Osler's Razor

Because of the places I have taught and the people I have befriended, I know a lot of theologians. Their work is fascinating sometimes, especially the work by those who mix in a lot of history and linguistics. It's dense and challenging and rings true. Other times, it seems too distant from the heart of faith-- a commentary on someone else's thoughts about a text, strained through a distant intellectual tradition: Augustine thought this about what Paul said about that, and later commentators had additional thoughts. Great. But sometimes the whole discourse is really about something minute and small; it is placed entirely within the limits of our understanding, and pretends we can comprehend what we cannot.

I find myself drawn to the bigger questions. What does it mean that there is a God? Beyond "is there a God?" that may be the biggest question of all. Yet in my own heart, that matter of theology is settled.

If there is a God, and it's not me, then there is something eternal that is greater than me-- something I cannot and will never fully comprehend, that is always larger and greater than I.

Think of all that changes with that thought! It's a whipsaw of humility. It forces me to accept mystery. It demands that my answer very often be "I don't know." It places me firmly on the ground.

Today, the last day of the year, I go back to that. And I give thanks. And I build from that.