The Strange Logic of God
The Paradoxical Wisdom That Leads to Salvation
Some truths arrive dressed strangely. They appear in forms that confuse expectation and unsettle the tidy arrangements of human reasoning. Scripture often speaks this way. It presents statements that sound almost contradictory until one realizes that the contradiction lies not in the truth but in our assumptions. The first become last and the last first (Matthew 20:16). Whoever seeks to save his life loses it and whoever loses his life finds it (Matthew 16:25). The meek inherit the earth (Matthew 5:5). Strength is perfected in weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9). Even perception itself becomes inverted. “Seeing they do not see and hearing they do not hear” (Matthew 13:13; Isaiah 6:9,10). The Kingdom of God repeatedly appears to operate according to a logic that quietly overturns the instincts of ordinary reasoning.
A story once narrated to me captures this reversal with almost comic elegance. A neighbour of mine, a Luo gentleman who at the time was a budding ICT specialist in software engineering and systems administration, told me about a colleague of his who worked at the Kenya Ports Authority. This lady possessed a devotion to cleanliness that bordered on liturgy. When the office gathered for the midmorning tea or the late afternoon tea provided by the institution, she abstained. She brewed her own tea at home, sealed it in a flask, and drank only that. If anyone passed by her desk and brushed so much as a finger against anything on it, she immediately produced wet wipes and erased the contact. Even accidental brushes against her arm triggered a visible sequence. The tightening of facial muscles. The curling of lips. The swift extraction of wipes to cleanse the offence. Everything around her gleamed because she was always wiping something. Should anyone request a lift in her car, she lined the seat and floor mat with old newspapers. Once the passenger alighted, the newspapers followed them out as though escorting their dust back to its natural homeland.
Then one day, word circulated that she had been admitted to Pandya Memorial Hospital. Colleagues visited out of genuine concern and asked what had happened. According to my neighbour, several of them left the ward struggling heroically to suppress laughter when they learned that she had undergone surgery to remove an inflamed appendix which, they were told, was full of dirt. The irony was exquisite. Of all the people they knew, she was the one who had organized her entire existence as a defensive campaign against contamination. Her entire life had been arranged as a fortress against dirt. Yet the impurity she feared had taken residence precisely where her wipes could never reach.
Scripture recognizes this kind of irony. In one of its most curious warnings the sage observes, “Do not be overly righteous, neither be overly wise. Why destroy yourself?” (Ecclesiastes 7:16). The verse does not encourage moral laziness. It exposes the illusion that life can be perfected through anxious vigilance. The same book adds another observation with almost dry humour. “Whoever watches the wind will not plant and whoever looks at the clouds will not reap” (Ecclesiastes 11:4). Excessive carefulness often disguises itself as wisdom while quietly preventing life from being lived.
From the opening pages of Scripture to its closing vision, paradox runs like a hidden current beneath the narrative. Joseph is betrayed and sold into slavery, yet the slave becomes the instrument through whom the very family that rejected him is preserved (Genesis 50:20). Moses flees Egypt as a fugitive, yet the fugitive becomes the liberator of a nation (Exodus 3–4). David, the overlooked shepherd boy whom his father did not even summon to the family lineup, is chosen above his impressive brothers (1 Samuel 16:7). Gideon defeats an army not by increasing his numbers but by reducing them to an almost comical few (Judges 7). Scripture repeatedly allows human expectations to collapse so that another pattern may appear.
When Jesus enters the narrative the paradox intensifies. His behaviour often puzzled even those closest to him. Crowds gathered around him in excitement, yet we are told that he “did not commit himself to them because he knew all men” (John 2:24). When word reached him that Lazarus was dangerously ill, he did not hurry to the bedside. Instead he remained where he was until Lazarus had died (John 11:6,14,15). The delay appeared almost callous until resurrection revealed the intention behind it.
On another occasion a desperate woman pleaded for help on behalf of her afflicted daughter. Jesus answered with language that seemed startlingly severe. “It is not good to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs” (Matthew 15:26). Yet the exchange opened the door for one of the most remarkable declarations of faith in the Gospel narrative. What appeared harsh became the stage upon which humility and persistence were honoured.
Even after the resurrection his actions continued to bewilder. When Mary Magdalene recognized him near the tomb and reached toward him in overwhelming relief, he restrained her. “Do not cling to me” (John 20:17). On the road to Emmaus he walked beside two grieving disciples while concealing his identity. When they approached their destination he behaved as though he would continue walking further (Luke 24:28). Only their insistence persuaded him to stay, and only then were their eyes opened.
These moments appear puzzling until one begins to see a pattern. Jesus consistently refused to conform to the expectations people carried about him. He delayed when others expected urgency. He concealed when others expected disclosure. He challenged when others expected comfort. The Kingdom he revealed did not follow the script written by human instinct.
The teachings themselves reinforce the same reversal. “The last will be first and the first last” (Matthew 20:16). “Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the earth” (Matthew 5:5). “Whoever tries to keep his life will lose it and whoever loses his life will preserve it” (Luke 17:33). “Whoever exalts himself will be humbled and whoever humbles himself will be exalted” (Luke 14:11). The Kingdom described here does not merely adjust the hierarchy of the world. It overturns it.
Even perception itself becomes paradoxical. The prophets lament that people possess eyes yet fail to see and ears yet fail to hear (Jeremiah 5:21). Jesus echoes the same complaint when explaining why truth often slips past those who consider themselves enlightened (Matthew 13:13). The tragedy is not ignorance but the illusion of understanding.
The apostle Paul presses the paradox further still. God deliberately unsettles human pride by choosing instruments that appear unimpressive. “God has chosen the foolish things of the world to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to shame the strong” (1 Corinthians 1:27). The message at the centre of the Christian faith follows the same pattern. “The message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God” (1 Corinthians 1:18). What appears absurd to human wisdom becomes the very means through which divine wisdom is revealed. In that same spirit Scripture declares that God “destroys the wisdom of the wise and brings to nothing the understanding of the prudent” (1 Corinthians 1:19).
Yet this same Scripture, which so often confounds human wisdom, is also the instrument through which true wisdom is given. The apostle reminds Timothy that the sacred writings “are able to make you wise unto salvation through faith which is in Christ Jesus” (2 Timothy 3:15). What appears perplexing to the proud becomes illumination to the humble.
The paradox deepens further when Jesus warns that religious activity itself may conceal a tragic misunderstanding. “Many will say to me in that day, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in your name, cast out demons in your name, and done many wonders in your name? And then I will declare to them, I never knew you” (Matthew 7:22,23). The unsettling implication is that even impressive displays of spiritual activity may still miss the heart of the Kingdom.
Perhaps that is why the path itself is described in such sobering terms. “Narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it” (Matthew 7:14). The way of the Kingdom cannot be discovered by instinct alone. It must be received with humility.
And so Scripture concludes its counsel about the Son with language that is both simple and arresting. “Kiss the Son, lest he be angry, and you perish in the way… Blessed are all those who put their trust in him” (Psalm 2:12). It is the language of homage, surrender, and reverence. And standing beside it is another saying of Jesus that quietly sums up the matter for every generation. “Blessed is he who is not offended because of me” (Matthew 11:6).
The Kingdom of God will always appear strange to those who expect it to follow the tidy lines of human reasoning. Its King often arrives in forms that unsettle expectation. Its wisdom often appears foolish. Its power often appears weak. Its victories often look like losses before they are understood.
But those who refuse to stumble over the strange ways of the Son discover that what first appeared confusing was in fact the deeper wisdom of God.