OPINION - God's ways are not our ways

I am an older man now, but I used to work as a potter. I spent countless hours shaping clay, envisioning forms, and hoping each piece will turn out just as I imagined. But, as any potter knows, we’re never truly in control. Once the work is placed in the kiln, it’s out of our hands and into God’s. There is an uncertainty in creation, and it reflects the larger uncertainties we face in life. We plan, hope, and strive for success, yet often, things turn out differently. It can be disappointing when life refuses to follow the path we had envisioned. But I’m reminded of the words of God in Isaiah that say “My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways”. These bring comfort in accepting that God’s plan, though often mysterious, is ultimately at work.

In pottery, not every creation is perfect or even marketable; some pieces don’t meet the hopes we had for them. Perhaps I couldn’t make it at the right cost, or the timing was wrong. I know that many other craftspeople and artists experience this too. We pour our hearts into a work, only to find it may not have the value or appeal we anticipated. It can be very disheartening. Yet, as with the barren fig tree in Jesus’ parable (Luke 13:6-9), there is value in patience and perseverance. Sometimes, all we can do is wait, nurture, and trust in God’s timing.

There have been moments when it’s felt like life is a competition – that success is measured in wealth, recognition, or achieving what others seem to reach effortlessly. But I know deep down that true value doesn’t lie in comparison. The craftsman’s quiet, unseen labour is a reminder that worth isn’t defined by immediate results but by the commitment to keep creating and trusting in the process.

This trust extends beyond our daily lives and work. History reminds us of how fragile life is – from plagues like the ones in Exodus, to the losses of Spanish flu, and then COVID-19. Each crisis shapes human history and humbles us. Similarly, in times of war, entire generations are swept into battles, leaving families forever altered. These moments can make life seem reduced to numbers and statistics, but it helps to remember that to God, each life is invaluable. As the Psalmist writes, “You perceive my thoughts from afar…before a word is on my tongue, you, Lord, know it completely” (Psalm 139:2-4).

In nature’s unpredictability, I’ve noticed a similar reminder of God’s control. I think of the terrified disciples on the Sea of Galilee, crying out as waves crashed over their boat, “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?” (Mark 4:38). Jesus, responding to their plea, calmed the wind and waves, showing them – and us – that even in life’s most tumultuous moments, God remains with us. As a potter, I understand this intimately; each piece I place in the kiln could emerge cracked or perfect, depending on factors beyond my control.

We often measure success by what we accomplish within our lifetime, and as I’ve grown older, I’ve found myself grieving over the things left undone. Injury cut short the musical career of Pablo Casals, Schubert’s eighth symphony remains unfinished, and Stanley Spencer’s vision for a massive painting of Christ at Cookham Regatta was left incomplete by his death. But each of these artists gave what they could with the time and abilities they were given, just as we are called to do.

Sir Edwin Landseer painted the masterpiece ‘What Man Proposes, God Disposes’, inspired by the lost Franklin Expedition to the North Pole. This painting reminds me that while we make our plans, the final word rests with God. In every clay pot I placed in the kiln, in every dream we pursue, there is a surrender – to the kiln, to time, and to God’s hands. We must say ‘Amen’ or ‘so be it’, accepting that our life’s work has come to a conclusion.