—AND NOT NEEDING TO KNOW WHY
—ON CERTAIN THINGS WE KNOW WITHOUT KNOWING WHY
I have spent a considerable portion of my life listening to people explain God.
Some of them explained Him so thoroughly that I began to wonder whether there was anything left for the Almighty Himself to add.
One fellow spoke for nearly two hours and answered every question in the universe. By the end of it I was less impressed by his theology than by his apparent ability to attend meetings that nobody else had been invited to.
As near as I can tell, much of theology consists of men serving as God’s attorneys.
The difficulty is that the client rarely appears in court.
Which brings me to a song:
The singer begins with a confession:
“I don’t know why the sky is so blue.”
A promising start.
Then:
“I don’t know why I’m so in love with you.”
Even better.
The singer is admitting what every honest person eventually discovers. We are surrounded by things we understand imperfectly.
Why does music matter?
Why does beauty matter?
Why does one face in a crowd become more important than all the others?
Why can a song heard at the right moment keep a person from surrendering to despair?
I do not know. Neither do you. Neither do the theologians. The difference is that some of us are willing to admit it.
The song keeps returning to a curious line:
“I don’t know why I know these things, but I do.”
That strikes me as one of the most honest spiritual statements ever written.
The singer is not claiming certainty. The singer is claiming recognition. Not explanation. Recognition.
Then comes the line that catches in my throat every time:
“They don’t mean to cause you pain.
They’re just afraid of loving you.”
Most people imagine the opposite of love is hatred. I am no longer convinced. I suspect the opposite of love is fear.
Love is dangerous business. The moment you love anything—a husband, a wife, a child, a friend, a dog, a patch of woods, an old song—you have handed the universe a loaded weapon. Some people accept the risk. Others attempt to avoid it. They become cautious.
Guarded.
Detached.
And sometimes frightened people hurt other people not because they hate them, but because they fear what loving them might cost. That does not excuse the injury. But it explains more of human behavior than many grand theories.
What finally wins me over is not the mystery but the mood. The singer does not sound burdened by unanswered questions. The singer sounds delighted by them. There is a bounce in the song, a kind of gratitude.
The sky is blue for reasons unknown.
Music works for reasons unknown.
Love works for reasons unknown.
Yet somehow this does not produce despair. It produces joy. The singer seems to regard existence not as a problem to be solved but as a gift to be received. That strikes me as healthier than many philosophies and a surprising number of religions.
I have spent years listening to people explain reality. Most of them seemed exhausted. This singer appears to understand almost nothing and is having a marvelous time. Perhaps there is a lesson in that. Maybe the purpose of life is not to solve the mystery but to participate in it—to love despite the risk, to sing despite the confusion, and to remain grateful for things we cannot explain.
I have no objection to people searching for God. What concerns me is how quickly some of them begin issuing press releases on His behalf. As for me, my list of certainties grows shorter every year. Yet a few things stubbornly remain.
Beauty matters.
Music matters.
Love matters.
I don’t know why I know these things.
But I do.
—Rev. James Groady
A NOTE FROM REV. GROADY
The Reverend gratefully acknowledges the songwriter, Shawn Colvin for the lyrics and inspiration contained herein.
The bluegrass arrangement above has raised additional theological questions. Chief among them:
Why does bluegrass make nearly everything better?
At present, I do not know.
But I do.
—Rev. James Groady
COUNCIL-OF CONCERNED-CONSERVATIONISTS…..Between Jest And Earnest….. 
Leave a comment