How can I know God loves me?
9
Doubts about God
We now turn to consider some anxieties about God. In an aggressively secular society, such as modern Western Europe or North America, it is easy for a Christian – especially one who has come to faith recently – to feel threatened and insecure. Is God really there, when so many people deny his existence? Is my faith based upon a delusion, or a logical error? Unease over such questions is natural, and it is hoped the response given here may be helpful.
Anxieties about God, however, concern more than his existence. Is he faithful to his promises? Does he really love me, a sinner? These questions trouble many Christians, especially when they go through some kind of spiritual dry patch (quite a common occurrence, by the way: see Psalm 63:1). Although we have already looked at some doubts about God (e.g. when you don’t experience God as being present in your life), the additional material presented here should help you think and pray through your worries.
Is God really there?
As we saw earlier, there are no knock-down arguments that irrefutably establish God’s existence, just as there are none that decisively disprove it. Whether people believe or disbelieve in God, their position is a matter of faith, not fact. It may be a fact that God is an irrelevance to many individuals, just as it may be a fact that many people do not believe in God – but this doesn’t mean it is a fact that God doesn’t exist.
But faith in God does not depend on an argument anyway. The Austrian philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein remarked that he’d never met anyone who came to faith in God on account of an argument! Rather, arguments for God’s existence are developed as back-up defences for the gospel, for the benefit of those who think this is important. Some people need to be reassured that Christianity makes sense; arguments for the existence of God show that a rational case can indeed be made for belief in him. It will be obvious that God’s existence doesn’t depend on those arguments – but it can be helpful to know that a case can be made for it.
In the end, however, we know God exists (and who and what he is) because he has revealed himself. Arguments for the existence of God may help prepare the way for this revelation (Romans 1:18–20), but they are no substitute for it. If Christianity were about our search for God, there would be permanent difficulties in agreeing on who or what God was, let alone whether he existed. Different search parties would come back from their expeditions with differing reports, unable to reach agreement on their results.
Christianity, however, affirms that God has come looking for us. His existence is disclosed by his search for us, and ultimately by his encounter with us. C. S. Lewis wrote powerfully of the profound silliness of the idea of ‘our search for God’ in his work Miracles:
The Pantheist’s God does nothing, demands nothing. He is there if you wish for him, like a book on a shelf. He will not pursue you...The shock comes at the precise moment when the thrill of life is communicated to us along the clue we have been following. It is always shocking to meet life when we thought we were alone...And therefore this is the very point at which many draw back – I would have done so myself if I could – and proceed no further with Christianity. An ‘impersonal God’ – well and good. A subjective God of beauty, truth and goodness, inside our own heads – better still. A formless life-force surging through us, a vast power which we can tap – best of all. But God himself, alive, pulling at the other end of the cord, perhaps approaching at infinite speed, the hunter, king, husband – that is quite another matter. There comes a moment when the children who have been playing at burglars hush suddenly: was that a real footstep in the hall? There comes a moment when people who have been dabbling in religion (‘Man’s search for God’!) suddenly draw back. Supposing we really found him? We never meant to come to that! Worse still, supposing he had found us?
In his autobiography Surprised by Joy, Lewis further suggests that our alleged search for God is rather like the mouse who went out looking for the cat. ‘It is a dreadful thing to fall into the hands of the living God’ (Hebrews 10:31, NIV) – it demands obedience, conversion and newness of life!
For many Christians, the sudden conversion of their friends (or even their own conversion) points to the existence of God. An individual who up to that point has been hostile to God suddenly changes. God suddenly becomes both meaningful and present to them. Something has happened. But what? And how? Throughout, Scripture bristles with ideas and images that help illuminate this event, all pointing to the idea of an active God who discloses his existence, not through argument but through action. The confrontation with Saul of Tarsus is perhaps the classic example of this. God suddenly becomes real in our experience.
It is interesting to notice that no biblical writer ever feels the need to prove the existence of God. That God is there is taken for granted. How could anyone think he wasn’t? He was experienced and encountered; he made demands of individuals and communities; he promised to be with his people, wherever they went. Thus the resurrection of Jesus is not taken by New Testament writers as a proof of the existence of God, but is interpreted as assigning Jesus a status equal with that of God. It is very difficult for someone who has experienced the power and presence of God to doubt he exists.
