You know, it's funny. I was thinking a few hours ago about how much I missed having a good, awesome (in the original sense) storm. I wished it would rain. And, lo and behold, when I walked out of my apartment this morning, it was the raining. But it was entirely the wrong type of rain.

I wanted to watch God try to drown out his creation again. I wanted to see God's fury and shame and sorrow split the sky into fragments, wanted to see the agony of a creator assault the creations. I wanted to see God's hate, to be reminded that we are formed in his image. I was disappointed.

Instead, I got God's apathy. I felt God's vague sorrow drip on me, an unconvincing nag that coloured my day gray. I wanted technicolor, but got monochrome. I wanted passion, but got indifference. The same indifference that has been poisoning the inhabitants for so long.

There is no God here. He has left us for the country, for places where venting his fury yields satisfaction, where he can observe with grim delight as trees sway and branches shatter. We've learned to control his fury in our cities, and--like any caged beasts--he avoids our cities now.

I want to see God wash the world away, not moisten it half-heartedly.