When God falls from his pedestal

What an evening with Alex Agnew taught me about our Heavenly Father, loss of faith and the art of letting go.

Last night I sat with my youngest son Lucas in the Sportpaleis for No More Heroes, Alex Agnew's performance. The fact that we're going to watch Alex together shouldn't surprise anyone who knows us a little. Lucas and I share a rather peculiar form of humor, where it can get quite dark sometimes. For us, that humor is a way to put the misery and absurdity of life into perspective. By exaggerating the inappropriate, we are actually holding a mirror up to ourselves. We know very well that some things are not possible, and precisely because of that, we can laugh so hard about them. Not everyone understands that form of humor, andthat's not necessary either. But for us, it's something that connects us. So, going to see Alex together was primarily an opportunity to laugh together. I just didn't expect that on the way back, I would mainly be thinking about our heavenly Father.

When heroes fall from their pedestal

No More Heroes (spoiler alert) is in fact much more than a series of jokes. It is also a very personal performance about Alex's father, a man who had always been a hero to him. Like every child, he knew his father from his own experiences, the stories he was told, and the rules by which he was raised. But as he learned more about his father's past, he discovered that many of those stories turned out not to be true and that his father himself had not always lived according to the principleshe had presented to his son. The man he had placed on a pedestal for so long turned out to be much more human and fallible than he had ever thought. His hero fell from his pedestal. Alex tells that story with the necessary humor, but also with a vulnerability that particularly touched me. Especially when he spoke about his deceased father and said that he does not believe they will ever see each other again, but at the same time hopes he is wrong about that. That was perhaps the most poignant moment of the evening for me. Becauseas he told that, I thought that I not only hope he is wrong, but also believe with all my heart that he will see his father again someday.

What also made me think was another idea that Alex developed during his performance. He said that, in retrospect, it might not have been so bad after all that his father had fallen from his pedestal. He is now a father himself to a daughter, for whom he is probably still a hero today. But he realizes that for her too, the moment will come when she discovers that her father is not perfect. And perhaps that moment should come. Because children cannot forever look up to their parentsas they did when they were five years old. They must grow up, develop their own ideas, make their own mistakes, and ultimately find their own way. To do this, they must also be able to see their parents as ordinary people, with their qualities, but equally with their shortcomings. A father does not have to fall from his pedestal to be less loved. Perhaps a relationship can grow precisely because of this into a different, more mature form of love.

Can God also fall from his pedestal?

On the way back, I started to wonder about our heavenly Father. As a believer, I look up to Him as a perfect Father, whose love is infinite and whose wisdom far surpasses ours. Unlike our earthly parents, He has no hidden past that will ever come to light, no human shortcomings that can suddenly be discovered, and no rules that He does not abide by Himself. He is perfect. His love is unconditional, but that does not mean that He has no expectations or sets no boundaries.On the contrary, precisely because He loves us, He gives us direction. From that thought, the comparison with Alex's father initially did not seem to fully apply. Our heavenly Father cannot fall from His pedestal, can He?

And yet I started to think about it a bit longer. Because for many people, God truly falls from his pedestal. People who once believed very strongly can at a certain point start to doubt. Sometimes this happens gradually, through questions for which they find no satisfactory answer. Sometimes through profound events, through sorrow, through disappointments in a faith community, or through the behavior of people who claim to speak on behalf of God. The image they had of God begins to show cracks. What used to be self-evidentseemed, suddenly isn't anymore. And ultimately they can come to the conviction that the God in whom they believed does not exist at all. From my own faith conviction, this does not mean that God himself has changed, but rather that their view of Him has fundamentally changed. For them, He has indeed fallen from His pedestal. And I think we should take that experience seriously, even when we ourselves come to a different conclusion.

But perhaps we should ask ourselves another question. Is it truly God who falls from His pedestal, or is it primarily the image we have formed of Him? For although I believe that God is perfect, I am by no means convinced that our understanding of Him is too. We inevitably view God from our human experiences, our upbringing, our culture, and the way others have told us about Him. Some people grow up with an image of a loving Father, others with that of a strict judge whois constantly ready to punish mistakes. And sometimes people discover that the image of God with which they grew up does not correspond to what they themselves experience or what they find morally right. When such an image then collapses, it doesn't necessarily have to be exclusively negative. Perhaps it was an image that needed revision. Perhaps some conceptions of God must first fall from their pedestal before space is created for a deeper and more honest understanding of who He truly is.

