Where's God?

I never knew what city life was like until I became a missionary. When my window opens there is constant traffic noise day and night as I live by a busy street. Wherever I go I first have to think about how to get there and back, calculating whether to walk, drive, Uber, or take the bus. There is a concrete jungle for miles all around. Sure, trees are ever present as well as birds. But green spaces are few and far between. No one has yards here, but there’s grime, trash, and people everywhere.

That’s why my favorite places are the parks. The one closest to my house has a small pond with fish and turtles. It’s in a residential neighborhood with hardly any traffic. The noisiest thing around are bored dogs. I meander around the pond, spotting fish in the murky waters and disappointing turtles who excitedly approach me, wanting some food. I then sit on a nearby bench and ponder. When I look down there are ants tirelessly going back and forth with treasures for their colony. As my head turns upward I spy the birds who are singing or squawking. I breathe deep, relax, and think of the contrasts.

Before moving here I lived in a small town that had hardly any traffic or noise. But it did have tons of green spaces, including a spacious yard by our home where we had a small garden. The people I saw day to day were familiar and rarely were they or I in a hurry. I never once had to think about traffic before heading out, although severe weather might alter my plans from time to time.

I wonder sometimes where God is most. Is it the city with all its people and problems? Is it nature with its calm sounds and slow pace? Is it the small town with its familiarity? Or is it a bit of everything?

In theology a lot of our focus is on sin and salvation, and for good reason since in biblical literature the overwhelming focus from Genesis 3 through Revelation 20 is exactly that. But the opening and closing movements of the grand story of God and us are creation and new creation. The former takes place in a luscious, pristine garden, while the latter portrays a glistening, bustling city. And God? Well, he’s in both places. But, as much as I might “feel” closer to him in the quiet and green of the garden, my future home, the place Jesus promises to prepare for us, is in a city.

It’s a different kind of city, though. I imagine there will be plenty of green spaces there, and less noise, but somehow even more people. And that’s often the hardest thing to remember when city life gets me down. The closest thing I’ll ever see to God is the faces of my neighbors, and my city is full of them. Millions of them. They are not mere impediments to my route or annoyances to my rest. They’re precious, and as Jean Valjean sings as he sits dying in a city: “Remember/The truth that once was spoken/To love another person/Is to see the face of God.”

This is so easy to forget, though. As much as I love seeing turtles, fish, ants, birds, and sometimes even dogs, and as much as I may hate seeing the never-ending line of cars in front of me in rush hour every morning, there is nothing on this earth more deserving of my love than my fellow humans, and each city is full of them. Full of us, who each muddle through our days somehow. But the New Jerusalem will have no muddling. I can hardly wait.