And where he came to, and where he then went after that—and where he is ultimately going to call his forever home—those are central plot movements in the Christian story.

He came from the Father’s presence—”heaven” we often say. God’s reality. God’s dimension. God’s kingdom where his good rule and reign are perfectly realized.

He came to the world. He entered into what we know as reality. Our physicality. Our time and space. All the beauty and joy and pain and suffering that make up our human lives. He stepped right into the thick of it and made himself at home—at least temporarily.

A huge problem with attempting to read the Bible literally is that there is so much damn metaphor.

Metaphors by design are problematic. Metaphors are by design unstable, wobbly words that can be interpreted (or, I suppose, misinterpreted) any number of ways. In an attempt to communicate something that cannot, or is best not, described directly or in precise terms, they can be as confusing as they are helpful.

There is hardly a page of the Bible that does not contain metaphor. Which, I can’t help but believe, is by necessity when talking about the Divine.

“If it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, then it probably is a duck.”

There is something of this in the way that prayer works, something to do with what Jesus meant when he told his disciples, “My Father will give you whatever you ask in my name.”

The foundational premise of this is that the Father already gives the Son whatever he asks for. Imagine prayer from God’s perspective: “If it looks like my Son, and lives like my Son, and prays like my Son, then I will respond as if it is my Son.”

When my wife and I were taking birthing classes in preparation for the arrival of our first child, we were introduced to a phrase: “Pain with a purpose.” At the time, it was a bit corny, but it also proved to be true. It still is.

The human capacity to press through just about anything for the sake of a worthy goal is astounding. The human phsyche’s ability to quite literally forget the anguish once something like a baby is held in the arms is an astounding piece of biology. A true gift from the Creator.

There’s at least not that I know to be true deep down in my bones. My mind contains a lot of supposed information. There are a lot of facts in my head. A lot of theology and philosophy, But a lot less of the kind of knowing that I might really qualify as faith. Living in your head your whole life, as it turns out, isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Faith comes from somewhere deeper.

But there is one thing I really do know—in the deepest way I can know anything—and that is that Jesus instigates surprising reversals:

His plans do not line up with my calendar. His pace does not keep time with my sense of rhythm. His goals don’t seem to have very clear benchmarks or firm deadlines. His activity seems to move at a snail’s pace. His accomplishments are barely even perceptible, like tiny seeds in the dirt or yeast in a batch of dough.

Like the disciples, I ask questions like, “What does he mean by ‘a little while’?” A little while to him can be a long, long, long while for me. It often seems like short-term promises require long-term waiting.

God is love, and love is generous. Generosity is in the Divine DNA. The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit share all things. No secrets. No hoarding. No self-protection. No greed. No “what’s mine is mine.”

This divine generosity extends beyond the Trinity toward us mere mortals. What belongs to the Father belongs also to the Son, and what belongs to the Son is passed on to the children of God.

It follows, then, that such generosity should continue beyond God’s children. Generosity has a momentum all its own. In our rebirth through the Spirit, the Divine DNA has been passed on to us, but does not stop with us.

Is all the truth that the Spirit will guide you into. The truth can be a heavy burden, a difficult pill to swallow. Because the more we come to understand about the reality of things, the more we have to change.

Our minds can only comprehend so much information. Our souls can only fathom so much beauty. Our egos can only stand so much confrontation.

In one of Jesus’ favorite metaphors. God as Judge is an image many people are familiar with. The unfortunate thing is that most of us then jump straight to imagining ourselves as the accused who is on trial.

But we forget one of Jesus’ key courtroom images: the Advocate. His own Spirit who stands as the star witness in defense of his disciples, whom he aims to defend and justify as if his own life depends on it. Because it does. Because it did on the Cross.

Loss to gain. Defeat to victory. Weeping to joy. Failure to success. Falling to rising. Death to life.

This is the divine pattern of maturity, growth, and progress. Try though we may, we cannot avoid it or reverse it. We may attempt to of course, but there will be no real forward momentum, only a mired existence in the status quo. Not at all the eternal life in God’s kingdom that Jesus promised.