Is God faithful to his promises?
Both Old and New Testaments affirm that God makes promises to us. Many of these promises are powerful and deeply moving. The great promise of God to Joshua is an inspiration to many Christians: ‘Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go’ (Joshua 1:9, NIV). As Christians we must learn to trust in the gracious promises of God, promises such as that made to Joshua, and through him to us. But how reliable are these promises? How trustworthy is God? Christianity lays great stress upon the total truthfulness and trustworthiness of God – but how well placed is this trust? Is God faithful to his promises?
This question is one that perplexed many Jews shortly before the time of Jesus. God had promised them a Messiah. He had promised to come to his temple. He had promised to send his messenger before him to prepare the way for his coming (e.g. Malachi 3:1). But nothing had happened. Judea was under Roman occupation. Prophecy had died out. The word of the Lord was heard rarely in the land (as in the days of Eli: 1 Samuel 3:1). It seemed as if the great promises of God would come to nothing.
Then John the Baptist appeared in the country around Judea (Mark 1:1–8). It is difficult for the modern reader to understand the sense of excitement and expectation this aroused. He was dressed like Elijah (Mark 1:6; cf. 2 Kings 1:8), the greatest of the prophets. He spoke with authority and proclaimed that he had come to prepare the way for the coming of God to his people. How the Old Testament prophecies must have come to life again, as people swarmed across the Judean countryside to hear this remarkable man and speculate about who would follow him. Whose way had he prepared?
I remember once having to spend a damp winter Sunday afternoon waiting for a train to arrive at Nottingham station, in the English East Midlands. My wife and son had been to visit relatives in Chester, and were returning that afternoon. The train was due to arrive at 3.30. My faith in British Rail had never been especially great, and it was lowered still further that afternoon. By 4.10, the train had still not arrived. Eventually, there was an announcement. A rather despondent, disembodied female voice told us that British Rail regretted that the train had been delayed, but it should arrive in twenty minutes. I, and about fifty others, waited twenty minutes. It got dark, and the mist from the nearby canal enveloped the platform. People began to huddle up against each other for warmth. Nothing happened. Ten minutes later, another announcement was made. A decidedly gloomy voice told us that British Rail was very sorry, but there would be a delay of at least half an hour before the train arrived. The train was definitely on its way, but all sorts of problems had developed along the line. Finally, at 5.55, a decidedly more cheerful female voice announced that the train now approaching Platform 5 was the delayed train from Chester. In other words, it had been sighted, and at any moment would pull into the station. A cheer went up from the waiting crowd, who clearly shared my frustration at having to spend the best part of a miserable Sunday afternoon in this way.
I imagine Israel felt much the same relief when John the Baptist appeared. He was like the voice who announced a delayed train was just about to arrive. Something was happening, and things were on the move. The long-awaited arrival of the Messiah was imminent. And just as the small crowd of us surged to the edge of the platform to catch a glimpse of the incoming train, so the Jews streamed out into the countryside to catch a glimpse of the long-awaited Messiah.
For the New Testament writers, the coming of God’s Messiah to his people is one of the best demonstrations of God’s faithfulness to his promises. For example, it’s very difficult to read Matthew’s Gospel and miss his excitement at pointing out how great Old Testament prophecies found their fulfilment in Jesus. The same sort of excitement, even relief, can be seen in Simeon’s overjoyed reaction at seeing Jesus: at last, everything I have waited for from the Lord has come to pass! Now I can die in peace of mind (Luke 2:28–32). God has faithfully fulfilled his promises to his people.
For Paul, the faithfulness of God was of central importance. This faithfulness is demonstrated in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, in which the promises of the Old Testament are taken up and fulfilled. ‘For no matter how many promises God has made, they are “Yes” in Christ’ (2 Corinthians 1:20, NIV). The coming of Christ is seen as the fulfilment of the great Old Testament prophecies of God’s coming to dwell among his people, just as the resurrection is seen as a fulfilment of God’s promise of redemption. And on the basis of that faithfulness to his past promises, we may trust those that still await their fulfilment – the great New Testament promises of renewal and eternal life.
