I Wish God Was Real

Sometimes I wish God was real. You know, like the way my hand is real, or my friend is real and my empty wallet is real. I wish I could see God's face and touch Him and smell Him and talk to Him the way I talk with other people. I wish "experiencing God" sounded more actual than metaphorical.

Because I am not really satisfied with those who say God is real and physical and tangible but only happened to conveniently walk this earth over 2,000 years ago. I want to meet this Jesus who is God here now, I want to bump into him tomorrow in the street, or while sitting in traffic.

And no, I don't want to meet Him in the body of a stranger who lives and exists as another actual person to other people. I want to meet the physical living breathing Jesus who is Jesus to everyone who meets Him -- the way the Jesus of the Bible was the same human person to everyone who met him, whether some believed he was divine or not. I want a Jesus I can reach out to and touch and hug and cry over his shoulders. 

Sometimes I wish God could talk to me. Not in some strange and mysterious telepathy-like communication through the pages of an ancient collection of manuscripts. But through the vocal chords and smelly breath of a human being. And no, I am not talking about God using people to talk to me, but God being a person now and talking to me. The way the Bible says Jesus was and did when he walked on earth.

Sometimes I wish I didn't feel like I was talking to myself when I am praying. I wish I wasn't tempted (like I have been lately) to begin my prayers with "God, if you're there..." I wish I could talk to God the way I talk to my boss or a mentor or my mother when I need help or advise or just a listening ear.

Sometimes I wish God was real. I wish I didn't have to discern Him through the thick fog of metaphors and doctrines and exegesis and other spiritual experiences that seem more like psychological gymnastics than actual conversation. Another thing, I really really wish I could witness a real, physical miracle. You know, the kind where an amputated limb grows back right in front of my eyes, not these others where the only diseases that get healed are internal and only as real as the reliability of the person testifying about them. 

I don't care if I sound like a Thomas, because what is more important is not what I sound like but what I actually am -- a doubter. The truth is that there are some nights, many nights actually, when I have found myself scouring YouTube for even a hint of this miraculous proof. Every time I find a promising clip, there is always that caveat, that missing link that veils the miracle from my sight. Either the camera battery died before the arm could grow back or the angle of the lens placed the miracle out of my sight.

Why did the people in the Bible, even those in the New Testament, get to witness these supernatural feats and we don't -- especially when the only reason some miracles were performed was so that people could believe in God? No. Spare me the cessation sensation. Why does the faith of those in antiquity get strengthened by proof of the miraculous while mine has to be purely doctrinal? No evidence. No proof. No irrefutable experience. Only feelings and impressions and sensations and other spiritual goo. 

Honestly, I am finding it harder and harder to buy into that "miracles ended with the apostolic age" convenience. It doesn't seem fair. It doesn't seem real. God doesn't seem real. And there are days like today when I get real honest with myself and admit that I need more proof that God is real. 

Because my greatest wish right now, is that I would know and believe that God is real.

Are you there God? It's me, Ngare.