What is it about the G-word? Most of us don't like to say it. The G-word can make us uncomfortable. Some even think we would be better off without it.
So often, the G-word gets in the way. Wouldn't it be great if being Jewish was only about the apples and honey, the latkes, the stories, the bonds of family, the treasury of wisdom, the pursuit of justice?
But, inevitably, that G-word comes back. God, it's all over the place! Oops, I said it, the G-word. God.
God appears all the time during these High Holy Days. We sit in the synagogue and open the prayer book that is in front of us and see all over the pages—Avinu, Malkeinu - Father, King - Judge, Creator, Sovereign, Shepherd, Keeper, Protector, Beloved. We can't avoid it, even though we might like to.
God is what we're here for today. The essence of Yom Kippur is teshuvah—turning, turning ourselves to God, drawing closer to God. Our prayers assume that we have a working relationship with Adonai. I assume, though, that for many of us, that relationship could use some work.
As Jews, we are not just asked to believe in God's existence, but more specifically, to engage with God, to have a relationship with God, a connection with God. We are "bnai Yisrael," the children of Israel, literally, "children who struggle with God." This is a fitting name, because it is children who most often voice their curiosity and their questions about God.
I can recount countless questions about God that children have asked me: "Rabbi, if God created the world, who created God?" "Did God really create everything, even legos?" "Can I see God?" "Can I hear God?" "Is grandpa now with God?"
And there are the profound statements of belief uttered by children—like the boy in kindergarten who informed me one Sunday morning in the hallway of our religious school that he had swallowed God. At first I thought, what was in his breakfast that morning? Then, the boy pointed emphatically toward his belly button. "God is here," he said. I replied, "Oh, you mean God is inside of you?" He nodded his head and smiled and wondered off to class.
Perhaps it is no mere coincidence that God is a comfortable and familiar idea for children, something children readily accept. In the last decade, numerous scientists, anthropologists, and psychologists have come forth with some startling explanations about why belief in God exists. These notions stand apart from the scientific assault on religion that has been garnering attention recently, in the form of the best-selling book, The God Delusion, by evolutionary biologist, Richard Dawkins, and the best-selling author, Sam Harris, who wrote, Letter to a Christian Nation. These books conclude that religion is useless and dangerous. Their common denominator is a simplistic, black or white, neither/nor view of religion.
However, hidden in the uproar over the neo-atheists is a quieter and more illuminating debate. ("Darwin's God," Robin Marantz Henig, New York Times Magazine, March 4, 2007) It is taking place not between science and religion, but among scientists who are studying the evolution of religion. They agree on one point: that religious belief is an outgrowth of brain structure that evolved during early human history. In short, we are hard-wired to believe in God. Being human means that we yearn to reach out toward the Infinite. Just as children are born with the ability to acquire language, we are also born with an inherent ability to have faith in the Oneness of the Universe.
And there are other scientists who have deepened their faith because of their science. Geneticist Francis Collins is the Director of the National Human Genome Research Project. He is also an evangelical Christian. He believes that science and spirit complement one another. Collins, who wrote the book, The Language of God: A Scientist Presents Evidence for Belief, describes the incredible sense of awe that he felt when he completed the mapping of our DNA instruction manual, the human genome. In decoding DNA, the basic building blocks of life, he strengthened his relationship with God, the Creator of the mystery of life.
What then can be made of atheism? If the evolutionary view of religion is true, if we are hard-wired to believe in God, then it would seem that those who do not believe would have to work hard to affirm their atheism. Sometimes I wonder if atheism is a matter of semantics. For the one who says he can't believe, perhaps it is really the language used to describe God, attributes that may not speak to the individual. Perhaps the atheist cannot transcend notions of God taught in childhood. Perhaps some came to atheism because their suffering was so great that they can't believe God would exist and allow such tragedy to happen.
