Albert Einstein once said we’re like people pondering a perfectly made watch. We can see the hands move, hear the ticking, formulate an idea of how we think it might work but we can’t open the case to see how it actually operates. The mechanism remains a mystery, known only to the maker.
That image has stuck with me.
In my younger years, I was drawn to systems. I liked when things could be explained: clearly, logically, correctly. If I had the information, I assumed I had the truth. God, faith, life, I wanted them to run like a well engineered machine, with labeled parts and sharp definitions.
But as time passed, annoying squeaks occurred.
I started noticing things. People who didn’t fit the system and didn’t need to. Moments that couldn’t be diagrammed. Beauty that arrived without explanation. Pain that refused to be solved. And something in me started to shift.
I didn’t abandon the questions. I just stopped demanding final answers. The apostle Paul spoke of this tension as mystery. I began to understand there is more to this, therefore, not so fast.
My mind loosened on watch-works to embrace a journey of wonder. It became less about getting it right and more about honesty with God, with others, with myself.
I came to love that quote often tied to 20th century theologian Karl Barth —
God is with us. God is for us.
Not as a theological point on an outline, but rather as a lived reality.
These days, I still hear the ticking. I still see the hands move.
But I’m less concerned about opening the watch.
And more interested in living within its rhythm.
Humility seems like a good place to start.
Questions are welcomed.
Conversation, even better.
Have you ever been so sure… only to realize, not so fast? What was gained?