As I sit and look out the window of my study, a blue sky
beckons beyond the trees, their naked branches reaching upward as if calling to
a hidden God. The green moss glides halfway up the trunk of the tallest tree in
my sight and extends beyond the roof and chimney of the house upon whose land
it has rooted. A still breeze causes the evergreens below to bristle. I am
momentarily filled with wonder, amazed that on such a small and insignificant
plot of land – a third of an acre is visible through my study window – there
exists such a complex ecological oasis of life, plants, trees, dirt and grass,
insects and birds, small mammals, everything existing in perfect harmony with
the natural universe. A quiet peace descends over me.
With each passing year, memories of life at a younger age
drift further into the distance. Some come easily. I can remember still, as a
seven year-old boy, walking with my sister to the public library up the steep hill
on Parry Drive in Moorestown, New Jersey, with no understanding of where life
would take me, but believing even then that the world was full of wonder and
fascination. I remember at age nine throwing a rubber ball against the brick
chimney on the side of our house, betraying my parents’ wishes as I practiced fielding
ground balls, trying desperately not to throw wildly and risk fracturing a
bordering shingle. I remember as a teenager playing touch football with
neighborhood friends at the ballfields of the local middle school, experiencing
the freedom of the sun and fresh air on my young face as I dodged defenders and
intercepted opposing passes. They are memories of an ordinary life in an
ordinary town. Never certain of my purpose in life, insecure about my place in the world,
and yet living each day with a profound sense of gratitude and good fortune.
As I grew older, I began to value the gift of education and
thought, absorbing books and newspapers to help me better understand the world
around me, its history and trends, its people and places. I pursued a career in
law, created a family and developed a life, always uncertain of my destiny and
conscious of my insignificance. For I am but one person among billions, living on
a small planet in a vast galaxy that is, in the end, but a tiny fragment among
many existing galaxies, planetary constellations, and solid masses of matter
that exist beyond our present capacity to imagine and know.
The world is at once beautiful and grand, frightening and
scary, full of grace and wonder and acts of barbaric cruelty. As I continue on
the journey of life, trying to do my best as a man fulfilling the roles of
husband and father, citizen and co-worker, fellow traveler on the Spaceship
Earth, I wonder still what it all means. And yet, I am constantly reminded of
what a blessing it is to be alive, to have experienced the love I share with
Andrea, to watch my children grow into kind, caring, thoughtful adults, and to
be blessed with the gift of life and health in a world that does not always dispense
fairly such gifts.
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*
Readers of this blog know that I have at times struggled
with questions about God and faith and the meaning of our existence. These
days, I have more questions than answers and doubt the certainty and
exclusivity of much of what passes for religious doctrine. I believe the vast
majority of self-identified religious people have misread, misinterpreted, and
misapplied the Scriptural pretexts of their own faith traditions, or are
otherwise simplistic and misguided in their unquestioning acceptance or
rejection of religion. But I have always believed in a God, an ultimate
Creator, however irrational that may seem to some. I realize that God’s
presence is impossible to prove or discern, and that, if God does exist, he or
she has bestowed humanity with free will, including the freedom to protect or
destroy the planet, to act with love and compassion or to inflict indescribable
cruelty on our fellow human beings. Anyone who takes time to read the daily
papers knows that as a species we are not faring well.
It would be easy in modern times to reject completely the
notion of God, or to conclude that God’s existence is irrelevant. Life will go
on as we have always known it, and we will either save the world or destroy the
world without God’s involvement. Still, I refuse to conclude that God, or some
form of higher power, is completely absent from our lives. I continue to
believe that which I wrote in October 2009 (In Defense of God: Faith in an Age of Unbelief):
. . . [W]hen I walk among the stars; when I stare at the moon on a warm summer evening; when I acknowledge the beautiful life presence of my two daughters, I experience God’s presence. When I observe the joy in a young child's heart over the embrace of a grandparent; when I watch the trees sway back and forth on a breezy fall day, and feel the moistness of the ocean at my feet; when I experience all of these things, and the multitude of ordinary everyday events, I see, first-hand, evidence of God’s existence.
Although I may not have realized it then, my notion of God’s
presence as expressed above is not dissimilar from what had been expressed far
more poetically and effectively by Abraham Joshua Heschel throughout the course
of his life. It may be why Heschel’s writings continue to touch me, for his
writings describe the ineffable and affirm the presence of God in a world in
which God often appears absent.
