It’s time for the cosmic loofah to slough off some more rough spots. Shed another skin, get lost, depart from the dark proud calculus of “meaning” with its if-then statements and chains of cause and effect, all of which Jesus resisted and now calls me to resist as well.

More and more, I find it is my duty to resist the temptation to apply cosmic meaning to the events of my life and my world. The rain falls and the sun shines on the righteous and the unrighteous alike. The laborer who works an hour gets the same wage as one who works all day. A man was not born blind because of his parents’ sin but in order to reveal the glory of God.

To succeed, I must untangle an old teaching that has been with me all my life: Every good thing that happens, I must attribute to the grace or blessing of God, and every bad thing that happens, I must assign to the effects of sin or to God’s ultimate plan, which will be revealed in due time. The purpose of this thought-habit is to shore up my faith by searching daily life for signs of God’s special care for me, and to prevent me from falling prey to destructive doubts when encountering difficult events.

Thus I hear, and sometimes tell, stories of near-misses (if I had gone my normal way to work instead of stopping at the bank first, I would have been in the nine-car pile-up) or lucky breaks (I almost bought the expensive washer at Sears, but then my sister called and told me the exact one was at a garage sale across the street) as evidence of God’s protection or blessing.

But what of the rest of the rabble? I wonder what our tales of being blessed or spared communicate about God and his people. If I escape a pile-up and attribute it to God’s protection, what am I saying about the nine people who didn’t? Did God not care enough to protect them, too? Was his attention deficient in some way? Perhaps He did care, but they were somehow unqualified to receive his care. Perhaps they disregarded the voice of God telling them to turn right back at the light or sinned by driving too fast or perhaps their purposes in God’s plan were less important than mine. Is that it? And why is it that God intervened to cut the price on my washing machine so I can afford an overnight trip to the coast, when he left an equally devout family of 10 to let their car get repossessed? Does that family has more of a lesson to learn than mine does? Or is my family’s washing machine more necessary to God’s plan than their car is to theirs? Or maybe God just loves my family more than that other family? It’s problematic.

These signs we attribute to God’s favor are only possible because the good stuff is not distributed equally: Lifespan, health, wealth, freedom, joy, faith, love, family, peace, fulfillment, freedom from pain, influence. Not only is it unequal, it is not distributed according to any obvious plan or system, and no amount of praying, hoping, or doing through the centuries has changed that basic fact of maldistribution. This discrepancy left me, like the Teacher of Ecclesiastes, in frustration and despair for some time, because it does not match up with a God who declares himself to be just, powerful, kind and loving, a giver of good gifts, an attentive father.

I’ve been moving away from that mindset of cosmic moral code for some time now but I want to experience the full humility of knowing the truth: in any act or event, I do not know God’s particular intentions towards me or anyone else. Though God is good, I cannot know all the consequences of that goodness in the world. Except in rare circumstances, none of us sees fully why things do or don’t happen, whether good or bad. The plan, except in barest outlines, is hidden. To claim special favor or complain of unfairness is to presume on God.

Does tossing the tally sheets and letting go of the whys and wherefores make me an agnostic? Am I a miserable ingrate who will not give God credit where credit is due? Am I foolishly trying to divorce my faith from experience and history? Will I look down and notice that I’ve run over the ledge and out into thin air? Well, some folks might think so. Nevertheless I believe that thankfulness, hope, trust, and a meaningful life may have even more room to bloom on this clean(ish) slate. More on that later.