Aristotle taught that man is a “rational animal.” What he meant was that we possess the ability to reason, to think sequentially, to rationalize, generalize, to problem solve, and to adapt as necessary. God demonstrates these same proclivities and abilities.

Yet, even though a rational animal, you are irrational. So am I, and interestingly enough, so is God in heaven.

When I say God and we are irrational, I mean we are illogical. Each of us defies predictability.

Yes, yes. I recall the Scripture passages stating that God never changes, that He’s the same all the time, and that He never casts a shadow of doubt. This is all true, yet the overriding theme of Scripture from its first page to its last map is the mercy of God, and any way you look at it, God’s mercy is irrational and illogical. But, He conceived it in the person of Jesus Christ before the foundations of the world were laid and remains dedicated to its guidance.

The grace of God, for all its magnificence, makes sense. Given the problem God had with humankind, once He decided there was justification to extend life to us who were dead in our trespasses and sins, the only solution was grace. Remarkable? Absolutely. Rational? Yep. This is why Romans 5-8 makes sense. This is why there is a foundational theology of Christianity that is systematic. Our faith is rational and reasonable.

But mercy?

If grace is the how of salvation, mercy is the why.

Why did God decide to love us when He knew the heartache we would cause? Why did God enter into blood covenant knowing it would cost Him His son? Why did God extend salvation to us when we were dead in our trespasses and sins? Why does he forgive us when we’re like drunks falling off bar stools? These divine decisions make no sense. Clearly: If I was God, I wouldn’t have done what He did—and you wouldn’t have either.

So why does He squander His mercy on us? What’s He thinking? Or is He?

You and I demonstrate the same irrationalities. We tolerate these proclivities to behave irrationally in each other. In fact, we actually value them.

It was irrational of me to tell Dianne I loved her, to pledge before God, and witnesses that I would love her in sickness, bad times, and in death. Why did I sign up for that duty? Why did you? Why does God?

Love is irrational. Courage, trust, faith, and loyalty are also irrationalities, but that is what makes them powerful. Courage: I risk my wellbeing and better judgment for a higher good. Trust: I continue to believe when it appears unwise to do so. Faith: I can’t prove my confidence, but I’m confident anyway. Loyalty: You hurt me, but I’m going to stick with you.

We celebrate these qualities in each other.

We like the idea of them in God—even believe that God and we share the same qualities.

But we are intolerant of God’s irrationality in displaying His love, courage, trustworthiness, faithfulness, and loyalty. When we pray, we want God to do as we ask.

Why are we intolerant?

I think it’s because God is not predictable. He simply won’t do what we want Him to do when we want Him to do it. Clearly, what makes sense to us, and what we voice in prayer, often doesn’t persuade God to do as we request. I mean, think about all the unsatisfactory answers to your prayers and pleadings.

My atheist neighbor and I discuss God, or the lack thereof, a great deal. He insists “I am not very bright” because the vast majority of scientists at major universities do not believe in God and do not believe in creation. “Why do you insist on believing in an irrationality, Preston?”

Let me interpret his position: Science has not been able to prove the existence of God within the controlled environment of the laboratory. Therefore, He doesn’t exist and anyone who believes otherwise is dumb. Kant said as much. So did Descartes, Hume, Hitchens, and Dawkins.

And you say, “Why, that’s ridiculous. You can’t put God in a test tube. God won’t submit Himself to your five senses, with all due respect Mr. Kant.”

I share your incredulity—and offense—and I’ve said as much to my atheist neighbor. But he’s got a point, not so much about God, but about the way I think about God.

For example: I require predictable stringency from God when I insist He articulate His “perfect will” to me and for my life.

I pray and say, “Tell me what you want me to do,” and require—mostly in attitude—that God give me a rational answer that I can carry out like an assignment. Once done, it makes perfect sense that I will return for further instruction.

But no. God rarely does what I want Him to do, what I think He should do—what any reasonable and rational person would do. He frustrates me because He doesn’t make sense—to me.

I’m frustrated by His silence, deferral, and apparent indifference when what needs addressing is so obvious. It frustrates me to hear, “Trust me, son.”

What happened to writing on bedroom walls, causing donkeys to speak, blinding lights, and winning the lottery for that matter? What happened to receiving a straight-up answer to an honest question? Why not just do what I ask? I prayed “in Jesus’ name,” knelt given the importance of the matter, folded my hands, demonstrated deference, and said Amen at the end.

It’s all perfectly reasonable. But it’s not relational.

Reason is what my atheist neighbor is requiring. But relationship is not rational, reasonable, or realistically predictable. And, we wouldn’t want relationship to be anything less than this lest it be nothing beyond servitude.   

Friends build relationships rooted in self-service, courage, loyalty, trust, and belief. This relationship is irrational and un-provable, although all of these are observable, and if violated, render substantial loss to our souls and compromise in our relationship.

God is similar.

He chooses relationship over reason, involvement over instruction, serendipity over predictability, and irrationality over rationality. In fact, as far-reaching as His grace is, the irrationality of mercy is the crimson thread running throughout all of Scripture.

Isaiah quotes God saying, “Come. Let’s sit down and reason together” (cf. Is. 1:18). And what exactly is God wishing to discuss—literally, argue over—with Isaiah?

He’s wanting to debate whether or not His forgiveness makes the stain of sin white as snow. He says, “Though your sins are as scarlet, / They will be as white as snow. Come now, let’s argue about this.”

The question that should come to mind is: What’s there to discuss, let alone debate?

And the answer is: There isn’t anything to debate. There’s no question. Nothing outstanding. When God forgives, the scarlet stain of sin is made pure as the freshly fallen snow or the lamb’s wool.

God is inviting Isaiah to argue a moot point. That’s dumb. Irrational.  

Why would He do that?

The only possible answer is that God insists Isaiah argue with Him simply because He wants to argue.

And you say, “This makes no sense. It’s an unreasonable request.”

That’s the point.

In many profound ways, your relationship with God mirrors your other relationships. Your husband is irrational. So is your wife. Everyone with kids knows raising them is irrational and unreasonable. Friendship, family, in-laws, neighbors. All the same—more unpredictable than the weather in Texas, but each a treasure you wouldn’t trade. You wouldn’t have it any other way because relationships make your life rich and your soul robust.

So, why would you want anything other than this in your relationship with God?

God is irrational—and this is probably what you love about Him.