In recent discussions of the emergent church and the influence of postmodernism on modern Christians, there has been a lot of heated discussion about the nature of truth. The debate usually goes something like this:

One side says that truth has to be discovered in the context of our lives—that our culture, our upbringing, our experiences (or lack of them) all contribute to a difficulty in arriving at simple propositional statements that are true everywhere at all times. And our fallenness and human limitations stand in the way of our being able to grasp it in simplicity. Truth must be found in the living of our lives. Now, I have some sympathy for this kind of thinking. But I am not prepared to give up the idea that truth can be expressed rationally and in propositions. Absolutes may not be easy to get at, but I think it is intellectually lazy and irresponsible to give up on them and simply drift into some sort of Christianized version of relativism where the truth is whatever is true for me.

The other side of the debate maintains that having absolute certainty about truth is the key to finding meaning. They would say that truth is rational because God is rational. Therefore, as one friend recently said, “We must stand unapologetically for the truth.” Once again, I have some sympathy for such a way of thinking. It is important for us to know what we believe and why. I am reminded of G. K. Chesterton’s wonderful reflection:  “Merely having an open mind is nothing. The object of opening the mind, as of opening the mouth, is to shut it again on something solid.” But I fear that sometimes an attitude of certainty can degenerate into thinking that we somehow “own” the truth and ignoring all the legitimate questions that are raised about how difficult it is for a finite mind to every really grasp the immensity of who God is and what He has done for us.

But what if we were to think about truth, not so much as taking a stand, but as engaging in a dance? Of realizing that truth is not static, but alive. Now I am not thinking of the kind of dance you’ll find in a club. That kind of dancing is a pretty good metaphor for relativism. Everyone listens to the same music, but responds in their own fashion, autonomously moving to the rhythms as they personally experience them—doing their own thing.

Instead, what if we think of how we relate to truth more in the terms of formal dancing. Ballroom dancing, for example. What if we think of truth as the partner we embrace, whose lead we follow through all the steps of the dance. In this view, truth is not just some static abstract that we possess and defend, but rather a moving and living reality to which we respond. Let’s admit that life is complex and filled with situations where our certainties seem to take a beating. So we move with truth as truth dances. Truth leads and we follow. And is not truth ultimately found in our relationship with the One who is the Truth?

The One with whom we dance is not a philosophical abstraction, a propositional statement, or a rigid moral code. He is a wild and fiery dance partner, who sometimes moves in unexpected ways, who catches us by surprise, who takes our hand and shows us how to move our feet—both within the usual patterns of the dance and sometimes in subtle variations.  

It isn’t enough for us to put our trust in some propositional statements about God. What good are absolutes if we cannot live them out in the sometimes confusing world of reality? We also need “the dance,” the willingness to move in graceful response to all the uncertainties and unanswered questions of life with a sense of trust in our Divine dance partner. The orchestra has already begun to play, the dance floor is waiting, and God is inviting us to dance with Him.