I once had a friend who was only ever confident he understood something when he had taken it down to its component parts. If he bought a new tool or device, he would take it from its box and begin to pull it apart, eager to know how it worked before ever actually using it. If his wife brought flowers into the home, you might find him dismantling one on the kitchen table, separating stamen from petals and leaves from stems until each piece was laying by itself and he understood how all the parts made up the whole. Endlessly curious and endlessly analytical, he couldn’t help himself—he just had to know.
His wife, though, was of a very different personality type. She tolerated his habit well enough, but didn’t really understand or appreciate it. She was content to leave the flowers unmolested and intact, to enjoy them as whole objects in their natural state. She was content to take devices from their packaging and to put them straight to work without first pulling them to bits.
I think of them often as I consider the wonderful discipline of theology. In theology we make a
To continue...read the full-length post originally published on this site.
