Imagine some centuries ago, a pregnant woman is placed in a dungeon. She gives birth to a son while in this prison. Having no windows except one near the top that allows some sunlight in during the day, the woman uses a pencil and paper pad, her sole possessions, and draws pictures for her son.
The pictures include things such as trees, flowery landscapes, mountains, and some animals. The boy treasures these sketches for he has never seen the outside world. Whenever the boy imagines the great outdoors, it is consequently in the form of pencil sketches.
One day, he is released from the dungeon. Squinting in the bright sunlight, he is shocked to find that the world around him is not composed of pencil marks, but rather of objects that have no hard outlines. The leaves on the trees, the branches, the birds, and the sun need no outlines because their very essence fills the places that the lines symbolized.
Here in our world, the scriptures and the theology of the church have been bestowed upon us by those fathers who, with a purified heart, have experienced theoria. They have caught glimpses of this expansive Other World and bequeath to us their pencil sketches in the form of enlightened theology.
Sometimes we argue about what the sketches actually represent, but the sketches must remain. Continue reading Theology without the Lines