If you want to remember why we should believe, we should turn back to the children. We could probably learn a thing or two from children's ruminations about God. There is a little book that contains the fervent wishes, praises, questions, confessions, and confidences of children. It is called Children's Letters to God (Hample and Marshall). The letters come from children of different faiths. The letters all come from a similar place of curiosity and imagination. But, I think that Jews read these letters differently. Jews respond to these letters differently. Jews think about God differently.
How do Jews talk about God? I would like to share a few of these letters with you this morning to open the door into a Jewish conversation about belief in God.
"Dear God, Thank you for the baby brother but what I prayed for was a puppy. —Joyce"
Young Joyce wonders about the purpose and function of prayer. Does God listen to our prayers? Does God answer our prayers? Can we still believe even if we are unsure how to pray?
Judaism teaches that through prayer, we can come closer to God. Through prayer, we can bring our deepest desires and innermost thoughts before God. Rabbi Nachman of Bratlav, a Hasidic rabbi, bids us to pray to God as if we were talking to our best friend, to tell God everything.
Maybe the point of prayer is not that God provides answers, or puppies as the case may be. Perhaps it is our faith that suffers when we assume God will automatically provide for our every need and desire, no matter how legitimate. Think about Rabbi Nachman's teaching. We share our feelings, thoughts, and problems with a best friend because we know that she will be there to listen to us, to comfort us, to share in what we experience. We do not approach our best friend with the expectation that she will solve the problem. But in talking and sharing we feel better, stronger, we feel lifted, and perhaps through the dialogue we gain insight.
So, too, with God. I believe that God hears our prayer when we truly pour out our yearnings. God hears our prayer when we feel elevated by having uttered it. God hears our prayer when we hear our prayers. God hears our prayers when we are moved to go beyond where we stand, transcend, even for a moment, our current situation.
We may not expect God to suspend the laws of nature, the Divine boundaries of creation, but we can count on God for a response. When we pray we may not immediately recognize the Holy One's response. This takes patience, openness, and humility, but we can have faith that out of prayer comes new understanding, gained wisdom, and a deepened relationship with God. "Baruch ata Adonai, Shomeah Tefilah—Blessed are You, Adonai, who Hears prayer" (Amidah).
Here is another letter:
"Dear God, I think about you sometimes even when I'm not praying.—Elliot"
We read in the Torah portion this morning, "Lo bashamayim hi—It is not in the heavens." (Deuteronomy 30:12) For Jews, God is not only in heaven. God is not just in the sanctuary or at temple. God is in every place and in every thing. Rabbi Lawrence and Karen Kushner write, "God is in the first red ripening tomato, in the tiny hands of a baby, in the last sweet bite of birthday cake. God is in morning hugs and goodnight kisses, in homemade gifts of clay and paint. God is in birdchirp, frogsong and chattering squirrels, and in worms turning leaves into earth. God is everywhere, if we only look." (Because Nothing Looks Like God)
Of course, God doesn't actually look like these things. We can't see God. There are many things that we can't see, but we still know they are there: like the love between people, the kindness in someone's voice, a cool breeze on a hot summer night, the sound of silence.
Rabbi Harold Schulweis suggests that in place of asking, "Where is God?" we should ask, "When is God?" (For Those Who Can't Believe) God is in moments—in the lighting of Shabbat candles, in sharing food with the hungry; in the joining together of bride and groom under the chuppah, in the last breath of someone's life.
In Hasidic lore, the great rebbe, Menachem Mendel of Kotsk asked his students "Where is God?" His students replied, "Is not the whole world filled with God's glory?" The Kotsker answered, "No. God is whenever we let God in."
When we take the step to believe in God, we discover that we do not have to look far to see God, to hear God, and to feel God all around us. "Lo bashamayim hi...v'lo r'choka hi"—"It is not in heaven... it is not far away."
And let us read one more letter.
