It’s easy for us to become accustomed to even the most amazing things as they become familiar to us. For example, when my brother and I first switched to using an HDMI cord for our Xbox 360 we were amazed. I mean we were just stunned at the beauty of the new HD picture. The same thing happened when we replaced our Xbox 360 with the Xbox One. The picture was just phenomenally better. It really made playing video games so much more exciting. Similarly, I never have a higher appreciation for the beauty of the world around us than when I get a new prescription for my glasses. A stop sign all of the sudden becomes like the Grand Canyon to me because it just looks so crisp and clear compared to how I had been seeing things before. But, as with the higher quality video games, the wonder wears off. I lose that initial appreciation because it becomes familiar. The quality of the picture doesn’t change. Instead, it is just my familiarity with the higher quality that just creates a feeling of “meh” where there was once such excitement. Simply stated, familiarity breeds boredom.
“Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.” – G.K. Chesterton
The same thing can happen with our feelings toward God. Especially growing up as a church kid, it is sometimes hard to really understand the depth of God’s majesty and power. It’s just so familiar to me. A while back I was talking to a friend of mine who had no understanding of God or Christ or the Bible at all. He knew nothing about Christianity. Having been given a Bible, he felt prompted to start reading in the gospel of John. A few days later, he came to me somewhat stunned saying, “This stuff is crazy. Jesus was just going around telling lame guys to walk and they did it.” My initial thought was, “Yeah, of course, He’s Jesus. That’s what He does. Heals the lame, gives sight to the blind, walks on water, raises from the dead, etc etc. Just another normal day for Jesus.” But as I began thinking about it more, I realized that he had the right attitude – this feeling of excitement and awe at what Jesus had done. Often times we lose the significance of just what is happening. Jesus gave a blind man sight! He walked on water! These things are hugely significant and frankly just amazing. We’ve grown so accustomed to them that I think many of us have lost that first awe. Just imagine watching Christ walk on the water. What a sight that would be. Imagine him feeding the 5000 or turning the water into wine. The things Christ does are such fantastic displays of His power, yet often times I find myself reading over it somewhat quickly: “oh yeah Jesus healed the leper I remember that story. I’ll just skim this one and try to find a much more ‘theological’ passage that will make me think.” By doing this, I’ve only stripped myself of joy. In such a busy world, we have lost the Christian art of meditation. These great stories are so much more powerful than we give them credit for, and if we would only meditate on them, we could see that. Let us not lose our first love and wonder at the power of our God (Rev. 2:4).
It is not hasty reading, but seriously meditating upon holy and heavenly truths that makes them prove sweet and profitable to the soul. It is not the bee’s touching on the flowers that gathers the honey, but her abiding for a time upon them, and drawing out the sweet. It is not he that reads most, but he that meditates most on divine truth, that will prove the choicest, wisest, strongest Christian. – Joseph Hall
In Exodus 14, as the Israelites are fleeing from the Egyptian armies, Moses tells them this: “Fear not, stand firm, and see the salvation of the Lord, which he will work for you today. For the Egyptians whom you see today, you shall never see again. The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be silent” (v. 13-14). Shortly after, God marvelously parts the red sea so that His people could cross. Even before that, God had brought mighty plague after mighty plague against the oppressive Egyptian rule in order to free His people. Frogs and gnats and darkness and dead livestock and even the death of the firstborn all came down upon Egypt as God fought for His people. This isn’t just a theme throughout Exodus. God always fights for His people. When Joshua marches his army around the walls of Jericho, God brings them crashing down. God stripped Gideon’s army down to a mere 300 men, yet lead them to a victory over a whole army of Midianites. When the Philistines were at war with Israel and they had stolen the ark, God brought plagues upon every city that held the ark until it was returned to His people. Years later, Christ conquered the ultimate enemy, sin and death, through His own death on the cross. Following those events, the early church went out into the world to preach Christ’s gospel only to be reviled and persecuted by the world around them. Still God fought for His people, as He used this persecution to expand His church beyond anyone’s expectation. Even in the end, Christ will return triumphantly, declaring victory for His people. Our Savior will not return as a meek and mild baby in a manger, but as a King in blazing glory and power. We serve an awesome God, full of power and majesty! We have a God who fights for His people. He fights for us. And if we would only take a second to meditate on the magnitude of these great stories, we might taste just a glimpse of these truths that have slipped away into all our familiarity.