̶I̶ ̶D̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶K̶n̶o̶w̶ How to Talk about God

“But Thomas, one of the twelve, called Didymus, wasn't with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples were saying to him, ‘We have seen the Lord!’ But then he said, ‘Unless I see in His hands the imprint of those nails, and put my finger into those places of his nails, and put my hand inside His side, I will not believe.’

After eight days His disciples were again inside, and Thomas with them. Jesus came, the doors having been shut, and stood in their midst and said, 'Peace be with you.' Then He said to Thomas, ‘Reach here with your finger, and see My hands; & reach here your hand and put it into My side; & do not disbelieve, but believe.’

Thomas answered and said to Him, ‘My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him, “Now you have seen Me, have you believed? Blessed are they who did not see, and yet believed.’” - John 20:24-31

What does it mean to s̶e̶e̶

b̶e̶l̶i̶e̶v̶e̶ i̶n̶

experience Christ? As someone who grew up in a Christian home, I was taught that one didn’t have to see in order to believe, but to believe—that thing called having faith—would also mean to experience God. My experience of God as a child was very linear. I’d pick my Sunday shirt, attend Sunday School, then be served fables for the children. We’d watch videos of talking worms and oranges live to die, in order to give moral lessons attached to Bible verses. The boys and girls were always segregated. Each week, the boys would cheer while the girls would cringe for every gruesome death that the main character of the week would experience. We’d often forget the moral and dwell on the funny death. F̶o̶r̶ u̶n̶k̶n̶o̶w̶n̶ r̶e̶a̶s̶o̶n̶s̶,̶ t̶h̶e̶y̶ d̶o̶n̶’̶t̶ t̶e̶a̶c̶h̶ t̶h̶i̶s̶ w̶a̶y̶ a̶n̶y̶m̶o̶r̶e̶.̶

But the Christian experience was more nuanced for the grown-ups. Time to time, when I’d catch a view of the grown-ups service upstairs, I’d see someone go up on stage—someone random, someone aside from the pastor—tell their story, tell their life, how it led to Jesus, how they’ve seen God in their life. While the children had the Word and dramatizations, the adults just had the Word and t̶e̶s̶t̶i̶m̶o̶n̶i̶e̶s̶

sermons? Yes.

But also stories of each other. Week by week as I’d grow up, the weekly testimonies and biographical accounts became a natural part of the church conversation—

“That was a really great testimony.”

“Praise God for them!”

“I remember when I was like her.”

“I cried. It was inspiring.”

“You can really see Christ in their talk.”

“He was really cute, noh?”

To me, these testimonies always did a lot more than just tell a change of ways in someone's life. It was a way to show that the transformation and the trials that happened to them could happen to you--you, sitting in the crowd. Waiting for the next thing to happen. That it wasn't impossible. And it was also a moment of celebration, of triumph in that testimony sharer's life, that they've reached a point where they can publicly declare God's hand in their lives. If their life falters or disappoints them, they can always look back at that moment, and realize they can get better again. In a way, those testimonies were preserving a critical point in each person's life. We, through testimony, preserve each other's story. Preserving what it meant to be a Christian.

