two possible answers: i have no fucking clue or incarnation and maybe both are true

Does God exist?
How do you know?
What difference does it make?

Well, the obvious and honest answer is I don’t have a fucking clue.

If I dare to assume that what might be pride and stubbornness might actually be faith and claim that God does exist, I have to at least cling to the honesty that I don’t know this because of arguments, definitive experiences, I don’t know this because Dr. Davis told me so. I don’t know this because Jesus told me so. I know this because of relationship.

I have seen holiness in others that cannot be anything more or less that the face of God inhabiting the face of the other in a gleaming way like in the tabernacle of the Old Testament.

I have felt holiness saturate the once frigid, breathless separation and death stagnating the room between I and thou suddenly filled with a presence of glory that I know I did not bring to thou and doubt thou brought to me.

I have sat alone at 30,000 feet and felt thou address me though no visible thou lent a presence to me.

I know, if I know, that God exists because of incarnation.

What difference does this make?

One unexpectedly frigid October morning, the Indian summer, who I had fallen clingingly in-love with, fled Boston. Counting on at least another week of warmth before the white witch banished the aslant of summer and drenched my world in six months of winter, I awoke to a broken dream: snow falling gently with softness birthing a lethal blow to my false hope. When I glimpse the snow, I wished I hadn’t. I struggle to believe it had intruded on October. It was incomprehensible. However, once I glimpsed it, I knew it was there and could no longer avoid it.

My way of being in Boston changed. The sheet on my bed found a companion in a faux-down blanket. My scarves jumped out of their storage boxes and clung to my neck. Wool coats once seen as dorky and odd became the newest fashion in my eyes. Where I loved to wear skirts, I now found them repulsive.

As I said, my way of being and seeing was utterly transformed.

Once I have seen God’s face incarnating its uncontainable self in my world, that indescribable word, “incarnation” invades every corner of my life lifting a flag of transformation. I now live and see as though every corner, every face, every encounter, every institution, everything, is, to some degree, an incarnation and as though, even I am an incarnation and am somehow covenanted to the benevolent responsibility of incarnation.

So, other than “I don’t have a fucking clue,” i can supply a mustard seed "yes", and respond to the other two with this transcendent and immanent word, “incarnation.”