In God in Search of Man (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1955), Heschel wrote that “awareness of
the divine begins with wonder” and is “a prerequisite for an authentic
awareness of that which is.” Heschel believed that a world without wonder is a
world closed off to the presence of God. For it is this sense of wonder that
allows us to recognize we are not alone. “You and I have not invented the
grandeur of the sky nor endowed man with the mystery of birth and death,” wrote
Heschel. “We do not create the ineffable, we encounter it.”
Heschel took the Bible seriously but not literally. He believed,
as do I, that religion and science are entirely compatible, that scientific
knowledge “extends rather than limits the scope of the ineffable, and our
radical amazement is enhanced rather than reduced by the advancement of
knowledge.” Heschel welcomed the interplay between science and faith and
acknowledged that “the sense of wonder and transcendence . . . must not be a
substitute for analysis where analysis is possible; it must not stifle doubt
where doubt is legitimate.”
As an observant Jew, Heschel believed with certainty in the existence
of God. But he acknowledged that, for most of humanity and throughout most of
history, God’s presence has been hidden and actively concealed. He believed,
however, that if we are open to the majestic splendor of the universe and the
mystery of creation, and if we are willing to look beyond our sense of self, we
are capable of experiencing the reality of a transcendent God.
I recently finished reading a wonderful and insightful book
by Rabbi Shai Held, Co-Founder of Mechon Hadar, a Jewish educational institution in New York, where he also
directs the Center for Jewish Leadership and Ideas. In Abraham Joshua Heschel:
The Call of Transcendence (Indiana University Press, 2013), Held explains that Heschel
sought “to remind his readers that buried deep within them was the possibility
of a wholly different orientation to the world, one rooted in wonder and
amazement rather than callousness and indifference.” A sense of wonder, Held
notes, was for Heschel:
…the very antithesis of “taking things for granted.” A sense of perpetual surprise yields the realization that the world as a whole, and my life within it, did not have to be. They are not brute facts but rather gifts bestowed. To cultivate a sense of wonder, then, is to instill in myself the knowledge, at once cognitive and experiential, that I am not the author of my own life or of the world that I inhabit. I am, most fundamentally, not a creator of life, but a recipient thereof.
The question for Heschel was what to do with the sense of
wonder, awe, and mystery that so defines our lives. Underlying his theology was
the belief that God had entered into a covenant with humanity and that, as a
result, something was asked of us. As human beings, we are naturally driven to
focus on our individual needs, to acquire, to enjoy, and to possess. But the
spiritual side of humanity provides a “will to serve higher ends” that
transcends our needs. “The grand purpose of religion,” Heschel contended, is
that “man is able to surpass himself.”
Heschel feared that the collapse of wonder, from
self-centeredness, greed, cynicism, or indifference, has perilous consequences
for the world and for humanity. Having witnessed in his lifetime the cruelty of
Auschwitz and tragedy of Hiroshima, Heschel believed that only through a moral
and spiritual reawakening could the world overcome its indifference to human
suffering. One need only look at what is happening in the world today, with
countless acts of violence and terrorism, millions of refugees fleeing their
homelands, much of the world’s population living in squalor, and a mostly
indifferent world turning away in apathy, to conclude that much of the world
has lost its sense of wonder and the grace that accompanies it.
As Rabbi Held notes, Heschel sought to remind the world that
“we matter not because of how much we can acquire, but because of how deeply we
are able to give.” Real freedom, according to Heschel, is found not in the
power of self-assertion, but in the power to rise above it. To respond to God
is to bring an end to callousness and indifference. It is why Heschel in his
time spoke so powerfully against the Vietnam War, fought for the rights of
Soviet Jews, opposed bigotry and prejudice, and marched arm-in-arm with Martin
Luther King in favor of civil rights.
If Heschel were alive today, I have no doubt he would raise
his voice in opposition to the world’s indifference to Syrian refugees and the
destruction of Aleppo; against the rising influence of xenophobia and
anti-Muslim sentiment in Western countries; and against the callousness of the
world’s institutions toward the suffering of our most vulnerable populations.
As another year comes to an end and a new year is upon us, my
hope for the world is that we open ourselves to the wonder of the universe, the mystery of life, and the possibility of a God that seeks human partners to
spread love and compassion and defeat hatred and indifference. We must acknowledge that only humanity can pursue peace, protect the environment, and save
us from ourselves. Only humanity can make a better world.