I̶f̶ o̶n̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶ t̶o̶ r̶e̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ d̶e̶f̶i̶n̶e̶ t̶h̶e̶ m̶e̶a̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ o̶f̶ t̶h̶e̶ w̶o̶r̶d̶ C̶h̶r̶i̶s̶t̶i̶a̶n̶,̶ i̶t̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ c̶o̶m̶e̶ f̶r̶o̶m̶ i̶t̶s̶ e̶t̶y̶m̶o̶l̶o̶g̶y̶.̶ T̶h̶e̶ w̶o̶r̶d̶ C̶h̶r̶i̶s̶t̶i̶a̶n̶ c̶o̶m̶e̶s̶ f̶r̶o̶m̶ t̶h̶e̶ G̶r̶e̶e̶k̶ w̶o̶r̶d̶ Χ̶ρ̶ι̶σ̶τ̶ι̶α̶ν̶ό̶ς̶,̶ (̶C̶h̶r̶i̶s̶t̶i̶a̶n̶o̶s̶)̶,̶ m̶e̶a̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ "̶f̶o̶l̶l̶o̶w̶e̶r̶ o̶f̶ C̶h̶r̶i̶s̶t̶"̶,̶ w̶h̶i̶c̶h̶ c̶o̶m̶e̶s̶ f̶r̶o̶m̶ Χ̶ρ̶ι̶σ̶τ̶ό̶ς̶ (̶C̶h̶r̶i̶s̶t̶o̶s̶)̶,̶ m̶e̶a̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ "̶a̶n̶o̶i̶n̶t̶e̶d̶ o̶n̶e̶"̶,̶ w̶i̶t̶h̶ a̶n̶ a̶d̶j̶e̶c̶t̶i̶v̶a̶l̶ e̶n̶d̶i̶n̶g̶ b̶o̶r̶r̶o̶w̶e̶d̶ f̶r̶o̶m̶ L̶a̶t̶i̶n̶ t̶o̶ d̶e̶n̶o̶t̶e̶ a̶d̶h̶e̶r̶i̶n̶g̶ t̶o̶,̶ o̶r̶ b̶e̶l̶o̶n̶g̶i̶n̶g̶ t̶o̶,̶ a̶s̶ i̶n̶ s̶l̶a̶v̶e̶ o̶w̶n̶e̶r̶s̶h̶i̶p̶,̶ a̶s̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ w̶a̶s̶ t̶h̶e̶ c̶u̶l̶t̶u̶r̶e̶ b̶a̶c̶k̶ t̶h̶e̶n̶.̶ C̶h̶r̶i̶s̶t̶i̶a̶n̶o̶s̶ t̶h̶e̶n̶,̶ i̶n̶ i̶t̶s̶ s̶i̶m̶p̶l̶i̶c̶i̶t̶y̶,̶ a̶d̶d̶s̶ a̶ r̶e̶s̶p̶o̶n̶s̶i̶b̶i̶l̶i̶t̶y̶ t̶o̶ o̶u̶r̶ r̶e̶l̶i̶g̶i̶o̶u̶s̶ i̶d̶e̶n̶t̶i̶t̶y̶:̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ w̶e̶ a̶r̶e̶n̶'̶t̶ j̶u̶s̶t̶ a̶f̶f̶i̶l̶i̶a̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ w̶i̶t̶h̶ C̶h̶r̶i̶s̶t̶ o̶r̶ c̶l̶a̶i̶m̶i̶n̶g̶ t̶o̶ b̶e̶ H̶i̶s̶ s̶t̶u̶d̶e̶n̶t̶s̶.̶ I̶t̶'̶s̶ l̶i̶k̶e̶ w̶e̶'̶r̶e̶ s̶a̶y̶i̶n̶g̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶,̶ o̶n̶c̶e̶ w̶e̶ w̶e̶r̶e̶ s̶l̶a̶v̶e̶s̶ t̶o̶ o̶u̶r̶ f̶o̶r̶m̶e̶r̶ s̶i̶n̶s̶,̶ b̶u̶t̶ n̶o̶w̶ w̶e̶ a̶r̶e̶ s̶l̶a̶v̶e̶s̶,̶ l̶o̶y̶a̶l̶ s̶u̶b̶j̶e̶c̶t̶s̶,̶ t̶o̶ C̶h̶r̶i̶s̶t̶.̶

But the word Christian and all its etymology didn’t feel so personal to me for a long time. I remember being angry—at myself, others, and not forgiving everyone in between those words. I remember being at a Christian retreat, alone with other kids, listening to the youth pastor talk about God. I remember wondering how could Someone—a deity of three persons—who I don’t see, don’t hear, love me as much as it says in page 802 of my second-generatioal Bible (“For one will hardly die for a righteous man; though perhaps for the good man someone would dare even to die. But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”) . I remember realizing how heavy that sounded, how much smaller I felt in light of that—how much I wanted to understand it.

