One of my major fears is that Christian belief will have no real impact on my life.
I hesitate to say this in church, but here on the page I write it, look at it in black and white, and know it is a fear that runs deep. I’m aware that addiction, broken relationships, and abuse in the home wreak havoc among Christians as well as non-Christians. We Christians are perhaps even more skilled than the average heathen when it comes to the choices we make to feel better about ourselves. Experts at image management, we keep our stories and our houses as clean as possible, consume coffee and sugar at alarming rates, and move from one place (or church) to another to escape the consequences of a damaging lifestyle or broken relationship. There are more questions than answers, and more problems than platitudes.
Until recently, I spent little time considering the opposite fear—that God will influence, transform or otherwise impact me and my life. Carl McColman, author and fellow blogger, suggests, “Our deepest fear is not that there is no God. Our deepest fear is that God does exist and wants to become an intimate part of our lives, changing us forever.”1 I want to argue with him, but I can’t. Because I do fear God’s influence in my life. Chances are, He has a different list (does God keep lists?) of priorities than I do, and His presence will effect change. I cannot sit with Him and expect to remain the same. This is unnerving at best, terrifying at worst, but also the thing I want more than anything else.
The truth is, I hold both fears at once—that I will be changed, and that I will not be changed. McColman puts it in relational terms—the fear of loneliness/abandonment, or the fear of being engulfed. Do I have to choose between being overwhelmed with God’s transforming power and remaining stuck as a mediocre Christian? Could I choose neither? I’d like to keep God, and my dearest human companions, in a safe little space between those two realities. Don’t leave me, but don’t lean into me too hard. Let me hold you at arm’s length. If I take that phrase literally—hold a person at arm’s length—I hold them, but that very holding is what keeps them a safe distance away. Let me get a firm grip on your shoulder, to keep you from leaving, and from getting too close. This sounds good to me. I want a controlled situation in which I am neither left alone, nor overwhelmed by proximity.
Yet if I hold God at arm’s length, I settle for the bones of relationship, with no flesh—a skeletal romance. It’s not necessarily that I have to be smothered or abandoned, or that God is in the business of leaving or overwhelming people. Rather, relationship is something powerful: it is consent to be influenced. As long as I hold someone at arm’s length, I haven’t consented to relationship. Consent is risky, because I will be changed by the people I spend time with, and I, in turn, will affect those same people.
This must also be true in divine relationship. Yes, God can speak matter into existence, see a person’s inner rooms, and love with a fierceness I cannot fathom. We’re not going to share the same version of relationship I have with friends and family. But consent and influence originated with God. His very existence invites me to transformation. The Apostle Paul wrote, “And we all, with unveiled faces, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit” (2 Corinthians 3:18 ESV). “From one degree of glory to another.” That sounds weighty. Significant. Holy.
Here’s the thing: I’m not sure I want God to lift my veil and kiss me on the lips. Isn’t that dangerous? God’s presence is bright and burning, all-consuming. Maybe holding hands at the altar is sufficient. I’ll quietly slip my list of prayer requests to Him when we exchange rings. No need to actually dialogue with Him, right? I know He’ll take care of things. After all, faithfulness is one of His top five characteristics on StrengthsFinder—a trait that attracted me to Him in the first place. Yes, I think we can make this happen without unveiling my face. If God’s activity in my life is based on me doing a good job, we don’t even need to spend much time together. I can focus on being a kind and productive person, and He’ll take it from there.
The reality is that I am hungry for connection, but connection is risky. And I have a lifetime of practice avoiding the influence of relationship. You know, keep it professional. Make rules. Perform. Retreat. You do your part and I’ll do mine, and if anyone gets hurt they can nurse their own wounds and put a smile on their face.
But what happens when two people choose connection over perfection? What does the influence of vulnerable relationship look like? Influence is, after all, “the power to change or affect someone or something—especially the power to cause changes without directly forcing those changes to happen.”2 Sounds like a superpower to me—like the way our sun nourishes plants, or music evokes emotion. Influence.
Does God have influence, or control? “To have control is to have the power to run something in an orderly way.”3 Does God have this power? Is the universe orderly? Well, yes, it is; and no, it isn’t. The sun rises every day on the evil and on the good. Seeds grow, planets spin, humans harvest. At the same time, chaos reigns, the blue planet warms, hot heads prevail, and devastation of people and land is just another day on Earth.
If I say God has influence but not control, have I emasculated Him? Or am I getting closer to freedom? Is He still God if He’s not in control? Patricia Raybon wrote, “love is … where people who don’t have control go and linger.”4 Does the God of Love linger where control is absent? The life of Jesus answers this question with a resounding “yes.” Baby Jesus didn’t have control, and grownup Jesus didn’t wield any control He might have had.
Perhaps love is the pain of not being in control. It occurs to me as I hold hands with God at the altar: this is a two-way street. God relinquishes control of me, and I relinquish control of Him. I believe this is painful for both of us. To release control is to grieve expectations, accept irritations, and cut all ties with outcomes. It is a willingness to feel pain and disappointment.
At the same time, it is comforting. I approach God without the intent to control Him, knowing that likewise, He will not control me. I do not consent to be engulfed; I consent to be influenced. I do not consent to abandonment; I consent to a life that is not well-controlled, which is messy because love and free will are messy. Proximity includes vulnerability.
It is here that I may begin to love God. Here we have left behind the prenuptial agreement, the you-do-this and I’ll-do-that role assignments, and the expectations of bliss. Here we will know bliss not because we have created it but because it is the natural language of love. And here we will know pain and disappointment, because these are also the natural language of love.
Also here, in the vulnerability of proximity, is the shocking possibility that God allows me to influence Him. I may delight Him and irritate Him. We may come up with a great idea together—co-creators. Honestly, I don’t know what it looks like to love the Lord my God with all my heart. The best I’ve come up with in the past involved being respectful to Him, and nice to the person in front of me. There’s nothing wrong with that. But is it relationship? I’m beginning to think God wants a lot more out of our love life than respect and niceness. He would rather I get naked with Him and break His heart than wear my Sunday best and smile over the gulf between us. He would rather disappoint me than never know me.
I find no tidy conclusion or “right” answers, but I’ve stumbled upon a desire for consensual relationship with God. And so, I consent to be influenced. Lift the veil and kiss me. I consent to the pain and bliss of love. I accept that knowing You will change me, and it will not change me. I receive the fear of being an average human, the terror of becoming more, and all it means to love because You first loved me.
1McColman, Carl. The Big Book of Christian Mysticism, page 204.
2https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/influence#:~:text=In%20modern%20use%2C%20the%20noun,something%20in%20an%20important%20way
3https://www.vocabulary.com/dictionary/control#:~:text=To%20have%20control%20is%20to,remote%20control%20for%20a%20television
4Raybon, Patricia. My First White Friend, page 12.
Tobi Goff is a writer, impertinent Christian, and recovering perfectionist. As a small-group junkie, she creates spaces where women find and speak their hearts. Tobi lives in southeast Washington State with her husband and two daughters. She is always up for reading, coffee dates, and piña colada milkshakes. Connect with her on Instagram and Facebook @