As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I naturally find it saddening when someone loses their faith or distances themselves from the church. After all, we believe that our relationship with our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ is invaluable. It is therefore understandable that we would like to bring someone who distances themselves from the faith closer to God again. But last night I asked myself a question that I couldn't easily dismiss: should we actually exclusively view that distancing assomething negative? Or, however strange that may sound at first glance, could there also be positive aspects to it?

Taking distance to get closer

That question led me to one of the central tenets of our faith: our Heavenly Father's plan of salvation. We believe that before our earthly life, we already lived with Him as spirit children. We were in His presence, but still needed to grow and learn. To make that development possible, we were given the opportunity to come to earth, receive a mortal body, and gain experiences that we could not gain in the same way in our previous state. We would be confronted with opposition, with joy andsorrow, with good and evil, with choices and their consequences. We would learn by falling and getting up again. And for that, we had to temporarily leave the immediate presence of our Heavenly Father.

In our doctrine, we speak in that context of spiritual death: the separation of man and God. The story of Adam and Eve, who had to leave the Garden of Eden, provides a particularly meaningful image of this. They were cast out from the presence of God, but that event was not only a loss. In our understanding of the plan of salvation, the Fall also made the further development of man possible. In the Book of Mormon, Lehi expresses this particularly succinctly: 'Adam fell, that men might be; and men are, thatthey might have joy' (2 Nephi 2:25). Without that step, there would be no mortal life as we know it, no experiences with opposition, and no growth in the way our Heavenly Father intended for us. The distance from God thus gained a purpose within the plan of salvation. Not because distance in itself is a good thing, but because it creates the space in which we can grow.

Actually, that's not so different from what happens when children leave the parental home. As a father, I know that I cannot continue to protect my children from everything life has in store for them. Of course, sometimes I would like to. I would like to protect them from sorrow, wrong decisions, and disappointments. But if I could truly do that, I would at the same time deprive them of something very valuable: the opportunity to grow themselves. Parents must learn to let go, even when it hurts. They mustaccept that their children will make choices that they themselves might make differently. And above all, they must continue to love, even when the distance grows. Perhaps it is one of the most difficult tasks of parenthood: realizing that the love for your children does not mean you have to keep determining their lives.

This is not to say that losing faith is the same as leaving the presence of God to begin our earthly life. Those are two different things. But I do see a parallel that makes me think. If we believe that our Heavenly Father has consciously given us the space to learn to stand on our own two feet, why should we leave so little room for people who come to different beliefs along the way of life? They also gain experience. They too learn, grow, search for truth, discover what is valuable to them and try to give meaning to their existence. Maybe some will come to faith again someday, maybe not. But I find it hard to believe that everything they experience along the way would be any less valuable. It even seems entirely possible to me that they develop insights through their different paths in life that I myself miss. It is not that losing faith is necessarily a step that God has designed for someone. I do believe that He has created a world in which we can truly choose, even when that choice means rejecting Him. Otherwise, our freedom of choice would be little more than an illusion.

What we can learn from someone who chooses a different path

And that, in my opinion, is an important lesson, especially for us as believers. When someone leaves the church or loses their faith, we sometimes view it primarily from the perspective of what we believe that person has lost. We worry, want to help, try to stay in touch, and hope that person will eventually return. This concern is often genuine and stems from love. But I wonder if it doesn't sometimes also create a certain inequality in the relationship. We then consider ourselves as those who have something that the other has losthas. We want to offer something, explain something, or restore something. And although we do that with the best intentions, it can easily come across to the other person as pity or even as a form of condescension. As if their life has necessarily become poorer and we know exactly what is missing from it.

What would happen if we reverse that attitude? If we approach someone who no longer believes, not primarily with the question of how we can help them return, but with genuine curiosity about what they have experienced? If we not only want to tell what we believe, but especially want to understand why they have started thinking differently? Perhaps then we will discover that this person can teach us something. About life, about freedom, about responsibility, about the way faith communities function, or evenabout our own faith. Perhaps we will encounter questions that we ourselves too easily avoid. Perhaps we will be confronted with experiences that force us to re-examine certain self-evident truths. And perhaps ultimately we will become better people and even stronger believers because of it. Not despite what the other person has experienced, but precisely thanks to what they can tell us about it.