I knelt down on my knees and closed my eyes with all the struggle of my might, trying to understand what kind of god can give a kind of love like that. And I found myself accepting it.

What a Christian really is, I think, is a̶b̶o̶u̶t̶ t̶h̶e̶ p̶r̶o̶o̶f̶ t̶h̶e̶y̶ h̶a̶v̶e̶ t̶o̶ c̶l̶a̶i̶m̶ t̶h̶e̶y̶’̶r̶e̶ a̶ l̶e̶g̶i̶t̶i̶m̶a̶t̶e̶ C̶h̶r̶i̶s̶t̶i̶a̶n̶ (̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ h̶o̶w̶ h̶o̶w̶ I̶’̶v̶e̶ o̶n̶l̶y̶ l̶i̶s̶t̶e̶n̶e̶d̶ t̶o̶ o̶n̶e̶ M̶i̶t̶s̶k̶i̶ s̶o̶n̶g̶ a̶n̶d̶ I̶ s̶a̶y̶ “̶I̶ L̶O̶V̶E̶ M̶i̶t̶s̶k̶i̶”̶)̶

f̶u̶l̶l̶y̶ u̶n̶d̶e̶r̶s̶t̶a̶n̶d̶i̶n̶g̶ G̶o̶d̶?̶ H̶i̶s̶ n̶a̶t̶u̶r̶e̶?̶ H̶i̶s̶ m̶e̶t̶h̶o̶d̶s̶?̶

about understanding that they’re profoundly loved by a God who completely understands them and saves them from their sin.

We are an errable species loved by an infallible God. The love is important there because it softens the impact of our collision—as an unstoppable force meeting the immovable object. Plot-wise, we would be the perfect protagonist/antagonist relationship—but God’s love softens our blows, which can often be so self-destructive, and demands instead a different relationship. One as Father is to a child.

I’ve wrestled with God all my life. I’ve also done my own testimony, which I think has made my own struggles and bouts with Him feel even worse. It can be deeply uncomfortable to know that in all these years, God was still unfathomable to me—parts of Him are still a mystery. For every answer that I gain into Scripture, many more questions pop up.

This is a process called backsliding doubting—one that Thomas, an apostle of Jesus, was notorious for during the time of Jesus’ resurrection. Today, perhaps also due to Jesus’ last comment in regard to his doubt, Thomas’ story is regarded as the story of the weak in faith. That if you’re to doubt like Thomas, then your faith is useless. But I don’t think Jesus was humiliating Thomas. In fact, He affirmed Thomas by knowing his mind, knowing his struggle—and by inviting Thomas to touch His sides without him asking for it yet, Jesus was giving him an answer: touch Me where was once proof of my death, and find me to be truly alive.

What I found so special about this passage is that John, the writer of this book, chooses to use Thomas’ belief to encapsulate the story of Jesus.

Out of all the things that Jesus had done—from making miracles to overcoming sin and death—John chose the faith of Thomas—of one individual—to become his climax. From the beginning of the book of John, Jesus is declared as the Son of God. We are invited to believe that. Throughout and despite everything that’s happened, Jesus the LORD is alive. Despite tooth, nail, mocking, and death, we could not kill him. Yet His final act, was above all else, about overcoming the unbelief of one man. With the last ten words of Jesus, He spoke to Thomas:

And for a v̶e̶r̶y̶ b̶r̶i̶e̶f̶

p̶e̶r̶m̶a̶n̶e̶n̶t̶

eternal moment, Jesus’ words travel through time. He uttered them to Thomas and the disciples, yes, but he was also speaking past them. Past that time, past that place, past the words and pages which would contain His story. Jesus breaks through the fourth wall and speaks through us. Past the boundary of the ink and the thin film of our eyes, He comforts the readers and believers who come upon this line that if they believe in Him—truly believe in the sense of surrender—then there is

d̶e̶a̶t̶h̶,
a̶n̶g̶e̶l̶s̶,
e̶v̶i̶l̶,̶
g̶o̶v̶e̶r̶n̶m̶e̶n̶t̶,̶
c̶o̶n̶s̶t̶i̶t̶u̶t̶i̶o̶n̶,̶
y̶e̶a̶r̶s̶,̶
d̶i̶s̶t̶a̶n̶c̶e̶ i̶n̶ s̶p̶a̶c̶e̶ a̶n̶d̶ t̶i̶m̶e̶,̶
nothing

that can separate us from the same love and blessing His disciples received. That in our feelings of distance or silence from Him, there will be no loss to our experience—but perhaps even more. Doubt, when surrendered, becomes the vehicle to see Christ.

