In 1884, Anglican Priest Edwin Abbott published a delightfully quirky novel about a world of two dimensions named Flatland. He described a universe where all occupants can only perceive their environment in two-dimensional shapes like triangles, squares, pentagons and circles. Citizens of Flatland create a complex system of laws and expectations based entirely on the limits of the dimensions in which they operate. At one point, the main character, A. Square, encounters someone from Spaceland, a three-dimensional universe. After he gradually comprehends and absorbs the wonders of three-dimensional shapes like spheres and cubes, A. Square bursts with enthusiasm to share this experience with his family and friends. When he tries to describe the magic of the third-dimension with a great deal of thought and detail, the Flatlanders meet him with laughter and ridicule. His own grandson exclaims: “How could a thing move upward, and not Northward? Even if I were a baby, I could not be so absurd as that. How silly it is!”
I think this story serves as a beautiful analogy for the interaction between the physical and spiritual realms, the kingdom of this world and the Kingdom of Heaven. If you are anything like me, you may sometimes find yourself sharing A. Square’s feeling of wonder and excitement. A clear night sky glittering with a million stars. An old stone church filtering sunlight through stained-glass windows and echoing with the sound of two-hundred souls joined together in worship. A crib holding a peaceful sleeping newborn baby. In spaces like this, you may tangibly feel the presence of God and clearly see His very fingerprint on the physical world.
Other times, you might feel more like the grandson. A tiny fluorescent cubical with a large pile of tax files. A messy playroom featuring a fussy teething toddler. A pristine lawyer’s office, full of opulence and yet somehow devoid of taste. You may find it much more difficult to believe that God actively interacts with these spaces. In a society that has a DSM with a diagnosis for every psychological disorder and a scientific method to test all physical phenomena, I think it can be extremely easy to designate large areas of life as Flatland zones. Places that we come to believe God either ignores or does not care to touch. Spaceland is reserved for specific zones like Sunday church.
Does God truly desire to build His Kingdom in every part of the physical realm? Why do some spaces feel so disconnected from His presence and influence? Is it possible to become a “Spacelander” in every area of my life? In the process of asking these questions over and over, I have discovered I am not alone. While wrestling through this with wise friends, mentors, and writers, I have noticed a few themes that seem to keep reappearing.
1.Look Far
The problem with dark spaces is that they have a way of trapping our gaze and freezing our imagination. One way that the Psalmists regularly approached this issue was by engaging in a kind of time travel. For example, in Psalm 77 Asaph provided a raw description of a painful place and asked very tough and honest questions about God. (“Has his unfailing love vanished forever? Has his promise failed for all time?” (Ps. 77:8)) But immediately he followed it up with a detailed reflection of past places that proved God’s character and power. (“Your ways, God, are holy… You are the God who performs miracles” (Ps. 77:13-14). This practice of constant looking back directs focus from temporary disillusionment towards eternal hope.
Looking far can apply to space as well as time. In his book “How (not) to be secular,” James K. Smith compares many Western Christians to fans watching a baseball game in the SkyDome. When the roof closes, obscuring all the stars, most fans do not even notice because they are so focused on the field. In North America, we might be more prone to overlook the spiritual realm than in some majority countries, simply because our eyes spend more time fixed on the natural world. We stand to learn so much by engaging with individuals and cultures that operate in spaces where the spiritual is seen as constantly intertwining with the physical. Where God is seen to be intimately involved with small matters of work, finance, and family, as well as redeeming lost souls.
2.Look Close
In his essay “Miracles,” C.S Lewis points out how easy it can be to miss a miracle literally right in front of us:
“God creates the vine and teaches it to draw up water by its roots and, with the aid of the sun, to turn that water into a juice which will ferment and take on certain qualities. Thus every year, from Noah’s time till ours, God turns water into wine. That, men fail to see… They attribute real and ultimate causality to the chemical and other material phonemena which are all that our sense can discover in it. But when Christ at Cana makes water into wine, the mask is off. The miracle has only half its effect if it only convinces us that Christ is God: it will have its full effect if whenever we see a vineyard or drink a glass of wine we remember that here works He who sat at the wedding party in Cana.”
In other words, wine is a miracle whether God takes four seconds or four years to produce it. Breathing is a miracle whether God resurrects the dead lungs of Lazarus or constantly moves hundreds of muscles to keep mine alive. Maybe the real issue is not that miracles have ceased to exist. Rather, our lives are so saturated that we have learned to overlook them.
3. Look Hard
A dear friend recently introduced me to a simple practice that has challenged my perception of God’s direct involvement in my life. In the morning she writes down her prayer, leaving space to jot down a follow-up in the evening. She described both witnessing direct answers to prayer during the day, and long term answers as she revisited prayers from past seasons. After just a few weeks of exploring practice, I have noticed a few things.
My prayers have become more specific. I am more aware of God’s involvement in the mundane moments of my life. When I come back to each written prayer in the evening, I always discover at least one direct answer. And sometimes I find a little more hope for prayers that seem to go unanswered over weeks, months and years. In the words of John Piper, I begin to believe that God is “always doing ten-thousand things in my life, even when I am only aware of three of them.”
Philosopher Charles Taylor once wrote: “The world is enchanted by the triune God.” I don’t know what kind of week you are stepping out of. Maybe it was packed full with beautiful, inspiring, soul-filling kind of moments. Maybe you had to dig deep just to find the willpower to plant your feet on the floor and drag them to a repetitive job or a toxic workplace. Or maybe you were up most nights with a sick baby and didn’t have time to consider much besides survival. I imagine even if you mostly fit into the first category, you can identify a least a few spaces that were mundane, tough, or even painful. The good news is that these kinds of spaces are not inherently disenchanted. In fact, the more I read the gospels, the more I suspect Jesus would more likely be found sitting in a tasteless office conversing with a cynical divorce lawyer or soothing a fussy toddler than stargazing at a spiritual retreat. Unlike A. Square, we do not have to cross a universe to discover Spaceland. We just have to open our eyes.