I am increasingly convinced that as believers we do not have to be afraid to learn from those who think differently. If truth is truly truth, it does not have to fear honest questions. And if we believe that our heavenly Father has given each of us the freedom to discover and choose for ourselves, then we must truly respect that freedom when others come to conclusions that are not ours. This does not mean that we should give up our convictions or pretend that all choices are the same for ushave meaning. It does mean that we must recognize that a life different from ours is not necessarily a life without valuable insights. And especially that we should not only listen with the hidden intention of bringing someone back to our conviction. We must listen because the other person has something to say. Because their experiences are valuable. Because we can learn something we didn't know yet. That curiosity must be sincere and must not depend on whether someone ultimately returns to thechurch.

During these contemplations, the mathematician in me also emerged. I had to think of fractals, those fascinating geometric structures in which patterns keep repeating themselves at different scale levels. A small part repeatedly shows similarities with the larger whole. I find that a beautiful image for the plan of salvation. Our Heavenly Father loves us and gives us the freedom to grow, even when that means we distance ourselves from Him. We then become parents ourselves and are commanded to approach our children inthe same way to love and let go. And perhaps that pattern repeats itself on another level, in the way we deal with people who choose a different path of faith than ours. Not because those situations are completely identical, but because the same principles always return: love, freedom, patience, trust, and the willingness to let someone seek their own way.

God's love knows no distance

But as I thought more about it, another question arose in my mind. Does someone who loses their faith actually distance themselves from God? My first answer would be: perhaps in their own experience, but not yet in the love of God. For if God's love is truly infinite, as I believe, how could we ever escape it? We can decide not to believe in Him anymore. We can stop praying, leave the church, or even get angry with God. We can choose not to live according toHis commandments. But can we also make His love disappear by doing so? I don't believe so. We can experience the distance from God as particularly great, but that distance is not necessarily the same as the distance God keeps from us. Perhaps we should even say that He never distances Himself from us, even when we feel completely lost to Him.

That does not mean that all choices remain without consequences, or that our spiritual state does not matter. The Scriptures speak not in vain about conversion, atonement, and the need to come to Christ. But there is a fundamental difference between the consequences of our choices and the love God has for us. That love is not a reward we earn by believing enough or keeping enough commandments. It is there because we are His children. And we remain so, no matter which path we take. Perhaps it is precisely thatdistinction that we as believers sometimes emphasize too little when we speak with people who have distanced themselves from their faith.

I had to think of the parable of the prodigal son, one of the most beautiful stories Jesus ever told in my opinion. The youngest son asks for his inheritance, leaves his father's house, and goes out into the world to lead his own life. He makes mistakes, loses his possessions, and eventually ends up in deep misery. Only then does he decide to return. He no longer expects a warm welcome and at most hopes that his father will take him on as a servant. But what happens? His father sees him coming from afar, walks towards himto meet him and embraces him. Even before the son could tell his full story, his father's love proves to be undiminished. He doesn't have to earn that love again. It had been there all along.

What particularly strikes me in that parable is that the son only truly seems to discover what his father means to him through his experiences. When he left, he naturally knew his father too. He had grown up with him, had enjoyed his protection, and had lived in his house for years. But perhaps it was precisely because of that obviousness that he had never fully understood how great his father's love was. Only after he had lost everything and returned, did he discover that this love was not dependent on his obedience,his success or even his presence. So you could say that through his wanderings, despite all the mistakes he made, he ultimately gained a deeper insight into his father's love than he had before. He had been physically far from home, but came back with an understanding of his father that he might never have developed if he had always stayed at home.

And then, of course, there is also the oldest son, who often receives less attention when we discuss this parable. He had always stayed with his father, fulfilled his duties, and never ran away. But when his younger brother returned and was welcomed with a celebration, he reacted with indignation. He did not understand why his father could find so much joy in the return of someone who had squandered everything. Perhaps that oldest son still had something important to learn about his father's love. He had been all that timeremained close to him, but had not necessarily fully understood what lived in his heart. I find that a particularly confronting thought. Because as a believer, I might prefer to identify with the faithful son who stayed home, while I should ask myself if I understand the love of my heavenly Father better than someone who has taken a completely different path.