It’s helpful to think about the faith of the Old Testament saints at this point. They trusted passionately in the power of the Lord to redeem them. Yet, until the coming of Jesus Christ, the great divine promises of redemption seemed unfulfilled. But we can look back on the Old Testament period, and see how those great promises were fulfilled through the coming of Jesus. In his life, death and resurrection, Jesus demonstrated God’s faithfulness to his promises. It’s much easier for us, than it was for the Old Testament saints, to believe in the promises of God – they never got to see those promises fulfilled in Jesus! Through Jesus, ‘we have the word of the prophets made more certain’ (2 Peter 1:19, NIV): in other words, the great promises of the Old Testament are made more credible by the coming of Jesus.
One of the most powerful passages in the New Testament describes the nature of faith in God (Hebrews 11:1 – 12:3). In this passage, we are reminded of the deeds of many of the great figures of the Old Testament. Their faith in God and his gracious promises is shown in their actions. Abraham trusted in God, and left his native land to go to the land chosen by God. Moses left Egypt in faith, trusting in the great promise of redemption. And in these promises the coming of Christ to redeem his people was anticipated. None of these great Old Testament believers saw the coming of Jesus – yet they placed their faith in the promises of God. ‘All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance’ (Hebrews 11:13, NIV). Yet we have received what was promised to them – the coming of the redeemer, Jesus Christ. We share their faith in the same God – but we can have greater confidence in his promises, in the light of their confirmation through the coming of Jesus.
Perhaps more importantly, consider what we know about the character and purpose of God, as we know it through the death of Jesus Christ upon the cruel cross of Calvary for our salvation. In the death of Jesus upon that cross, we learn that God loves sinners such as ourselves, that he is committed to the cause of our redemption. God shows his love for us, in that Christ died for us while we were still sinners (Romans 5:8). This is the God with whom we are dealing – the God who has given everything at his disposal to demonstrate his astonishing love for us, and bring us back to him. It is simply inconceivable that God, having invested so much in our well-being and care, having committed himself to us in word and deed, should abandon us or fail to be faithful to us. The cross of Christ demonstrates the vital fact that God stands by his promises, whatever the cost to himself, asking us to accept them, trust them, and thus enter into eternal life with him – something that nothing, not even the very gates of hell themselves, can tear away from us.
God is working his purpose out – and part of that purpose is the salvation of sinful human beings, people like you and me. If God is on our side, who is against us? Or, as the motto of Oxford University has it, quoting Psalm 27:1, ‘The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?’ Remind yourself of the words of reassurance spoken by Jesus to Nicodemus: ‘God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life’ (John 3:16, NIV). You may be reassured that God loves you, and that by putting your trust in him, you enter into a relationship with him. The gospel is not about an easy ride through life; it makes hard demands of us. But it also makes us a promise – the promise of the presence and comfort of God, as we seek to do his will in his world. And the comfort of knowing that God stands by us, even in our darkest hours, is more than I can ever hope to convey in print.
How can I know God loves me?
This is a question that has troubled many Christians, especially those who are intensely aware of their own sinfulness. Somehow, it seems God can only love us if he ignores our sin, or pretends we aren’t really sinners after all. Experience, conscience and faith seem to be out of step here! How can God love people like us?
Much the same point is made by Paul. It’s conceivable to imagine circumstances under which you might give your life for somebody else. Of course, it would have to be somebody rather splendid, a really good person. Even then, however, it would still be unusual for someone to die for another person. Yet God demonstrates his love for us, in that Christ died for us while we were still sinners (Romans 5:6–8). What on earth would he do that for? Why should God love sinners so much? Even before we got round to repenting, God loved us. Amazingly, God loved us long before we loved him (1 John 4:10–11).
Our disbelief that God should love us ultimately rests upon our feeling that God’s love must depend on our attractiveness. We find it difficult to see anything special about ourselves that should merit so astonishing and loving a response from God. But God’s love for us ultimately rests on his own character. We have the privilege of being made in his image (Genesis 1:26–27). The cross of Christ expresses the nature and full extent of the tender love of God for us, assuring us of how precious we are in his sight. How often has it been said that ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder’? Why should God see us as worthy of his love? Not on account of anything we have done, or anything we are – but on account of what God is like, and what he has done for us through Jesus Christ.
