If these walls could speak

If these walls could speak
They'd whisper sweet apologies
With regret in their stone-cold eyes
For the limitless heights to which they soar
Come with a terrible price
Crush and melt a man's very own soul

If these walls could speak
They'd sing a solemn dirge
For the weary backs upon which they were built
Chains and anger clanking in the bitter winter wind
Brick and mortar held together
By the stale, sickly sweetness of blood and sweat.

If these walls could speak
They'd send me their stealthy, sotto voce tones
Warning of shadows pacing the watchtower
Bastard enforcers of fate, of fear and self-loathing
Their rifles aimed at pulsing, throbbing, messy hearts
With an executioner's glare

If these walls could speak
They'd resound with all the insanity
And the howls, the riots, the unspeakable acts
Behind translucent sheets, under tables and behind closed doors
Upon the maimed, the marred, the unforgiven

If these walls could speak
They'd pray down that invisible hand
To carve their sorrow and shame
Upon my flesh and bone
With their haunting tales of angels and demons
And beautiful, fallen ones
Wrestling, warring for human hearts.

If these walls could speak

I'd silence them all.

If only Grace would pour her light down upon me
To melt the steel, the limestone, and the razor wire
Dissolving the patterns, the lies and the illusions constructed
by my imagination.

If these walls could speak, why,

They wouldn't speak at all.

Tension, Dialectics of Thinking and Philip Yancey

Tension. Lately, my heart has been overwhelmed with the intricacies of human thought, motivation and behavior. People perceive situations and process information and experiences so differently, it's a wonder the world hasn't yet exploded (or imploded) from the chaos and pain this tension creates.

I discovered the dialectics of thinking my freshman year of college. In an oversimplified explanation, this is the general concept: For every idea (thesis) there is an opposite idea (antithesis). A reconciliation of these two ideas in a paradox creates a new idea (synthesis). For all of the dialectical theory's flaws when applied to economics, political systems, philosophy and everything else, I do see this kind of thinking played out in the mechanics of faith, introspection and relationship.

Over coffee with a friend the other evening, she drew attention to one of my quirks: I tend to explore ideas from every facet, embracing the extremes and truly contemplating them, trying to reconcile the validity of two opposing arguments. This makes me come across as remarkably inconsistent and indecisive, as I am always adapting when new thoughts or opinions are introduced.

Open-mindedness to a fault.

I've been wrestling with this aspect of myself more and more recently, trying to understand and expose both the pitfalls and glory of such a mindset.

I am a firm believer that for every Truth or Value, there is not one but TWO opposites. That every value is the mean of two opposites. This tension plays out beautifully in the story of the gospel. Faith and works. Grace and freedom. Jesus, both God and Man. God, Three yet One. Kingdom, both here and not yet.

It plays out in relationships: logic and emotion. alone time and community. Vulnerability and boundaries.

We are constantly living in a state of tension, trying to reconcile opposite ends of the same paradox.

I tested nearly 100% N on the Myers-Briggs test. Meaning, in my own thoughts and in my relationships with people, I'm usually [constantly] unraveling meaning and dissecting motives and searching for underlying patterns in everything. It can be exhausting. And it can get me into trouble, especially if I began to perceive things that are not really there. I think I've toned down in this a lot in the past couple of years and have been able to just let go and live in the moment and not be so concerned with unraveling other people's motives or reading into people's reactions. Other people--friends past and present--have graciously [but brutally] shown me that the reality I perceive may not be the same as the reality they perceive. Or more importantly, reality as it is. It's been hard, it's been challenging, but extremely necessary.

But the extremity of this tendency of mine does resurface.

And I'm realizing more and more: we're all approaching True Reality from opposing perspectives and trying to meet each other on some common ground.

I'm in the middle of reading "What's So Amazing About Grace?" by Philip Yancey. I'm moving through the pages slowly than I typically do, trying to savor the words and wrap my mind around the truth. As much as I have thought about [and experienced] grace over the years, I do not believe I have contemplated it to this intense degree. It's really kind of earth-shattering to me, how the patterns of grace are so contrary to the patterns of ungrace that are ingrained in the DNA of the world. Yancey talks about the "atrocious mathematics of grace," explaining this as someone giving up something that costs them everything to someone who deserves absolutely nothing. And how unnaturally far and removed that seems to be from our own day-to-day experience in the economics of being human. I've understood that idea theoretically, maybe even theologically, but translating the atrocious mathematics of grace into every day relationships and attitude is a bit staggering to me.

I'm still processing. The implications are overwhelming.

So far, 2009 has been this crash course in communication and perception, revisiting and reworking the validity of intuition. 2008 was a wonderful year in which this tendency of mine learned rest and restraint.

It'll be interesting to see where this leads in the upcoming year...

asking "why"?

