Even as Juliana sits here writing her paper, she is painfully aware of her own limits: She is limited by time, limited by her body, limited in expressing herself, limited by her own internal rebellion. For most of her life, Juliana has struggled to accept the limits inherent in this life and to navigate the pain that results. Growing up under godly, faithful parents, she was always encouraged to find the beauty in God’s sovereignty, to piece together how everything is ordered to perfection: Tragedies fruited growth and life. Weaknesses nurtured relationships with God and with others. After launching from her parents’ home, she studied philosophy, theology, and psychology at a university and she discovered even more beauty and wisdom in God’s creation and involvement in history. She reveled in the brilliance of the natural world, mathematical logic, the laws of nature, and Scriptural revelation. She discovered the superb structure and order that arises from limits. But this painting is not about that. The story does not end here.
Over the next few years, as Juliana journeyed through this orderly life, she encountered more and more of the pain and disorder that stems from human limits. Others were limited by time, by their bodies, by the ways they expressed themselves, and by their own personal rebellions. And Juliana found herself tangled in the web of human weakness, tragedy, and failure. And she wasn’t even thirty yet! In the meantime, she chose to focus her studies on psychology because it so openly embraced her questions of pain and conflict.
Juliana began to feel that there was as much pain as there was beauty in the world. She saw as much chaos as she saw order. And she began to grieve. Juliana searched for the goodness in it all. She tried to make sense of her world and the God who had ordained it. Actually, she tried to make sense of her life and the God who had ordained it. She knew that God was ultimately bigger, wiser, and more trustworthy than she could ever hope to understand, but she was embittered by her lot in life (regardless of whether it was a result of the laws of nature or whether God had assigned her to a specific place in the order of things). But this painting is not exactly about that either. The story does not end here.
Christians’ favorite thing to tell Juliana was that her frustrations and battles were God’s gift of preparation for the work she will do as a psychologist. Christians loved to point out how well suited she will be to counsel other hurting people. But ultimately, Juliana was disappointed with God’s workmanship. She still appreciated the brilliance of God’s design but she struggled to appreciate her own place in life. She felt trapped by the limits around her. She struggled to access God’s creative vitality. And she knew there were many others like her who needed God to reach in, beyond the limits of relationships and the everyday cause-and-effect of life, and thump the verve back into their world. This is symbolically portrayed in the painting by a Juliana, confined to the drabness of the structured blocks.
Juliana had always identified strongly with the books of Ecclesiastes and Job because they wrestled with the joy missing from the lives of God’s people. Over the last few months, Juliana has been learning that God’s people in the Old Testament did, in fact, feel permission to wrestle with these issues. They felt the freedom to question their relationship with God, regardless of his past faithfulness. As a child, Juliana mostly learned Old Testament stories that centered on the cycles of Israel mistrusting God, Israel complaining, Israel forgetting the faithfulness and goodness of their creator, and Israel getting severely punished for such naughty, naughty behavior. But, in truth, the Psalmists questioned God, Job questioned God, the writer of Ecclesiastes questioned God, and their relationships with God did not crumble. These men and women did not stop pursuing their connection to God and God did not cut them off from his blessings in defensive rage. In most cases, these writers simply had to acknowledge their limits, but they were still free to search for an explanation.
God is not bound by his own created order, and perhaps that intensifies the frustrations we face regarding our own confined existence. Yet there is a relationship with this boundless creator, this supernatural, immanent and eminent life giver that is present in the midst of a complex world that does not always favor our happiness: It doesn’t end with our experience of the natural painful consequences of sin. There is more to the story.
God does, indeed have the capacity to grow life, beyond the existing order, and to grow a supernatural joy into our lives. This is symbolized in the painting by the plant. It is a creation of God, reaching beyond the restrictions of the blocks and effecting vibrancy within the order. It contrasts with the Juliana, who is trapped in colorless dullness. The living shoot is not even of the same medium as the rest of the composition. It stands out from everything else. It cannot be replicated by man or woman and, as a symbol of God’s creativity and power, it compares to nothing else. The Juliana in this painting exists in separation from this force. She can hope that God’s creative forces and his dynamic presence on earth will touch her life with joy, just as the Juliana in the painting anticipates the colors that may bleed into her everyday. In fact, God has the capacity to reach within Juliana’s cellblock and to break away her confines. He can grow in such a way to change the entire work of art. But that doesn’t mean he will. Still, the Juliana, as uncomfortable as she is, continues to look upward. She is waiting.
As with Job, regardless of the blessings we may receive, God increases our awareness of our humanity and reminds us of His comparable magnificence and holiness. In the midst of all of this, he allows us to express this pain. We, like the Psalmists and Job, can be honest when we feel forgotten, trivialized, or simply frustrated by the limits of life. We can push against the walls, but we must continue to look upward. And sometimes we must wait.
I am grateful for every Old Testament character and story that exemplifies a servant of God who feels they are in a horrible pit. The first two verses of Psalm 40 (NKJV) read:
I waited patiently for the Lord;
And he inclined to me,
And heard my cry.
He also brought me up out of a horrible pit,
Out of the miry clay,
And set my feet upon a rock…
This Psalm goes on to describe the Psalmist’s thanksgiving of God’s rescue and his awesome character. This is one of my favorite passages in scripture. Juliana’s story doesn’t end like the Psalmists. She keeps falling back into the mud. She is tired of facing her own muddy humanity. And she is tired of waiting for rescue. But thank God that she can cry out from the pit. That is the hope I have found in the Old Testament writings this quarter.
