“I just want this season to be over,” a friend laments as she shares what it is like to walk through deep pain caused by her spouse.   

In line at the grocery store, I witness a stranger purchase a stuffed animal for a child she had observed admiring it. To the child’s surprised but grateful father, she flashes a genuine smile. As I exit the parking lot, an impatient driver swerves and honks, nearly striking a pedestrian.  

Disturbing stories of shootings in the neighborhood, threats of shootings and fights at school become regular conversation around the dinner table. 

As I move through this rapidly changing world as a Christian, I hope to find pockets of goodwill, generosity, hope, joy and love. So, when I encounter the opposite, it is jarring. Against a hopeful backdrop, tragedies strike me as more unbearable than usual, sad stories seem sadder, and evil feels even more unacceptable. All the failures to love each other can become my signposts of human despair, leaving my spirit drained and doubtful. 

Invitations to the both/and of “pain and joy” help, but I still find myself firing questions at God: What’s wrong with us? Why are people so angry? How do I continue with love in an unloving world?  

I am reminded of G.K. Chesterton’s commentary on the shape of the cross: “But the cross, though it has at its heart a collision and a contradiction, can extend its four arms forever without altering its shape. Because it has a paradox in its centre, it can grow without changing.”  

Could it be that the paradoxes of this rugged world are the very foundations that help us to become more loving? Perhaps the contradictions we experience as people of faith are necessary ones, because they build centers within us that are strong enough to allow our love for each other to keep extending in all directions. 

As we persevere in this ever-changing world, may the contradictions move us toward more love for one another.