God With Soft Skills: Seeing the Divine Beyond the Supernatural

After a recent sermon, someone approached me with a thoughtful question. They were curious about how I interpret scripture, noting that while I seem to draw deep meaning from the text, it sometimes feels like I downplay the supernatural. That stuck with me. Because while I want to push back on some of that interpretation, there are parts I want to embrace, too.

See, I’m not trying to demythologize the Bible. That’s not the goal. The supernatural—the miraculous, the unexplainable—is central to our faith. We believe that God entered into human history, died, and rose again. That is, by definition, supernatural. It's a claim that goes beyond what we can quantify or contain. We should never downplay that. But acknowledging the supernatural doesn't mean we have to ignore the lens through which we now view the world.

Reading Scripture as a Modern Person

I'm a product of my time and place. I understand things about science and psychology that shape how I see the world, and naturally, how I read the scriptures. My goal is not to think like a first-century person. They spoke different languages—Greek, Hebrew, Aramaic. They had different cosmologies. What I want is to encounter what they encountered. To meet the same Jesus they met.

That means I might describe that experience differently. My language is different. My understanding of the universe is different. But the point isn't to recreate their framework; it's to find the same divine presence within mine. Their words are a gateway to that encounter, not a limit to it.

Where I Find the Divine

In the sermon that sparked this conversation, I wasn’t trying to explain away a miracle. I was reflecting on Jesus meeting someone. Because, for me, God isn't something I find only in the miraculous. I look for God in love. In the perfectly loving. That, to me, is where the divine becomes most clear.

When I see acts of love that transcend what I can fully understand or replicate—that feels supernatural. That’s the kind of divinity that moves me. That’s what I want to encounter in Jesus. Not just signs and wonders, but deep, relational, loving attentiveness.

A Closer Look at a Healing

Take John 5:6. Jesus sees a man who’s been sick a long time and asks, “Do you want to be made well?” In the NIV, it reads that Jesus "learned" about the man’s condition. The Greek word there is ginosko, meaning to know or come to know.

Many translations say something like, “Jesus, knowing he had been in this condition…” That implies supernatural knowledge. And sure, we see that elsewhere in the Gospels. But a more straightforward reading of the Greek, especially in its participle form, would be: “Jesus, upon learning this man had been in this condition…”

It’s subtle, but to me, it matters. It shifts the picture. Not a Jesus with automatic knowledge about a stranger, but a Jesus who engages, who learns by listening, who pays attention.

Divine Attention

This isn’t just a moment for a miracle. It’s a moment of divine attentiveness. Jesus stops. He talks. He listens. He sees. And honestly, I think that kind of presence—slowing down, noticing, engaging deeply—that sounds more divine to me than simply knowing everything ahead of time.

It also reframes how we think about prayer. Why speak to God if God already knows? Maybe because God wants to listen. Maybe listening itself is divine. Self-disclosure, presence, attentiveness—these might be more than just human virtues. They might be the very heartbeat of the divine.

What I'm Still Learning

This idea challenges me. Because I spend so much time preparing my words—writing sermons, shaping language, honing communication. And sometimes, that creates unrealistic expectations. I expect others to speak with the clarity I strive for in a sermon. But that’s not fair.

Especially as a parent, as a pastor, as a human being, I need to listen better. Not just for information, but for everything that’s being offered in a moment. That takes work. For some of us, it takes real effort.

But when I look at Jesus, I see someone who does that effortlessly. Who pays attention. Who listens deeply. Who models the kind of relational presence I aspire to.

This is God with soft skills. And it might be the most miraculous thing of all.