In a Scary World, Why Insecurity is Our Friend

No one seeks out insecurity. No one anticipates the idea that tomorrow may not go according to plan. Like it or not, however, life often seems bent on twisting our rigid roads and turning our maps upside down.

Our natural response is to safeguard ourselves with even more tenacity than we did before. Billboards and status updates reinforce our dream of carving a life full of possessions and policies that keep risk at bay and harm at arms length.

And yet the world continues to push back like a pounding wave against our fragile sandcastles. Everything from foreign bombs to personal explosions brings us face to face with the idea that safety is a myth and our pursuit of it is futile.

If that’s true, perhaps there’s another way to respond when crisis creeps into our lives and culture.

Sister Simone Campbell, of the Sisters of Social Justice and founder of the Nuns on the Bus movement, says we ought to adopt “a theology of insecurity,” a worldview that invites chaos and vulnerability as a way of life, seeking it out rather than shying away.

“Adopt” is an appropriate word. The desire for insecurity isn’t birthed from within us. In fact, it’s a near-foreign concept to a generation that grew up with Advil, air-conditioning, and segregated neighborhoods, all inventions designed to feed our craving for comfort. It’s been hardwired into our governments, institutions, and even religious models — this plan to barricade pain and suffering with systems, strategies and overly-simplistic storytelling.

Whether we’re worried what welcoming refugees into our country might mean or what moving out of our comfort zone could look like, it’s easier to operate out of a theology that looks a lot more like bubble wrap than it does a warm blanket of belonging.

Perhaps this is why Sister Simone refers to the Holy Ghost as a mischief-maker.

Could it be that this mysterious Spirit comes crashing into our world like a child, with the insatiable urge to pop our bubbles and push us into the tension we so long to avoid?

Could it be that He or She has watched every commercial ever created side-by-side with every tragedy and war that cycles through our human existence, and has decided that there’s more to be gained from helping people belong in  their tension than promising them a way out of it?

 … maybe it’s time we switched gears and actually began learning to love the tension, leaning into it on the very edge of our seats.

We’ve spent so many years working on eliminating tension or avoiding it to no avail that maybe it’s time we switched gears and actually began learning to love the tension, leaning into it on the very edge of our seats.

It’s easier said than done, more of a process and practice than a simple flip of a switch, and one I wish I was better at embodying myself. With that said, here are a few ideas to consider when learning to adopt a theology of insecurity.

Don’t confuse friction with fatality.

One of the greatest hindrances we have to welcoming vulnerability is that we’ve been taught to confuse friction with fatality. In reality, friction sparks movement. It challenges the comforts around us in order to bring about an even better solution, not to upturn them and leave us abandoned. Friction is a life-giver, not a death sentence.

Seek the middle.

We live in a world of caricatures, stereotypes, and polar opposites. Our media thrives on it. Our political figures thrive on it. As consumers, our actions show that we thrive on it too. In a culture where the simplest message is winning, we must choose to dive into the complex and messy middle, a place in our hearts and in our actions where not every fundamentalist is a terrorist and not every liberal is a moral assassin, a place where our neighbor is both completely different and completely normal.

The middle isn’t known for skyrocketing ratings or traffic flow. Its currency is slow-and-steady insight, the kind that leads to real change. The question then becomes which commodity we value more.

Love anyway.

My friend Jeremy uses this phrase and teaches it to me all the time. He works with people who are notorious for not getting along with each other, risking his life every day for them. He’s been imprisoned, received death threats, and had mobs incited against him. In short, his decision to embrace vulnerability, step into chaos, and willingly choose insecurity has not always had positive outcomes. His response is to press on with love for those who persecute him and those who need healing, even when the statistics warn him not to.

 If we’re in the business of making change happen we don’t have the privilege of pretending the tension isn’t in the room.

Some may say this kind of love is blind, but like any blind person, perhaps it simply sees with its hands and feet. As writer Seth Godin put it in a recent interview, “tension and resistance … is the point. It is not to be denied; it is to be sought out. It’s the narrative that let’s us know we’re onto something. If we’re in the business of making change happen we don’t have the privilege of pretending the tension isn’t in the room.”

The opportunity this specific season invites us into (a weird season where the calamity of red cups and terrorist attacks get equal attention) is the radical surrender of our right to security for the sake of others. For those who believe that the baby born in Bethlehem represented a way the world could be made right, it’s a chance to remember how he chose to come: Among whispers of betrayal, as a refugee, in a city with no room left in it.

Images via Melody Munn