the Truth

The problem with theories is just that.

And we Christians love theories,

Cocoon ourselves tightly inside them.

We don’t even call them theories

But Truth with a capital T

As if the capital letter makes them more true.

But if you just read a bit of anything you’ll find

Every capital T is based on Tom or Tim or Theo’s interpretation

Slash THEORY, yes, all caps,

Of what Thom or Tim or Paul said (or theorized)

In a language Tom or Tim or Theo never spoke.

Yet, truth isn’t relative, they say, and drop the megachurch mic as if that means something.

As if God never changing means we don’t either.

The Truth is

We are influenced.

The Truth is

We don’t exist in vacuums devoid of color.

The Truth is

We bleed into each other

Until the blacks and whites turn gray or green or rainbow

Or even black and blue and purple

When we forget color is a gift.

We meld together until our understanding of God is more knowable,

Not in spite of living with others

But because of it.

Because we know God made him in his image.

Yes, even him.

And God loves her as much as he loves me.

Yes, even me.

Theories add a pindrop of color to the canvas that is God,

A piece of a puzzle that will always have a few gaping holes.

But Jesus knew that.

He didn’t tell me to know all,

Just to love all.

So I’ll look up from the canvas,

Stop gripping the paintbrush in

Confusion or

Self-righteousness or

A vain determination to get God right.

For I’ll miss the point of the painting.

There are ones to love right in front of me.