Faith Like A Game of Jenga
Photo by Naveen Kumar
My old faith was like a game of Jenga. Each year, I built my tower of faith a little higher, with one belief precariously balancing on top of the other.
It seemed like removing one piece could throw the whole tower off-balance, so I held my breath and tiptoed around it, carefully arranging all the pieces. Then one day, my hands were a little less steady, or maybe I bumped the table, and it all started to sway…
One way, and then the other…
And in slow motion, I watched it ALL. FALL. DOWN.
For a long time, I looked on in disbelief…
I stared into space like a zombie, trying to make sense of what had happened and what I was supposed to do next. I turned the pieces over in my hands, searching for clues to where I went wrong. And eventually, it came to me:
Jenga is a terrible metaphor for faith.
. . .
I realized that Jesus never asked me to build this structure, nor did he give me a systematic-theology to memorize like some protective shield.
He returned almost every question he was asked with another question, apparently uninterested in conveying facts, knowledge, or the “right” answers. It was almost like he took pleasure in confusing people, evading questions, or challenging the basis of the questions altogether. Somehow — every time — he managed to turn the spotlight away from his answer and onto the questioner’s motives for asking…
Of course, we would like to have point-blank, consistent answers from Jesus to our *very important* questions (i.e. what must I do to be saved?). But, Jesus — the best, most intuitive Teacher — seems to know we would turn his answers into law, try to find loopholes, twist them into something else, or generally lose sight of his point. Instead, his response comes (not in lecture format like an exam review, but) in his life’s work. He shows, by example, what love for God and neighbor requires.
If your question matters (& that’s a big IF), it will be answered by watching the life of Jesus. That’s why His Call, which has echoed throughout a hundred generations, is not:
“Come learn my theology”
“Come believe these things”
“Come hide away from the world”
“Come judge these sinners”
But, simply: “Come, follow me”
Because, as it turns out, that sums it up. It’s not something you believe in your head; it’s something you do with your life.
It is NOT a structure to be built on doctrines and dogmas — a Jenga tower, destined to fall. It was never a structure to build, but a path to walk.
Isn’t that so much better?