In part, our difficulty in accepting that God loves us arises from a sense of sin. Most of us feel profoundly unworthy of the love of God, on account of our selfishness and guilt. Sin affects us profoundly in what we think, say and do. It makes us tend to be sceptical about God, disobedient to him, and reluctant to trust him. Yet God is able to distinguish between sin and the sinner. Sin is like a force that holds us in captivity against our will; God sees us as captives, struggling to escape, and takes pity upon us. It is like rust, which distorts the image of God within us; God anticipates the renewal and restoration of that image. Sin is like a wound, which disfigures us; God looks forward to the time when we shall, through his grace, be healed. Sin is like a layer of dirt or corrosion, which makes us seem unattractive and unbecoming; God sees us as washed clean, our beauty restored to what it was on the first morning of creation.
An illustration might be helpful here. In the late fifteenth century, the Florentine sculptor Agostino d’Antonio began work on a huge block of marble, with a view to producing a spectacular sculpture. After a few attempts to make something out of it, he gave it up as worthless. The block of marble – now badly disfigured – lay idle for forty years. Then Michelangelo took an interest in it and he began work. The final statue – the celebrated ‘David’ – is widely regarded as one of the most outstanding artistic achievements of all time.
Michelangelo was able to see beyond the ugly exterior of the block of marble to what he could eventually achieve with it. Similarly, God is able to see beyond our sinful predicament and all its consequences, knowing what he will be able to do with us through breaking the power of sin and restoring us to his image and likeness. Within each of us, the image of God (Genesis 1:26–27) is to be found, however disfigured and corrupted by sin it may presently be. God is able to recover this image through grace, as we are conformed to Christ. Just as the figure of David lay hidden within the marble, discernible only to the eye of its creator, so the image of God (however tarnished by sin) lies within us, seen and known by God himself. Yet God loves us while we are still sinners! He does not have to wait until we stop sinning! Yet acceptance of that love of God for us is a major step along the road that leads to our liberation from the tyranny of sin.
How, finally, can we be reassured of the love of God for us? Perhaps one of the most helpful ways of doing this is to reflect on the image of the dying Christ, stretched out on the cross for us. Try to imagine the scene. Even better, find some paintings of the scene, such as those that have become classics in the history of art. Perhaps you could read one of the four passion narratives (Matthew 27:11–65; Mark 15; Luke 23; John 18:28 – 19:42), and picture the events of that first Good Friday. Think carefully of the loneliness, of the pain, of the suffering, of the sense of hopelessness and helplessness of the scene. Think of that sad and dignified face, contorted with pain. Let the full horror of that scene impress itself on your mind. And all of this because God loved you, and gave his only Son for you.
For many Christians, one of the most powerful ways of recalling this scene, and understanding its relevance for us, is to share in a communion service. The bread and wine are visible, tangible reminders of that scene. They represent the sufferings of Christ. They are ‘dear tokens of his passion’ (Charles Wesley). And as you eat and drink the bread and wine, you are being reminded of the enormous cost of your redemption, of how much you must matter to God if he went to such lengths to find you. Let them act as triggers to your memory, starting off trains of thought that converge on the crucifixion of the Lord. ‘This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins’ (1 John 4:10, NIV).
An aunt of mine died some time ago, having lived to be 80 or so. She had never married. During the course of clearing out her possessions, we came across a battered old photograph of a young man. My aunt had, it turned out, fallen hopelessly in love as a young girl. It had ended tragically. She never loved anyone else, and kept a photograph of the man she had loved for the remainder of her life. Why? Partly to remind herself that she had once been loved by someone. As she had grown old, she knew that she would have difficulty believing that, at one point in her life, she really had meant something to someone; that someone had once cared for her, and regarded her as his everything. It could all have seemed a dream, an illusion, something she had invented in her old age to console her in her declining years – except that the photograph gave the lie to that. It reminded her that it had not been invented; she had really loved someone once, and was loved in return. The photograph was her sole link with a world in which she had been valued.
The communion bread and wine are like that photograph. They reassure us that something which seems too good to be true – something we might even be suspected of having invented – really did happen. They are reminders of that day in the past when the Son of God gave himself for us, assuring us that we matter profoundly to God, despite our sin. They are tokens of that precious moment in history when love took on a new meaning and depth. They invite us to remember and cherish – but above all, to be reassured of – the wonderful love of God for sinners like us.