Quotes About God

It is idle to ask those who never listen whether and how God answers prayer. Caroline Stephen, 1891

I wonder sometimes what the memory of God looks like. Is it a palace of infinite rooms, a chest of many jeweled objects, a long, lonely landscape where each tree recalls an eon, each pebble the life of a man? Where do I live, in the memory of God?

God is a random event, a nexus of pain and pleasure and making and breaking.

Of course, Storm-Lord! But why would a god marry a poor farm girl?" asked one of the bound novices, his voice thin and chirping as an insect. "All things must eventually mate," I shrugged, "having been cast into a man's flesh I must do as flesh does. And it hardly matters whether one mates with a woman or a rock or a river - the end result is the same. Once all the world wed stones and trees - but this is a degenerate age, and no one keeps to tradition.

This is where Jean's stubbornness and, perhaps, God's stubborn grace came into play. "My definition of grace would be multifaceted, but part of it would certainly be God's passion for brokenness. He does, he really does love brokenness," Jean told me. "Grace doesn't obsess with ourselves. It obsesses with people and with brokenness. This is a hard place to live, but God is bigger than hard places to live.

My nun, which is how I think of her, was the most profound witness for God's love I've ever encountered in this world. She was a magnet for lost souls, a petite fortress of strength and unconditional love. What this sprightly, silly, lovely woman did from the obscurity of a faded convent in Rust Belt Chicago was to fulfill in a passionate, tireless way the supreme commandment of Jesus' gospel every day of her life.

You've made a god of your fear and jealousy, Sister. For what is a god but what we go to again and again?

The Church has only one altar, the altar of the Almighty . . . before which all creatures must kneel. . . . He who seeks anything other than this must keep away; he cannot join us in the house of God. . . . The Church has only one pulpit, and from that pulpit faith in God will be preached, and no other faith, and no other will than the will of God, however well-intentioned.

Joy is the gift of God, and you are His child. He loves you so. He rejoices over you with singing!

No longer was it a hundred crickets screeching, but a choir, a hundred crickets singing a chorus of praise, just like the Scripture that she and Mis Lill had written in their letters for years. "The Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty; He will save, He will rejoice over thee with joy; He will rest in His love, He will joy over thee with singing.

I hate and love. you ask, "how can this be?" god knows what wretchedness what loathsome misery

This morning, light lapped the water as if God had spilt a goblet of molten gold upon a ground of darkest velvet.

Why, I wondered, did we, all of us, both the rector in his pulpit and simple Lottie in her croft, seek to put the Plague in unseen hands? Why should this thing be either a test of faith sent by God, or the evil working of the Devil in the world? One of these beliefs we embraced, the other we scorned as superstition. But perhaps each was false, equally. Perhaps the Plague was neither of God nor the Devil, but simply a thing in Nature, as the stone on which we stub a toe.

What he says may be true for English, but why should I want to go into this God's house if only English are there? If God wanted us in this house than he would have sent our ancestors such a book.

Perhaps it was pride, merely, to seek these souls that God had chosen to abandon. Perhaps it was in itself a sin….

It came to me then that God must desire us to use each of our senses, to take delight in the varied tastes and sights and textures of his world. Yet this seemed to go against so many of our preachments against the sumptuary and the carnal.

I started with Arabic, the language of the Koran. Only one in five Muslims is an Arab; yet Arabic is the language in which the world's more than one billion Muslims—a fifth of the world's population—talk to God.

If all who have the means run each time this disease appears, then the seeds of the Plague will go with them and be sown far and wide throughout the land until the clean places are infected and the contagion is magnified a thousandfold. If God saw fit to send this scourge, I believe it would be His will that one face it where one was, with courage, and thus contain its evil.

All at once, the voices began: some in slurred murmurs, some crying out loudly upon the Lord, others weeping and beating their breasts. At that time, you see, we all of us believed that God listened to such prayers.

Be adored among men, God, three-numberéd form; Wring thy rebel, dogged in den, Man's malice, with wrecking and storm. Beyond saying sweet, past telling of tongue, Thou art lightning and love, I found it, a winter and warm; Father and fondler of heart thou hast wrung: Hast thy dark descending and most art merciful then.

He lived on; these weeds and waters, these walls are what He haunted who of all men most sways my spirits to peace;

Thou mastering me God! giver of breath and bread; World's strand, sway of the sea; Lord of living and dead; Thou hast bound bones and veins in me, fastened me flesh, And after it almost unmade, what with dread, Thy doing: and dost thou touch me afresh? Over again I feel thy finger and find thee.

Er is niets tegen geoudehoer, zolang er maar Gods zegen op rust, dat is wat ik altijd zeg.

Als ik me de wedergeboorte Gods voorstel, dan zie ik die niet in de mens. Het zou in een lam kunnen zijn, maar ik vind een ezel liever.