A Devotion from Carolyn Arends

Our Divine Distortion

When I found a brand new laptop for half price on eBay, I told my friend and musical

colleague Spencer about my bargain of a find. He was worried: “Usually when something’s too

good to be true …”

“I know,” I replied impatiently, “but the seller has a 100 percent approval rating.”

“Be careful,” warned Spencer.

“Of course,” I assured him, annoyed. I wasn’t born yesterday.

I sent the seller $1,300 and discovered in very short, sickening order that I had fallen prey to

a classic scam. A fraudster had hacked someone’s eBay identity in order to relieve easy marks

like me of our money.

I felt an absolute fool—and didn’t want to tell Spencer. The next time I saw his number on

my caller ID, I didn’t answer. I could just imagine his “I told you so.”

Soon, I was avoiding Spencer completely. And I started to resent him. Why did he have to

be so judgmental? Why couldn’t he be on my side? Why was I ever friends with that jerk?

Eventually, we had to fly together to perform at a concert. “Whatever happened with that

computer thing?” he asked an hour into the flight. Cornered, I finally confessed my foolishness,

dreading the inevitable response. But as soon as I told Spencer about my mistake, a strange

thing happened. The enemy I had turned him into evaporated. Spencer turned into Spencer

again, my teasing but deeply empathetic buddy.

As embarrassed as I was by my eBay error, I felt even dumber about the way I had allowed

my shame to distort my perception of a best friend. If my hand had not been forced, I would

have remained estranged from him indefinitely.

I’ve always considered myself perceptive, but the longer I live, the more I discover my

susceptibility to misinterpretation. This is true of the way I view my friends, truer of the way I

see my enemies, and perhaps truest of the way I perceive God.

I was raised to understand that sin’s gravest consequence is the way it forces God to

perceive me: God is holy, I’m not, and there’s no way he can even look at me until I have the

covering of Christ’s blood. In my teens, I clipped a poem out of a youth magazine in which the

poet asks—and answers—a pressing question: “How can a righteous God look at me, a sinner,

and see a precious child? Simple: The Son gets in his eyes.”

But what about how I look at God? I’ve often been oblivious to one of the most insidious

byproducts of the Fall: Sin affects my perception of God. Or, to turn a phrase from that poem,

the sin gets in my eyes.

Before Adam and Eve had fallen for the first lie, they basked in God’s company. But after a

few bites of forbidden fruit, they no longer looked forward to seeing their Maker. When he

came calling, they hid.

Had God changed? No. Adam and Eve’s brokenness altered their perception of God, not his

character. Ever since, we humans have been letting our shame poison our understanding of

God. He becomes an ogre, or a bookkeeper, or maybe just a disinterested, detached monarch.

Many of us unconsciously relate to God our Father as a Godfather—there’s a lot he can do

for us when he likes us, but don’t get on his bad side. So we avoid him. And the longer we

refuse to take his calls, the worse the distortion becomes.

But here is some good news: Jesus is the antidote to our misperceptions. When we speak of

the Incarnation, we acknowledge that Jesus is “God con carne”—God with meat on. Our

questions about God’s character—Is he really about mercy, justice, and a love that just won’t

quit?—are answered in the person of Jesus.

In one sense, Adam and Eve were right to fear facing God. The consequences of their

choices were painful. But even God’s seemingly harshest judgment—banishment from the

Garden and the Tree of Life—was rooted in love. If the first humans had accessed eternal life in

Eden, they would have remained in their brokenness forever. God chose another way—a death

and resurrection way that would cost him much—because he was and is and always will be with

us and for us.

Christmas clarifies this resoundingly. That’s why every time the angels announced Christ’s

birth they said, “Do not be afraid.” Yes, we should fear sin’s consequences. But we need not

fear the perfect love of a God willing to come and shiver in our skin to save us.

We do not have the power to change God’s character. Our Father is our Father. Always has

been, always will be. But we will never see him for who he really is until the Son gets in our

eyes.