When I began work installing windows I was hesitant to rip out the old windows. I was afraid of taking out too much exterior wood, or removing the wrong pieces. I knew I wouldn't be able to put it back together once I had made that first hammer strike or made that first crowbar pull. It was that point of no return. It was scary and thrilling at the same time.
But Caryn's uncle Joel, who had been doing this for years, knew exactly what he was doing.
Sort of.
It wasn't that he knew exactly what he would find every time he took out a patio door or ripped a gaping hole in a house. But he knew he needed to take the old one out before the new one went in. And he knew that, one way or another, he would be able to get the new one where it needed to be. It may not always go smoothly, it may take longer than expected, but he had the confidence that eventually he would figure out what to do. He had internalized his craft which had the affect of pushing out the fear I felt every time I started on a new job-site.
This concept is not restricted to construction.
I was recently doing some writing and realized that the plot of my story was fundamentally flawed. I had spent many hours on this project and realized that only a small portion of it was what I wanted it to be. I knew I could leave it as is, because it still represented a significant effort (around 100 pages) and I was proud I had made myself sit down and do it. Or I could take my metaphorical hammer and smash it to pieces, confident that I would be able to put it back together. Happily, this is what I did. It is still taking a while to reassemble, but the project is already tighter, smoother, and better.
Sometimes an entire organization needs to change the way they operate. There will be people who are afraid of letting go of the stability of tradition. They may see the need to restructure but they cannot bring themselves to push against that crowbar of change. They may doubt that once the glass has cracked, that they'll be able to install the new way of operating. They know there will be a moment (experienced even by the professional) when the demolition is done, before they begin the install, when they stare at a big gaping hole in the wall and ask "What had I done?" And this is enough to stop them from taking the first step toward change.
Likewise, I have had many friends move away or get married and I have had to smash apart these relationships so that I can rebuild them with more realistic expectations. This doesn't mean we're necessarily closer, but it does mean we have a better relationship because it fits into the situations of our lives. This can be scary because relationship are very important to us.
But not as scary as smashing apart God. Or at least our idea of God.
I think that one of the hardest things to do is examine our view of God and see that there is a little dry rot at the bottom, that the paint is peeling, and that in a million small ways, our experiences have forced us to expand and deepen our view of God.
God is constantly saying to us, "I'm bigger than the box you put me in. I'm more. I'm other. I'm mysterious and deep and close to you in ways that you have not yet discovered." And (from time to time) the question we face is, "If I smash apart all I claim to know about God, the tradition, the liturgy, the theology, the history, do I have the confidence in myself and my creator, to rebuild into something better?"
Any other ways this concept applies to life?
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