Unnecessary Things
“Satan has the intention of detaining us with unnecessary things and thus keeping us from those that are necessary. Once he has gained an opening in you of a handbreadth, he will force in his whole body together with sacks full of useless questions.”
—Luther, Instruction from the Saints to the Church in Erfurt (1522)
I’m trying to simplify my life these days, to be more comfortable with things I don’t know and will never know until I get to heaven.
I find myself more open to mystery and uncertainty; I’m able to embrace more ambiguity. My questions are rarely true or false, but multiple–choice. I believe more ardently now than ever before, but in fewer and fewer things.
There are things I believe with all my heart—the Apostle’s Creed wraps up most of them, I think—but other, more remote aspects of theology that once dominated my thoughts don’t weigh on my mind anymore. Chesterton said that angels fly because they take themselves lightly. I’m trying to learn how to fly.
The main thing for me now is not to know all the answers, but to know God, made real and personal in Jesus. I find that few things are necessary now, "really only one" (Luke 10:42).
One of the by–products of this shift is that I no longer have the urge to mold people to my theological presuppositions. I can be more tolerant of those that disagree with me; I can let them be. Just because they don’t agree with me doesn’t mean they’re wrong.
Another result is that I find myself more open to Christians that are not exactly my kind. It’s with “all the saints” that we know all the dimensions of God’s love, Paul reminds us (Ephesians 3:18). I can learn from all of them.
Something happened to me some years ago that reinforced my thinking along these lines. I was a student then at the Graduate Theological Union, a consortium of seminaries in Berkeley, California. One of the schools was a seminary in which Jesuit priests are prepared. I took most of my classes there.
One winter I enrolled in a tutorial with Dr. John Huesman, a Jesuit priest and ranking Hebrew scholar. I expected to learn from Fr. Huesman, but I learned a good deal more than I expected.
One cold, windy afternoon, we were sitting at the kitchen table in his tiny apartment reading Isaiah 53. As I began to read the text, I looked up into the good doctor’s eyes, saw them glisten and the tears began to flow. He was weeping, not over my translation (which doubtlessly grieved him), but over the truth.
“David,” I thought to myself, “You’ve read this passage many times, but not once have you wept over the Suffering Servant. You have much to learn from this man.”
Emerson’s words come to mind: “Every man is in some way my superior.” In that I can learn from him. This is especially true of those whom God considers his intimate friends. I can learn devotion and holiness from them, even if they’re not exactly my kind.
David Roper
