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Oh My God?

All that can be said of God is not God - Pseudo-Dionysius

God - the John Doe of philosophy and religion. -Elbert Hubbard

What is my favorite word in the English language? It is such a little old common place word that I am kind of embarrassed its my favorite. I think people probably use it a dozen times every week and don’t realize how special it is. I wish it was something strange and unusual like:

Flapdoodle = twaddle or nonsense

Cachinnatory = loud laughter

Deipnosophist = a person skilled in dinner conversation

Nympholepsy = A wild frenzy caused by a desire for an unattainable idea

They are all ten dollar words that make you seem really smart. They are words that you can wow your friends with. I must admit, I am kind of embarrassed by my little word. I almost want to hide it from prying eyes. It is not even a word that can make you giggle, like potrzebie, watutsi, testies, shuttlecock, dromedary, gesticulate, or a word that can cause chaos like telling someone their sister is a thespian. I know a lot of teenage girls would say “love” for their favorite word, but I think it is as over-used as blindfolds on Rosie O’Donnell Bikini Wax Wednesdays. “I just love that dress on you.” “I love that movie.” “I love my laundry detergent.” “I love you, yeah, yeah.”

My favorite word, are you ready for it, is “place,” not “space,” but “place.” Space is what most of my girlfriends ask for. “Trevor, I think I need some space.” Place. It can be an ugly word at times. “Those people need to know their place.” But most of the time it is a beautiful word and when you hear it on certain occasions it can make you almost weep. “You will always have a place in my heart.” First day of college, scared and homesick, she walks into the lunchroom, so large, so foreign. All of a sudden a hand goes up across the room, her new roommate points to an empty chair. “There is a place for you here.” A young couple, their first house. It had been a hard time saving the money for the down payment. The kids run up and down the stairs, trying to figure out what room is theirs. “Is this our place, mommy? Daddy, is this our place?” “Mom, why don’t you come down to Arizona and stay with us? Dad is gone. The weather is awful up there. We have an extra room. The kids would love to have you here.” The old lady sighs, “My friends and church are here. I would not know what to even do with myself down there. This is my place.” Fifty years of marriage and he still smiles when she walks into the room as if to say, “There is always a place on my arm for you.” He walks into the hanger after a year in Iraq. His wife drapes herself around his shoulders. Tears. Their two children hug his legs. He is home. This is where he belongs. This is his place.

Place is why seats and chairs are so important. Have you ever come home to find someone sitting in your chair, or found someone sitting in your chair in class, or in your pew in church? It throws you off for a few moments. “What are you doing sitting in my place? That is my place, moron.” Turf wars at work can erupt over things as simple as a parking place. One of the main reasons our public housing policies have failed so miserably in this country is that we have warehoused people, not given them a place. The reason men have so much trouble retiring, is that they become lost. They don’t know their place anymore. The worst fate that can befall anyone is not to have a place. It gives you meaning, defines who you are. It is why being a teenager is so hard. You are no longer a kid, but you are also not an adult. You are struggling to figure out where you belong, your place.

For some unknown reason I thought of “place watching the documentary Oh My God, a movie that explores the age old unanswered question, “What is God?” Director Peter Rodger turns for answers, to not only religious leaders and theologians, but asks our real superstars, celebrities like Ringo Starr, David Copperfield, Jack Thompson, Baz Luhrmann, Seal, Sir Bob Geldof, Princess Michael of Kent and Hugh Jackman. Crisscrossing the world, interviewing Jews, Christians, Buddhists, Muslims and atheists, he tries to come up with an answer to such profound questions as, “Did man create God, or did God create man?” “Are all religions just different paths to the same truth, one God?” “If God exists, why is there suffering?” “What is God’s relationship with humanity?” “What do people mean when they talk of God?”

As the old expression goes, Peter Rodger’s eyes are bigger than his stomach. There are people that spend a lifetime trying to figure out such answers. Documentaries, really mini-series, could be done on each one of the questions asked here. Let’s be honest, other than glitter, what can people like David Copperfield, Seal, and Hugh Jackson really contribute to the search for the answers to the ultimate questions. They are just gaga, fluff, twaddle, flapdoodle, a little star power to get people watching a documentary of God. Does the homeless dude, in the ironic “Obama is trying to end our way of life. Vote Republican in 2010” t-shirt who looks like he has been inhaling gold spray paint, that just panhandled me at the gas station, have an opinion just as valuable for these kinds of questions? Not all opinions, especially when it comes to God, are equal. They might be great deipnosophists; but when it comes to the nympholepsic question of God, they are merely the rich man in the New Testament, and as hard as they put their foot in that camel’s backside, that dromedary is going to get stuck like Winnie the Pooh in Rabbit’s hole. Cachinnate. Too many cooks spoil the stew and when you take in too many theological opinions, the meal is not nearly as satisfying as it looks at a distance.

Several years ago, I found myself walking with one of the greatest preachers in America, Fred Craddock. The folksy, balding old man, about to enter retirement, his stride slowing, and although he had several advanced academic degrees, when it came to talking about God and giving sermons, he liked to speak like he had just strolled out of an Oklahoma cotton patch. Such colorful expressions and monikers for the Almighty, he could charm even the most hardhearted skeptic into listening to his vision of the Alpha and the Omega. So, I asked him what his favorite expression for God was. He simply replied, “The Place.” I like that. Whatever God is, an abstract concept, an old man sitting on a throne in the heavens, folly, or the bedrock of reality, whatever you want to believe, to call God “The Place”, is to provide Him with more than cognitive meaning. Too many people, pastors, rabbis, theologians, preachers and priests throw the bread at the head and not where we live. I think of my grandfather hobbling across the cemetery. He stops, leans his cane against the stone, between his name and the name of the woman who gave him his smile. He then leans against his side. Gently, his hand strokes the top of her side as he talks to her. After awhile he makes his way back to the car. I tell him that might be the most beautiful thing I ever saw. He looks at me, for a moment it looks like he is going to tear up; then says, “I thought we’d stop by the grocery store for lunch.” When you find your place, it is sacred, not something easily shared or that others can fully understand. I hope everyone reading this finds their place, on the way to “The Place”, whatever you think that is.

Verdict: Not the Greatest Documentary