At small group, we’ve been going through (alongside the Book of Job) a book entitled “Disappointment With God” by Philip Yancey, author of “What’s So Amazing About Grace?” and “The Jesus I Never Knew.” The book deals with three main questions: “Is God unfair?” “Is God hidden?” and “Is God silent?”

While we were discussing the chapters last night, I found myself verbally processing out loud and said something that confused everyone, including myself:/ So eventually one of our leaders suggested I email everyone to explain it. While thinking this through, I wrote out this email, which I’ve decided to post here (most of it anyway) for your viewing pleasure—or viewing frustration.:

Basically, what I was trying to say is that at its core, the human tendency to question the actions of God and ask "why?" ultimately boils down to a questioning of His motives and of His nature. Is God motivated by love or are His actions (or inactions) proof of His un-love? Or put it another way: Is God truly all-powerful AND all-loving?

We may ask "why?" to tempt God into explaining in such a manner "Well, if such-and-such didn't happen in your life than this-or-that wouldn't have happened, allowing you to become this or do that."

Just think back on your own life. If you hadn't attended college here or moved to this state, then you would never have met so-and-so or had the opportunity to do whatever and--"oh thanks God, now I get it!" We all long for that epiphany, that moment of clarity and revelation. That was the million possible varieties of answers that I was referring to. The concrete, historical, logical reasons which allow us to connect the dots to explain our circumstances... The answer to "why" is the answer that we think we need to understand everything.

In the instance of Job, let's say God really did explain Himself to Job--thereby explaining Himself to us. He said, "Well, you see, Job you were the center of this debate between Satan and Myself, and I decided to go all in, banking on your ever-faithful response." Even with this answer--the Job could still question God beyond this and say "Well, why?" There can only be one of two answers to this final "why": love or un-love. There really can't be any middle ground here.

And the answer--as the cross testifies--is still unmistakably love. Love because God endorses free will, love because He grants us this "dignity of causation," love because redemption is the heart of God's design for humanity.

This is why I love how Philip Yancey proposes that the question "why?" becomes transformed into "what end?" The question we ask really should not be "why?" because at this point, the millions of questions funnel down to an infinitely simpler question "what end?" The end, as Yancey says, is redemption and Re-creation.

Playing the devil's advocate here (pun intended), let's just posit the opposite motive of God in answering His question. Imagine Him responding this time: "Well, you see, Job you were the center of this debate between Satan and Myself, and I decided to go all in, banking on your ever-faithful response." Again, Job responds, "Why?" God answers simply: "Un-love." We can then imagine this unloving God to say all sorts of things to explain His answer: "Because I'm an all-powerful sadistic God that has no concern for your welfare or soul" or "I have bigger things to worry about" or "Because I could and I felt like it."

Imagine if God admitted to that. To un-love. The debate on the problem of pain ends there. We can now effectively blame all suffering on the inaction of an all-powerful but indifferent God. And of course, like a tyrannical dictator, that kind of God is not worth following.

This is why I believe what Philip calls the theological kryptonite, the question of the problem of pain. To reiterate, the problem of pain is the question of the existence of a God that is both all-powerful and all-loving. The common argument is that "If God has the power to stop bad things from happening, but He chooses not to, then He might be all-powerful, but He's not all-loving. On the other hand, if God does attempt to stop bad things from happening out of love, then He might be all-loving, but He's not all-powerful. If the choice is one or the other, He's a God not worth following. And either way, the all-loving, all-powerful God of the Bible cannot exist."

That is a formidable argument. Is God truly all-powerful and all-loving? Our whole concept of God--His nature, His attributes--proceeds from the answer to that question. I am not going to even attempt an address on that debate because there's no way I could ever completely answer that question, but let me say that ultimately, this is place where all roads of questioning "why" lead. Not to say that once we reach this hub, that it doesn't spin us off into a thousand other directions, but all questions to God of "why" feed through here--an "all roads lead to Rome" type thing.

And yes, Jeanne was right I think.... I'm not proposing that if we truly grasp--as far as limited human beings can--that God is loving, the questions all dissolve. Not at all. After all, as one of you pointed out, Job never did get his answer, as far as we know. As growing, maturing Christians, that's where all of us become entrenched from time to time, as life hits us with seasons of hardship and disappointment. It's natural to ask "why" and to plead for God to provide that epiphany, that moment of understanding so everything would make sense, at least for the time being. And of course it's unbelievably frustrating when He doesn't.

I'm just proposing that every time we ask God "why?", that line of questioning ultimately brings us back to one place and one place alone: asking God if He loves or not, as it relates to any given circumstance.

But as Yancey said in the last chapter, in Christ, the "why" transforms into "what end." And while that might not be enough to satisfy our curiosity, the person of Christ--particularly what He accomplished through suffering--effectively gives us reason, vision and hope enough to eventually move forward through cynicism and doubt and onto an redemptive outlook on life...much like Peggie's ability of "endurance", beyond the ability "to bear things, but to turn them into glory."