4.2.26 ~ Life's Coloring Book

Growing up, I loved to color. I used to darken the lines with my crayon and make sure my interior colors never went past the boundary line. When I was very little, I was not very good, but with age the skill improved. Life growing up was always about boundaries, separations, and distinctions. Now that I am older, I see that life is not so distinct with separations, but rather transitional—something we are all in. Job references this when he says in Job 38:19:

"Where is this, the way light dwells; and where is the place of darkness?"
(Job 38:19)

It is a simple statement, isn't it? Are the boundaries—the lines of separation—easy to distinguish?

Do you remember when you learned to color in a coloring book? On the pages, you learned that objects were created by imaginary lines that must be filled in to give them substance. Those lines represent boundaries between the "form" of an object and the rest of the world. Is that reality, or is that just in coloring books? Can you really make distinctions of separation around trees or boundary lines around faces? Look outside. Look at your trees. Where is the "line" that separates the tree from the root or the leaf? Where is the line that separates the trunk seen from this angle versus the trunk seen from another angle? Look closely at your spouse, your children, or even yourself. Where is the border that separates eye from socket, nose from cheek, or hairline from forehead? The "boundary" is not a line, is it? It is a movement from one place to another where the boundary is part of both, just as the shore is the boundary of the sea and vice versa, with both mixed together.

If this is so obvious to any observer, why do we insist on a world made up of imaginary lines of separation? The answer is this: Greek metaphysics is based on geometry, and geometry is the mathematics of particular shapes. When we see the world through these eyes, we impose artificial boundary shapes on reality. When Job asks, "Where is the place of darkness?" he is not asking us to point to a line that distinguishes light from dark. The place of darkness is already dark. It is not a line drawn across the sky. It is the observable reality of somewhere without light.

By this point you might be saying, "Why does this matter?" and "What's your point, Mr. Obvious?" Who cares if we add artificial lines to our view of the world? Does it really make any difference? Let us consider a few thoughts as we travel through the Spring Moedim. If we do not have those lines, who is black and who is white? Without lines, who is saved and who is lost? Without lines, what is belief and what is unbelief? Without lines, who is Israel and who is not? Does this mean there are no differences? Of course not. Anyone can see that black is not white. But where is the line? Ah, that is not so easy to see, is it? When does a man move from "lost" to "saved" if the Hebrew worldview does not contain artificial lines? Does a man cross from lost to saved when he declares he believes in the "sinner's prayer"? Or is it a matter of observable change seen from many angles over some period of time? Is belief a matter of crossing a "line in the sand," or is it something that reveals itself over a lifetime of behavior? Where is the line between trust and doubt? Am I still a follower of the King if I trust Him today but fall victim to doubt tomorrow? Is it a line or a process? Are you completely conformed to His image, or is this a process that is taking place in your life?

What happens to our neatly packaged view of reality if we erase all those artificial lines? Would life become more like a verb—a movement, a process of becoming? Would we act differently, talk differently, think differently if we did not see the world as boxes that need to be filled? What if we saw the world as life in constant motion, always interacting? Would we think about Yahweh differently if we looked carefully at the real world and noticed that His actions and our actions are all mixed up together in a common purpose? What would your faith be like if the "boundaries" were really messy? It might be less stressful and colored in with more fruit of the Spirit.

Keep transitioning!

Chag Sameach HaMatzot—Happy Feast of Unleavened Bread!

Shalom,
Alan

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