One of the recurring irritations of my life has been one of my brothers. This brother, from an early age, made it his constant purpose to try to get me to go outside and do stuff.

My idea of a good time is to stay in the house with a book. A house to be inside of, a good book, and chocolate are about all I need for perfect contentedness.

This was, naturally, highly frustrating for my brother, who loved the outdoors and wanted somebody to play with, but was stuck with me for a sibling. As a playmate I left much to be desired. Experience had taught me that if I yielded to his importunities, the result would be 1) some game in which he’d beat me, and then, 2) a fight in which he would beat me again. This was a programme whose charm wore off at a pretty early stage.

For my brother, of course, as a normal human being, going outside and playing was a good thing in itself. My refusal to help him out with that was a major frustration in his young life.

So he’d wheedle. He’d nag. He’d poke and pull. He’d argue until it was clear to me that it would be less trouble to just Get With the Programme (see above) than to resist.

My point in relating this information is that, in many ways, God is like my brother.

One thing that I see in Scripture is that God’s intention for His children is that they should live fully, generously, and joyfully—what Jesus called “life abundant.” The rules aren’t the center of the thing, though they get the bulk of the attention. Joy has been a mark of true believers throughout history, and has especially characterized believers during times of spiritual renewal.

But lots of believers are like me. We’ve gotten beaten up too much. We don’t approach life with the enthusiasm of a child dashing outside to play, but with the caution and fear of an incipient Avoidant hiding behind his book.

Our reasoning is impeccable. “Look at history. Look at all the suffering God has permitted. Look at the massacres and enslavements perpetrated by the Romans, the excesses of the Crusades, the witch trials and pogroms, the Reign of Terror, the Armenian Massacre, the gas chambers of Hitler, the Ukrainian Famine of Stalin, the Killing Fields of Cambodia. And besides those epic tragedies, the multitudes of small, individual and family tragedies—children who never grew up, people who were born and died as slaves and never saw a day of hope, starvation victims and the ‘collateral damage’ of wars.”

If we could extract and bottle the human misery found in one city block in any suburb you could name, the resulting elixir would kill you with a single sniff.

The rational response would seem to be massive caution. Bar the windows. Batten down the hatches. Lay in a supply of peanut butter, crackers and lots of books, and just stay inside. Preferably alone.

And that’s precisely what God forbids.

He says, “Come out and play with Me!”

A major element of faith is simply believing—admittedly against the weight of evidence—that all this pain and suffering and horror is not the bottom line of the universe. Looked at from one perspective, that’s what Lent and Easter are all about.

I’m not a Universalist, as I’ve made clear again and again on this site. I loathe Universalism, which is a heresy and the mother of heresies.

But I’m convinced there is some sense—some way I can’t comprehend, and about which we’ve been given no information—in which everything will be made right in the end. Injustices will be remedied. Lost things will be restored. “God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”

I see it when I look at the Cross. I can’t express it, because I don’t know its name. But I believe it. And that belief needs to be acted on.

By going outside and playing.