Arguing With The Potter
The Season God Didn’t Explain
Isaiah 45:9–12, NLT
9 “What sorrow awaits those who argue with their Creator.
Does a clay pot argue with its maker?
Does the clay dispute with the one who shapes it, saying,
‘Stop, you’re doing it wrong!’
Does the pot exclaim,
‘How clumsy can you be?’
10 How terrible it would be if a newborn baby said to its father,
‘Why was I born?’
or if it said to its mother,
‘Why did you make me this way?’ ”
11 This is what the Lord says—
the Holy One of Israel and your Creator:
“Do you question what I do for my children?
Do you give me orders about the work of my hands?
12 I am the one who made the earth
and created people to live on it.
With my hands I stretched out the heavens.
All the stars are at my command.
Israel is stunned that God would use a pagan king to restore the nation. It shatters every theological and historical expectation they’ve held. The idea that someone outside the line of David would play a major role in their return from exile and the renewal of God’s people is unthinkable for a nation suffering the consequences of idolatry. Their instincts insist that restoration must come another way.
But God’s methods seem categorically opposite to their expectations and He chooses those very methods to display His glory.
It’s almost comical: every time the human heart believes it has finally mapped out God’s pattern, He moves in a way that reminds us we never really knew His modus operandi at all.
I feel that right now. After pastoring for the last 16 years and being forced/asked to embrace a new normal, I can say that none of my current normal matches what I imagined God’s renewal or restoration would look like. This normal is rather quiet, invisible, unimpressive, slightly mundane, gritty, and non glamorous. This normal comes with no cheers, claps, amens, or recognition. And while my current ministry context looks much different, there is one thing that is certain. His hand is in it all. In fact this moment in time feels more formative than any other.
And yet despite the awareness of the Potter and His formative presence in my life, I am often a very
talkative, very argumentative kind of clay. The kind that won’t stop questioning, mumbling, calculating, critiquing the Potter:
How long is this going to take?
How many times will you chip away at me?
Does the oven really need to be that hot?
I look good now, can we wrap up?
Why are you smashing me? Why the waiting? Why the pressure?
Am I ready yet? Why aren’t you showing me off?
How are you planning to use me?
You’re doing it wrong.
How swollen with pride the heart can be to believe I could instruct God on how to accomplish His will. “His ways are not our ways” was a cliché I grew up hearing, but in this season it has stopped being cliché and become painfully, beautifully true. At every turn where I thought I knew how God would move, I found myself shocked, even unsettled, by how He was actually choosing to work.
His ways are not my ways.
Which means the moment I attach God to my carefully crafted plan, I’m already setting myself up for disappointment. Call it prophetic imagination or dreaming with God, but the truth is I’m often guilty of walking into situations with a script only to discover He never agreed to follow it.
My ways serve self.
My ways avoid pain and discomfort.
My ways cling to control.
My ways refuse embarrassment or error.
My ways skip the hard work.
My ways rarely consider the poor, the city, the region, the nations.
My ways prefer clean lines, predictable outcomes, comfort, ease, speed, efficiency, and a version of me that looks strong and impressive.
You can see where this is going.
His ways are not my ways.
So of course I shout from the Potter’s wheel, “You’re doing it wrong!” But that complaint isn’t just a critique of His method, it’s a critique of His heart. His ways flow out of who He is. How He operates in my world is shaped by how He feels toward me.
And how does God feel toward me?
Love. Perfect. Infinite. Unconditional love.
He loves me with a love that is unfair and unflawed. A love that does not settle for good but presses toward best.
His ways are calibrated by perfect love.
Every press of the clay, every moment in the heat, every turn of the wheel is fueled by a love that cannot fail. If you asked me to name the operating system driving God’s handling of my life, it would be… IOS: Love. Cheesy, yes. But it’s the closest I can get to describing what energizes every movement of His hands.
So the question is no longer, Is He doing it wrong?
The real question is, Have I seen Him wrong?
Is He as careless as I’ve accused Him of being, or have I misread His heart entirely?
Lord, forgive me.
Forgive me for misjudging You, for wrongly appraising Your heart toward me. Your ways are not my ways. You can do no wrong. You are perfect in all Your ways. Though my frailty wrestles with what I’m experiencing, I declare boldly: You do no wrong. Your hand is lovingly forming me into what is best for me.
So instead of arguing, I agree.
Instead of questioning, I submit with joy.
I become clay that grows silent, not because I don’t feel, but because I trust the Potter who shapes me.