It is very exciting to s̶e̶e̶ experience that. So many passages from the Bible describe a certain aloofness, bravery, and even a sudden, profound ability to speak in foreign languages, casting miracles, or to simply talk about Jesus. The portrayal of such experiences, testimonies, and stories revolving around Jesus continues to excite us. Challenge us. For how can one speak or portray a Person who is supposed to be both fully human and yet fully divine?

I don’t know how to exactly talk about Him. The attempt is to acknowledge that I’m portraying a paradox—one that is fully human yet fully divine. For me to speak of what a Christian means is to point to Christ, but to point to Christ is to recognize how inadequate I am in doing so. How does one make Jesus appealing? How do you transfer the emotions and changes you went through in your testimony and put into the eyes and ears of someone else’s? Do you market Him, put it in a series of tracts and give it a logo? Why attempt when you’ll fail anyway?

And yet, here I am. Trying. Rewriting and removing lines. Failing and accepting how brutally long this has become even for my taste. But I can’t stop doing it. Even when I don’t talk about Him in my art, He is all the more present in the gaps to me, in my works.

During the late 5th to 6th century, a Christian writer under the name Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, talked about pushing the limits. They argued that dissemblance, rather than the semblance (iconography) of Jesus is the better way to paint Jesus. What they really meant was that an earthworm, in art, could serve as a better symbol for Jesus than a̶ d̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ a̶n̶ i̶n̶f̶a̶n̶t̶,̶ a̶ c̶r̶u̶c̶i̶f̶i̶x̶,̶ t̶h̶e̶ n̶a̶i̶l̶s̶,̶ o̶r̶ t̶h̶e̶ t̶o̶m̶b̶ all of what we’re familiar with ever could. For the earthworm is the most humble of all creatures, and Christ is the most humble of us all. And yet, the worm is not Christ and Christ is most certainly not a worm. Some say their ideas are blasphemy; you could say that too. But Pseudo-Dionysius wasn’t trying to blaspheme. I think they were trying to say that art, dialogue, or culture about Jesus should emphasize on starting a conversation—and not on being the authority.

For who is Christ? Who is He to you? By looking at the earthworm, by looking at our doubts, we then have to ponder questions for which its answers can only be found by seeking them. N̶o̶t̶ f̶e̶i̶g̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ t̶h̶e̶m̶ a̶w̶a̶y̶ o̶r̶ s̶i̶l̶e̶n̶c̶i̶n̶g̶ By accepting that struggle in our own faith and perceptions.

Expressing God will always be a struggle; believing in Him can even become a test in our day-to-day lives.

But one shouldn’t be afraid of the tussle. Of the questioning, of the seeking out of an answer. God welcomes us in His arms and if we would like to grapple Him, He could probably laugh but freely let us try. The questions will not change who He is, but it will change what we believe about Him.

I end with this quote from this film I love called Silence—it’s about the last two Jesuit priests in Japan as they deal with God’s silence in the midst of their doubts and a search for their mentor. It stars Adam Driver and Andrew Garfield (I love him bless him) and it’s a painfully honest, yet very important film to my faith.

After witnessing so much persecution and silence from God, Father Rodrigues (Andrew Garfield) faces his own trial by the Japanese to deny God. But in the midst of his internal monologue, God suddenly talks, and reveals Himself to him. And in the midst of the comfort he feels, Father Rodrigues narrates:

Then he pauses.

Reflects.

And to Him and himself, Father Rodrigues says,