Of course, that doesn't mean we first have to make all possible mistakes to get to know God better. Nor do I want to romanticize the sadness or difficulties that can accompany loss of faith. Not every experience is good, and not every painful quest automatically leads to growth. But I do believe that our Heavenly Father is capable of bringing something valuable out of difficult experiences. For me, that is an essential part of the plan of salvation. What we at a certain point experience as a failure or as anexperiencing estrangement, may later turn out to be an important step in our development. Perhaps someone who loses their faith discovers something about themselves, about others, or about their former beliefs that they would otherwise never have discovered. And perhaps that very experience, without them being aware of it, brings them closer to certain principles that our Heavenly Father wants to teach us.

This brings me back to the question of how we deal with people who have knocked God off his pedestal. Perhaps we should not so much tell them how they can get closer to God again, but first help them realize that God's love has never left them. Even when they no longer believe in it themselves, we, from our conviction, may continue to show that love. Not by constantly telling them what they are missing, but by being there for them. Not by minimizing their questions, but by taking them seriously. Not byjudging their experiences, but by being willing to learn from them. Perhaps we can even sincerely tell them that their quest has taught us something and that we ourselves have grown through their experiences. That seems to me a much more powerful message than the implicit assumption that we already know everything and they primarily still have something to learn from us.

That also brings me to an important thought about God's commandments. I have often said that I do not believe in a God of exclusion. In my opinion, the commandments are not walls that He has erected to keep as many people out as possible, but gateways that show us the way to Him. This does not mean that the commandments are optional or that we should adjust them when someone can no longer identify with them. But we should also not use those commandments to make our love dependent on the choices of others. God'slove is infinite, and if we try to follow His example, our love must also reflect that unconditionality. This also includes great humility. We cannot look into another's heart and therefore do not have the right to judge their path of faith. We never know the full story behind someone's doubts, experiences, or decisions.

Perhaps only the pedestal should disappear

Perhaps that is the most important lesson I take from these reflections. If someone loses their faith, we don't immediately have to be ready with answers, solutions, or attempts to glue the fragments of their former image of God back together. Perhaps we first need to understand why that image was broken. Perhaps we need to dare to acknowledge that some of those fragments are better not reassembled, because they were part of an imperfect image of God. And perhaps we ourselves can help todevelop a fairer and richer image, not by constantly speaking, but precisely by listening. If someone ever longs for faith again, I hope we will be there to help. But even if that person does not embark on that path again, our mission remains the same. Loving is not a strategy to win someone back. It is a principle that does not lose its value when the other person makes a different choice.

I think again of the father from the parable of the prodigal son. He ran to meet his son when he returned, but nothing in the story suggests that he had loved him less during his absence. Perhaps that is the example we should follow. Keep the door open without forcing anyone to step through it. Keep your arms open without grabbing anyone. And above all, continue to believe in the value of every human being, even when his or her life path is very different from ours. Because when we truly believe thatevery person is a child of God, then we cannot possibly decide that someone's experiences become less valuable as soon as that person no longer believes in God.

Last night I went to the Sportpaleis with Lucas to laugh with a comedian who sometimes, with visible pleasure, goes beyond the boundaries of good taste. I came home with a thought about our heavenly Father, the plan of salvation, and the way we deal with people who lose their faith. I hadn't expected that beforehand. But perhaps that's exactly what I find so beautiful about life. That insights sometimes surface where you least expect them, even amidst the crude jokes of a comedy show.

And as for that other statement by Alex, that he doesn't believe he will ever see his father again, but hopes he is wrong: I not only hope he is wrong, I believe it with all my heart. I believe that death is not the end and that the bonds of love can reach beyond this mortal life. Perhaps that is ultimately what connects the performance and my reflections. Our earthly fathers don't have to be heroes to remain invaluable. Our heavenly Father is for meperfect, but our image of Him doesn't have to be. That image may grow, change, and sometimes even completely collapse. His love does not.

Perhaps God isn't falling from His pedestal at all. Perhaps only the pedestal we ourselves built under Him is falling away. And perhaps, when the dust settles, we'll discover that He was much closer all along than we thought.