing whatever of His character. If He were no more than the uniform power of nature's laws He would too closely resemble gravity, or electricity, to be satisfying to His children. The human heart demands that, in addition to all this, God be individual, and spontaneous, like other persons whom we know, and with whom we hold fellowship. We enjoy seeing our friends run machines, but what an awful life it would be if every person in the world gave no heed to anyone or anything except the machine which he uniformly and incessantly operated! What a monstrous and oppressive idea it is to think of God, silent as a sphinx, spending an eternity with His mind so riveted upon the operation of His machine-world that He has neither time nor capacity for anything else. If such a God had time to think of it, He surely would envy the little child who can prattle, and laugh, and sing.
Fortunately this higher demand upon God is fully met in the religion of Jesus. For while our Father is a wonder-worker and a world builder, at the same time He has myriads of human bodies through which He can live a thoroughly social life. He is the most social Being in the universe; His desire and capacity for social relations are unlimited. He does not willingly leave one individual outside the circle of His friends. All His work in nature is for the purpose of providing instruments and conditions for a family of free children, among whom He may live as the free and adorable Father. It is no wonder that men cease to pray, when in their thought God is divorced from everything individual and social. When men conceive of God as the mere operator of the cosmos, their highest concern is to keep out of the way of the machine. It never occurs to such men that God is able to treat them as sons, after the most personal and human manner. It is only in the laws of nature that His actions are mechanically uniform. In social relations His moods and actions change to suit the feelings and conduct of His sons and daughters. In nature God sends the rain and sunshine on the just and the unjust alike, but in human-nature He smiles or frowns according to each individual's deserts. In Jesus, God might say, "Come unto me," or He might make a whip of cords and drive the people out of the temple. Prayer does not cause God to change His wise and loving purpose, but it does determine how He shall execute His holy will. If the conduct of a child does not change the father's actions toward him, then the father is both foolish and immoral. Men should learn that God is even greater in humanity than He is in nature. For in the one, He is uniform power, while in the other, He is Father, Redeemer, and Friend. In the world of wills, God is individual and human. And His inner communion with us is greatly intensified and clarified when there is added to it His audible voice from without. The voice of God speaking to us through human lips awakens the voice of God within us. How wonderfully clear was the Divine Voice in men's hearts when God spoke to them through Jesus! Likewise when the apostle Paul went to a new community, it seemed to receptive minds that God had come to town; and they were wholly justified in thinking so, for though God had been there all the time, powerfully through nature's laws and feebly in their darkened hearts, yet for the first time God was within their city in clear articulate speech, wooing them to Himself. This not only made God seem real to them, but it made it easy for them to believe and be baptized. Though able to rejoice for a time, yet heaviness soon came upon them after Paul's departure, because God too seemed to have departed from their midst. Neither were they mistaken in this, for God had no instrument remaining through which He could make Himself so humanly real to them, after His devoted and tried servant had gone away. As a result of Paul's early departure there would follow unbelief and conduct unworthy of Christians. To meet this sad state of affairs in the mission churches, God would write them a letter, or better still, make them another visit in Paul.
Once there was brought home to me in a very beautiful and unexpected manner the Christian truth about God's essential oneness with humanity. Weary from my afternoon calls, I had just returned home. Entering the side hall that was already dark, I saw through the door slightly ajar my little son and daughter at play. Philip, eight years old, was building up blocks on the floor, while Esther, two years younger, was standing under the electric light with both arms raised as high as she could stretch them over her head. Seeing her dramatic position, and the unusual look on her face, I remained silent in the hall knowing that something was coming. With intense feeling she said:
"Oh, Philip! of course we would kiss God!" To which Philip replied:
"Oh, you couldn't kiss God. He is a spirit. Why, God is in you,—and in me."
Still standing in her dramatic position with the light shining full on her face, she began lowering her arms slowly, and as her expression of comprehension deepened she said:
"Oh well then, Philip, if God is in you and in me, if we were to kiss each other we would kiss God."
"Yes, that is right, you would," was his response. Then said she:
"Let us kiss God." He arose promptly, and the children, throwing their arms tightly around each other, kissed God.