Why Grief?

This past weekend, a college friend lost her 21 year old son very unexpectedly. As the family wrestles with the usual mechanics of a loss, notifying everyone and preparing for the services, there are several things that accentuate the intensity of this time:  his youth, the suddenness of his death, their first born, the ‘wrong-ness’ of a parent losing a child, the proximity to Christmas, and so on. I find myself trying to imagine myself in that situation. Has she already gotten his gift(s)? As she picks them up, and it brings fresh waves of sadness over her, what does she do with it? When they steel themselves to go through his things and find the presents he’d gotten for them, with sticky notes on them, saying “Mom” and “Dad,” ready to be wrapped, how do you begin to sort out the tangle of emotions that erupt unbidden from an already shattered heart?

They are going through a particularly brutal kind of hell. Those of us further in space and time from the rawness of the loss are faced with our own questions. Yes, we are mortal, and there are all kinds of theological reasonings for our mortality. We can even discuss how the Fall was God’s Plan A, and mysteriously draw comfort from that—how He was not and is not caught off guard by what we do, but planned for it, just as parents plan flooring and furniture options around the age and messiness of their children. When the mess, accident or violent tantrum happens, the clean up was included in the equation of what setting to live in.

But why grief? Why was that in the equation? When an ant is squashed, the other ants generally just step around it and go on with life, the vacant place filled by another with barely a blip in efficiency. Why does love have to have the negative aspect of grief instead of just the positives, so when Good-Bye happens, we can just move on?

Vibrant Dance 2: Reynolds: Reconciling the Cosmos: Orthodoxy and Beauty

{RJW Note:  The second position paper given was by Dr. John Mark Reynolds, Professor of Philosophy, Biola University, Los Angeles, California, and founder and director of the Torrey Honors Institute, a great books program, and fellow Celtophile. As a philosopher, he is a departure from the theologian-heavy lineup and his perspective helps also to define the discussions. Dr. Reynolds also comes from a young-earth perspective.

When I asked him for a copy of his notes as we walked down the hall, he stopped, pulled out a notepad and ripped out a single sheet of paper with a loose handwritten outline and handed it to me. Again, the generosity of these scholars in sharing their work for me to share here is humbling and I am very grateful. It is remarkable to see the different styles of preparation and presentation each uses. Today’s post will constitute a merging of his rough outline with my notes. Any inaccuracies in the substance and intent of his message are mine.}

Dr. Reynolds began by making it clear that even at this conference on faith and science, he was neither theologian nor scientist, and plays neither on TV or movies, as some might wonder given he’s in LA. To begin with offering his epistemological perspective, he defined and discussed the nature of science and then theology. He seemed largely unconcerned with the tensions between the two fields, and appears to be a NOMAist, one who adheres to the idea that they are non-overlapping magisteria (that science and faith answer fundamentally different questions and so do not overlap areas of expertise, so the tensions should be in mostly in appearance than reality). This is my assessment of his views, not an explicit statement by Reynolds.

What is science? It is a likely story of sensory experience that becomes rapidly complicated by philosophical assumptions. {See my 8-part series on “What is Science?”} To ask the question, ‘how to do science?’ is not a science question, but a philosophy question. To cloud it further, if you ask {most} scientists how they do science, their answer is {most likely} different than how they actually do it. Furthermore, scientists do not reject the ‘wrong’ model for the ‘right’ model, but make forward progress by getting rid of one wrong answer in favor of another wrong answer. {but maybe, hopefully, less wrong?} To muddy the waters further, it is possible to adopt the right idea at the wrong time and it could retard the advancement of science.

Wild, Orderly Beauty

A theme in recent posts has been the wildness of God. It hasn’t been a deliberate theme, but just what I’ve been thinking about. The irony of His wildness struck me anew today as Scripture also declares how He is a God of peace and not confusion, about Paul’s call for orderly worship (same passage), His precise instructions in the Mosaic law and designs for the Tabernacle Tent and Temple. No wonder we think of Him as ‘civilized.’ But is it really any surprise that He defies our descriptions and understanding?

Similarly, it is profound to me that beauty is so important to Him. Whether we talk about the raw, wild beauty of a mountain vista or a great storm viewed across a Kansas plain, or the beauty of a well laid garden or clean lines in a edifice, there is beauty both in order and wildness.

In the same way, think of the incredible variety of foods, tastes, flavors, smells and colors around us—the koala bear eats exclusively eucalyptus, and we get everything from pub grub to Tex-Mex to Provencal cuisine and more.

Our beverages refresh us from crisp cool water, to fine aged wine to teas, coffees, and so on.

We could have ‘dog.’ Instead, we have Chihuahuas to Great Danes.

Sure, many of these examples arise through human action, but that adds to the wonder—He gave us both the resources and the creativity to discover and create.

My favorite singer, Rich Mullins (RIP) once mused that from a practical, survivalist standpoint, music is a complete waste. It serves no real purpose other than enjoyment of our spirits.

Our academic fields of study have done a pretty thorough job of turning wonder into dry jargon and statistics. In bringing order to our understanding of Creation, we often lose the wildness. No wonder (so to speak) our students are primarily interested in one number, their GPA. Numbers are how we measure success, when inspiration and passion would be more called for, even in math.

What drew us to our respective fields? Where is the wonder in our disciplines? If inspiration and passion are caught, not taught, where does that leave us as scholar-teachers? Join me in praying for the Scholar-Redeemer to breathe life into our academic endeavours.

SDG