After I had kids, it struck me as ironic that
young people would take vows of celibacy
and hide out in monasteries or temples
in order to get closer to their idea of god.
I don’t think I ever had a clear understanding
of the way God must see us until I became
a father myself. And now, improbably, in my
70th year, I have become a grandfather.
When I hold that nearly 20 pounds of infantile
energy it’s as if my former feelings of awe and
compassion have increased by an order
of magnitude. I feel sorry for the millions
whose idea of God is a pinched-faced old
accountant with nothing better to do
than write down people’s sins day and
night in order to fry them forever.
He/She has watched over countless
generations and understands our
longings so much better than we do.
I see all of those longings and fears
and frustrations in a child that’s not
even 6 months old, and who is a daily
reminder of Wendell Berry’s observation
that God is the wildest being in the universe.