"Dear Mr. God, I wish you would not make it so easy for people to come apart. I had 3 stitches and a shot."—Janet"
Janet's wish is our wish—a world without illness and pain and suffering. As adults who have seen the world with its imperfections, we may wonder how can we come before God knowing that God's world includes these things? How can God allow it? How come God can't fix it?
We stand in good company with these questions. We come from a long line of ancestors who brought these very questions to God. Jews invented chutzpah. We've always approached God with a little chutzpah, or a lot, depending on the situation. Abraham questioned God's intentions, even though in the end the outcome was not what Abraham desired. Moses argued with God three times, and each time succeeded in altering God's decree.
Our tradition believes that God is a compassionate God. I am reminded of a teaching from our rabbis. "To an ordinary person, broken vessels are a disgrace. But the Holy One uses broken vessels. ÔGod abides with the broken in spirit'" (Ps.34:19). I understand this to mean that God is with us even in our brokenness. God made us mortal, susceptible to the uncertainties and dangers of the natural world. All of God's creations are fragile. It is easy to come apart. But, God does not disappear when things go wrong. Judaism believes that God resides in broken vessels and in broken bodies. God resides in stitches. God resides in tears. God resides in the firemen, policemen, and neighbors who responded on 9/11. God even resides in a hurricane.
I want to share a story with you about a woman who found blessing in Hurricane Katrina. Robin lives in a FEMA trailer with her parents. She moved back to New Orleans from Los Angeles over a year ago, after quitting the job that had taken her almost a year of miserable internships to get. Now she works on her dad's house on the weekends and at his dental laboratory during the week. She makes less than the people working at McDonald's. She has to shower in a bathing suit under a hose. She can't even sit up straight in her tiny bunk, so she goes running a lot. She takes the dog out on the levee to run. She runs to feel like she is doing something when she is overwhelmed by all the things she can't do anything about.
She finds it almost funny that she has never been in such good shape. She has never spent so much time outdoors. She has never seen such beautiful sunsets as the ones she sees while showering under that hose. She has never felt so close to her family. She has never felt so sure that everything she is doing is right.
Robin reflects, "I know it might sound strange that I am describing Hurricane Katrina as a blessing, since it took my family's home and recovering from it has taken over our lives. But I love my awful life so much right now...I have finally gotten rid of back pain that the doctors always told me was from stress. I occasionally have weekends when I realize that I am building a house with my dad, which I used to dream about when I was 6, watching Bob Vila with him. And I am back where I belong, no longer kidding myself that there is anywhere else I want to be. I believe in strange blessings, because taking away my house brought me home." (NPR Weekend Edition, September 2, 2007)
I'm not sure if Robin would say that she found God in the hurricane. But, in her experience of blessing, she experienced holiness. In her experience of brokenness, she found moments of wholeness. I believe she experienced God. I believe that Robin found God in the broken pieces of her house and in the rebuilding of her home. This story reminds me of the song, "What if God was one of usÉtrying to make his way home." (Joan Osbourne) I believe that God acts through people, like Robin.
The Psalmist sang, "Out of the depths I call to You, O God; O Adonai, listen to my cry" (Ps.130:1-2). As Jews, we believe that God does not only exist in times of joy, but that God is present in times of sadness or suffering. God is with us so that we are not alone.
As our morning service draws to a close, I hope that by now you feel a little more comfortable with the G-word. I hope that by now you know that it doesn't matter what name you give Her. God listens and responds to each of us. We see and hear the Holy One in different ways. I hope that by now you see that Jews talk about God. Jews believe in God. And as Reform Jews, we need to take responsibility for our own belief. We can't let fundamentalism or the dominant culture on God in our country discourage our dialogue and our faith.
Today is our day to draw closer to God. I hope that even after the gates close this evening, you will continue to search your mind and search your heart for your belief. I hope that the children will always ask their questions. And I hope that the rest of us will find ways to bring our struggles, our longings, and our dreams before the Eternal. I hope that when you leave here tonight, you will take with you the courage to say, "I believe."
