Over the Christmas vacation, I’ve read Tim Winton’s ‘Breath’ – a beautifully crafted piece of story-telling.
It ends – and I hope this isn’t too much of a spoiler, because I recommend the read – with the narrator talking about the experience of surfing with his daughters:
“My favourite time is when we’re all at the Point, because when they see me out on the water I don’t have to be cautious and I’m never ashamed. Out there I’m free. I don’t require management. They probably don’t understand this, but it’s important for me to show them that their father is a man who dances – who saves lives and carries the wounded, yes, but who also does something completely pointless and beautiful, and in this at least he should need no explanation.”
Something completely pointless and beautiful.
Not, at all, something completely pointless and ugly.
Not, just, something of significance.
That’s an edge worth surfing, even if you are always going to get dumped by the wave.
It seems to me that God’s creativity includes expressions of ‘completely pointless and beautiful’ freedom; stuff that gloriously defies enslavement to ever-increasing efficiency.