Dewenter and I went out for lunch Sunday at our usual joint: China Cottage. Everything tasted delicious, as always, though the egg drop seemed a bit on the salty side. Dewenter is a fellow I really admire, because he's down-to-earth, realistic, and self-controlled. Like most people I know (not excluding myself), he had his own "wild years" back in the day, but has shed that from his shoulders and is living life the best he can, before his family, friends, and before God. While we were eating, he went on a rant about how the meaning of life is so simple: LOVE. "That's what life is all about," he said. "Loving people. Loving God. The rest, it's just periphery." He then looked at me and said, "I'm sorry, you probably don't want to hear that, I probably sound like a fool." "No," I said, "you're exactly right. Why go complicating things?"
*sigh* It is so simple. Love God. Love others. So simple, yet so profound, and so incredibly difficult. When I started my college education in biblical studies six years ago, the simplicity was beautiful. And then I began delving into theology, hermeneutics, and then onto dynamic and narrative theology, the study of meta-narratives and controlling stories, symbols vs. praxis, yadda-yadda. Big words that don't really mean much, big words that make us feel smart and superior to other people. The result is that even the simplest things become the most complicated. It's like a botanist who goes into botany because he loves flowers; but five years later, he doesn't admire the flowers in spring, he's analyzing the flowers' parts and getting all technical with it. The beauty is forgotten. And that's what happens, all too often, in bible college: the simplicity is shredded, the beauty is forgotten. And Patrick, well, I envy him. I envy the simplicity, the beauty, and I want that back, I really do. I guess I'll just start smelling the flowers again; and I guess in the meantime, I'll just do my best to love God and to love other people, straining to be more and more like Christ each day and knowing well enough that I'll consistently fail.
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