God
Deum, cui omnia vivunt, venite adoremus—“To God, all things are alive; O come, let us adore Him”.
“All things, not all men; the body, which is dead to us, is still alive to God. Every particle of that dust is still obedient to his creative will; the same Power that once gave it freedom of movement, is now exercised to imprison it in stillness; the same law which once ordained its growth now dooms it to decay. That, after all, is the astonishing fact; nothing can exist away from God, everything must, of necessity, come from him and tend to him. As the circle exists because each point on the circumference is in a particular relation to its centre, so the universe exists because everything in it is in particular relation to God. As the satellites revolve round their planet, so everything in its creation keeps its place there by keeping its proper distance from God, who is its sphere. As the flowers open to the sun from which their vigor has returned to them, so in the natural and in the supernatural order all things turn continually towards God, who is their sun. All things are alive to God, react to him.
Do you doubt it? Then watch the actions of the Son of God, listen to the words of the Son of God, when he came to earth. You are crossing an inland sea in an open rowing-boat; suddenly, lashed by the draught that comes down through the funnel of those hills, the water rises about you in mountainous waves, tossing the boat from crest to crest, terrifying. They seem, those waves, to have all the greed and the fury of wild beasts; you have the illusion that the whole purpose of their ravening is to overwhelm this particular craft, in which you are voyaging. . . . Ah, if that were only so! Living beasts might be amenable to some trick of human mastery; these waves are senseless things; there is no art by which a human will can impose itself on them. But, wait a moment. One of your fellow-passengers rises from the bows of the boat, where he lay asleep; looks out over those roaring billows as if they were a sea of children who had become too noisy over their play. With the tired but calm voice of a grown-up who knows how to deal with children, he says, ‘Peace, be still.’ And there is a dead hush instantly; a hush, almost, of expectancy, as if that noisy company were waiting to hear what game they should play next.
If Jesus Christ spoke on that occasion, it was for our sakes. He was thinking aloud, as a man will talk to some mechanical contrivance when he is explaining the nature of it to a set of pupils. The wind and the sea had no ears, to catch his human accents, nor any need of them. His will imposed itself directly on the forces of nature around him. You see, he was God...”
~Ronald Knox
“All things, not all men; the body, which is dead to us, is still alive to God. Every particle of that dust is still obedient to his creative will; the same Power that once gave it freedom of movement, is now exercised to imprison it in stillness; the same law which once ordained its growth now dooms it to decay. That, after all, is the astonishing fact; nothing can exist away from God, everything must, of necessity, come from him and tend to him. As the circle exists because each point on the circumference is in a particular relation to its centre, so the universe exists because everything in it is in particular relation to God. As the satellites revolve round their planet, so everything in its creation keeps its place there by keeping its proper distance from God, who is its sphere. As the flowers open to the sun from which their vigor has returned to them, so in the natural and in the supernatural order all things turn continually towards God, who is their sun. All things are alive to God, react to him.
Do you doubt it? Then watch the actions of the Son of God, listen to the words of the Son of God, when he came to earth. You are crossing an inland sea in an open rowing-boat; suddenly, lashed by the draught that comes down through the funnel of those hills, the water rises about you in mountainous waves, tossing the boat from crest to crest, terrifying. They seem, those waves, to have all the greed and the fury of wild beasts; you have the illusion that the whole purpose of their ravening is to overwhelm this particular craft, in which you are voyaging. . . . Ah, if that were only so! Living beasts might be amenable to some trick of human mastery; these waves are senseless things; there is no art by which a human will can impose itself on them. But, wait a moment. One of your fellow-passengers rises from the bows of the boat, where he lay asleep; looks out over those roaring billows as if they were a sea of children who had become too noisy over their play. With the tired but calm voice of a grown-up who knows how to deal with children, he says, ‘Peace, be still.’ And there is a dead hush instantly; a hush, almost, of expectancy, as if that noisy company were waiting to hear what game they should play next.
If Jesus Christ spoke on that occasion, it was for our sakes. He was thinking aloud, as a man will talk to some mechanical contrivance when he is explaining the nature of it to a set of pupils. The wind and the sea had no ears, to catch his human accents, nor any need of them. His will imposed itself directly on the forces of nature around him. You see, he was God...”
~Ronald Knox
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