Here we go again.

Tomorrow at 1:00pm I hop back on an airplane. This time, the destination is 2,500 miles south and east, to Atlanta, Georgia. There’s another group of people who are willing to take me in and teach me what they have learned about campus ministry. I will visit a group at GA Tech and a group at Auburn, in Alabama.

As I prepare for another round of travel, I am very aware of how much I do not know about what I am getting into. We’re going on another trip into the unknown.

To be honest, this kind of thing scares me.

When you do not know the location you are going, the people you are meeting, or the tasks that you will be doing, it takes most control out of your hands. Take into account that this is going to be in Southern culture (which is about as foreign as anywhere in this country), then even my chance of  “winging it” in a culturally appropriate way is minuscule at best.

Not knowing becomes a problem for me.

… or does it?

Let’s do a bit of theology together, Shall we?

I love knowing. I have a strong case of epistemophilia. [Tony’s made up word of the day: episteme (knowledge) + philia (love)]

I am not alone in this. The longer I pastor, the more that I hear the repeated story of internal struggle that comes with not knowing. We struggle with knowing what school to go to, what internship to take, what job opportunity is best, who to marry, where to live, et cetera ad nauseam.

There are a thousand decisions that we have to make and it is difficult to know what is best to do with all of these choices. This is complicated even more when one tries to factor in the “will of God.” What does God want for me? Where is He leading?

The difficulty of not knowing comes up more often than just in decisions. It is plenty present in our moments of tragedy.

Why would God let this happen? Where was He? Why won’t He fix this? How do I move on from here? Will the pain ever stop?

These turning points in our lives are so often shrouded in darkness. The unknowing hurts, and we would do almost anything to have some clarity. And in those moments of silence, when we’re waiting for answers and our prayers for help seem to echo off the walls of our heart, it is almost unbearable. We love knowing.

But there is something profound that happens if our love of knowing is allowed to dictate our lives: we lose in the long run.

It was dark that fateful Friday. The sun went black and the hearts of Jesus’ loved ones were broken. They were lost and they didn’t know what to do. The “data” they needed to “know” properly wouldn’t come until Sunday morning. So what should they do? What would happen if they had to know on Friday what was happening? They would have come to horrible conclusions, maybe even taking their lives out of the hopelessness of the situation?

They had to wait in the darkness. They had to live in unknowing. Because there is something directly linked with unknowing and resurrection.

It is in patience in unknowing that we find a larger picture of God’s life bringing work in this world. It is sitting in the darkness and waiting out our despair. It is rejecting epistemophilia and waiting for resurrection.

And somewhere in all of this, me.

So much of my life and world is wrapped up in the waiting of unknowing right now. Can I wait it out? Will I be able to muster the faith to continue to dive into situations of unknowing? Will I be able to wait for the Sunday morning picture? Will I be around to see the resurrection?

Because it is coming. That is certain.

Maybe we can wait a little better, friends. Maybe we can sit out the unknowing and put off our epistemophilia for a little longer still.

I’m pretty much in love with Noah Gundersen these days, and I’m going to leave you with the chorus of his song “Garden.” Give it a listen if you care.

[but wait, oh wait
see how the morning breaks
it’s the simplest of love songs, but it’s all our hearts can take
and though we lose our stake
heaven is where we make it
even in the smallest places, can a garden grow]

Waiting in the Wandering,

Tony