We Talk About God Like We’ve Met His Manager

The older I get, the stranger it feels how confidently we talk about God. Not just about Him, but for Him, like we can perfectly explain His motives, emotions, and intentions at any given moment, on any given topic.

I’ve been that guy more times than I care to admit. I grew up around church culture long enough to know the tone. That clean, polished certainty we attach to things we can never fully know this side of heaven. As if mystery is a problem to solve rather than something to bow before.

Maybe that’s why the older I get, the more allergic I feel toward leaders who talk about God with absolute certainty. You know the type…the ones who love the sound of their own voice, the ones who act like they’ve mapped Him, mastered Him, and could probably tell you His enneagram number. I used to find that comforting, like someone else had done the hard work of interviewing Jesus so I didn’t have to. Now it just makes me uneasy.

A while back, I heard a clip from a Francis Chan sermon where he mentioned that after decades of marriage, he still barely understands his wife so why in the world would he assume he fully understands God? He talks about how arrogant that type of thinking is. It was funny, but also uncomfortably true. That little 20 second clip captured the kind of humility I’m trying (and failing) to embody. A humility that has a deep awareness that I’m dealing with Someone infinitely beyond me. These days that kind of awareness feels more faithful to me than pretending we’ve got Him figured out.

I wonder how much of this mindset can be traced back to those silly WWJD bracelets. You know which ones I’m talking about. Growing up (at least in youth group culture) they were everywhere. I mean, were you even saved if you weren’t wearing one? The idea was simple: before you act, pause and think, “What would Jesus do?”

It was a good instinct but also kind of funny in hindsight. Because the truth is, we rarely know what Jesus would do. Have you read the Gospels? Half the time even the guys who ate breakfast with Him every day didn’t understand Him. The problem wasn’t the bracelet. It was the assumption underneath. The belief that Jesus is easily predictable, and that His responses should slot neatly into the categories we’ve made up for Him.

Some of that belief comes from the quiet assumption that God’s job is to be clear and ours is to be certain. Like if we study hard enough, pray long enough, read enough commentaries, we’ll eventually arrive at a perfect understanding. But the devotional I read this week from Paul David Tripp said the exact opposite. And honestly, so does Scripture.

It talked about how the Holy Spirit illuminates things—how He helps us understand what God reveals—but how illumination is a process, not a moment. Not a switch you flip. Not a download you get. Yes, the Spirit gives clarity, but usually not all at once. And definitely not in a way that lets someone stand up front and say, “Here’s exactly how God works.”

Or how about in Isaiah, where God basically says we don’t understand just how different He is from us:

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord. “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.”

— Isaiah 55:8-9

That sounds less like mastery and more like reverence to me.

I think that’s the part some leaders miss. God reveals, but He also withholds. He clarifies, but He also conceals. He guides, but He doesn’t hand us the map. That tension is supposed to humble us, not inflate us.

I’ve spent years following leaders who spoke about God with a kind of swagger, as if everything He does or allows can be explained with a crisp theological sentence. I don’t trust that anymore. It feels too neat for a God who enters human suffering through a cross. These days, I find myself drawn to people who sound curious, not certain. People who’ve tasted mystery and walked away quieter. People who don’t pretend they’ve met God’s manager.

This isn’t to say God is unknowable. He’s not vague or distant or uninterested in revealing Himself. Scripture is clear: the Spirit helps us understand what God has freely given us. But understanding isn’t the same as mastery. And awe will take you farther than confidence ever will.

More and more, I’m finding comfort (and truth) in admitting what I don’t know. Because the mystery of God isn’t a gap in my faith, I’m learning to see it as a doorway into worship.

And if the question is what Jesus would do… well, most days, I still don’t have the slightest clue.

But I trust Him anyway.

And maybe that’s the point.