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Living with Tension
Introduction
Over the past year and a half, I have been regularly attending church activities. Looking back, however, this has not been a clearly defined process from the beginning. It has been more of a gradual movement — a process of getting closer, observing, and slowly making sense of what I was encountering.
In the early stage, I was mostly watching, adapting, and trying to figure out how to position myself in an environment that felt very different from my previous experiences. Many aspects were unfamiliar to me, including the way ideas were expressed, the underlying logic, and the kinds of questions being explored.
As I spent more time in this setting, I began to notice that some of the ways problems were discussed and approached could actually be mapped onto patterns I had been thinking about for a long time. It was not that the conclusions were the same, but that the paths of engagement felt structurally similar. This gradually shifted me from passive participation toward a more deliberate effort to understand and analyze.
Recently, during the season of Lent, I have been following some of the materials provided by the church. After attending today’s worship and listening to the sermon, a set of thoughts began to take a more concentrated shape. These reflections are not about any specific theological conclusion, but rather revolve around a more abstract concept:
tension — or dissonance.
What follows is an attempt to organize my understanding around this idea.
1. The Same “Tension,” but a Different Reaction
If I abstract the structure of the sermon, the logic can be roughly described like this: reality is incomplete, full of conflict and even contradiction, and this incompleteness is not an error, but part of the faith itself. The speaker summarized this state with the phrase:
“God’s reign is now, and not yet.”
In other words, it is already unfolding, but not fully realized.
The difficulty for me is that this structure feels very familiar. In my previous context, I have long been exposed to a similar pattern of reasoning — expressions like “we are still in a stage of development” or “current problems are part of a process and will be resolved over time.” Structurally, both approaches are highly similar: when reality presents problems, they are absorbed into a larger narrative of “not yet completed.”
Because of this structural similarity, my initial reaction was one of caution. In my experience, such frameworks are often unfalsifiable: if reality is not good, it can be explained as “not yet developed”; if it improves, it confirms that the path was correct. In this way, the framework risks becoming an all-encompassing explanatory tool rather than a means of genuinely engaging with problems.
However, as I continued listening, I began to notice a key difference. The sermon did not attempt to dissolve the problem through the concept of tension. Instead, it preserved the tension. It did not offer a final “correct answer,” but repeatedly brought the listener back to the unresolved conflicts themselves, forcing them to be confronted rather than explained away.
At that point, I realized that although the structures appear similar, their functions are opposite. One uses “incompleteness” to create reassurance; the other uses it to prevent premature reassurance.
2. From Solving Problems to Facing Them
Building on this, the sermon moved into a second layer: the meaning of salvation.
When people shouted “Hosanna” on Palm Sunday, what they were asking for was concrete: they wanted change in reality, an end to oppression, and an improvement in their lives.
Yet Jesus’ response moved in an entirely different direction. Rather than focusing on external transformation, he spoke in a way that is difficult to grasp intuitively. In a more accessible form, it can be understood as this: if something remains unchanged and preserved in its current state, nothing new will emerge; but if it is willing to enter a process of losing that state, something new may arise.
In other words, the more a person tries to preserve what they currently have, the more they become constrained by it. Only when one loosens the attachment to control and security does the possibility of something different begin to appear.
My initial reaction to this was skepticism. At one point, I even wondered whether this was simply a form of psychological consolation — a way of making reality acceptable when it cannot be changed. If the analysis stopped there, that suspicion would be entirely reasonable.
But as I thought further, I began to see a crucial distinction.
3. Self-Consolation, or a Different Path?
Using a framework I am familiar with, this skepticism can be expressed quite clearly.
The logic of self-consolation looks like this:
Failure in reality → reinterpretation → psychological reliefIts essence is the reduction of discomfort.
But the path presented here is closer to:
Letting go of security → entering risk → bearing the consequences (even death)The difference between the two lies not in whether reality is acknowledged, but in what follows that acknowledgment.
The former reinterprets reality to make it acceptable when it cannot be changed. The latter accepts that reality may not unfold as expected, yet still chooses to move forward along a more difficult path. It does not claim that “you have already won,” but instead suggests that even if the outcome does not match your expectations, the path itself still matters — and it comes with a cost.
This is not an attempt to soften reality through explanation, but a willingness to act without denying it. For me, this marks an important boundary.
4. The Role of Tension: Not Stability, but Clarity
This brings me back to another question I have been reflecting on: are we constantly constructing an “ideal self” and then trying to perform it?
In many environments, this seems to be the default. You are expected to become a certain kind of person and to switch between roles depending on the context.
The problem is that there is often a gap between who you actually are and the role you are performing. That gap is typically sustained through performance, and sometimes through a degree of self-deception.
As this gap widens, it leads to continuous internal strain. On one hand, you know that you are not that person; on the other hand, you feel compelled to maintain that image.
I now tend to see it differently. It is not necessary to resolve all problems before entering a “better state.” Instead, it begins with acknowledging that the problems exist — acknowledging imperfections in oneself, inconsistencies in reality, and the fact that some issues cannot be resolved in the short term.
Without that acknowledgment, even the possibility of choice does not emerge. One remains confined within a simplified version of reality, unable to perceive alternative paths. Once the tension is recognized, the situation may become more complex and less comfortable, but it is precisely within that discomfort that genuine choice becomes possible.
5. Living with Tension
This also reminds me of a linguistic distinction. In English, there is the phrase “cope with,” which does not translate neatly into Chinese. It suggests the ability to live with a problem that cannot be immediately resolved, and possibly may never be fully resolved.
In contrast, common expressions in Chinese emphasize “overcoming” or “defeating,” which are outcome-oriented.
These two expressions reflect two different orientations:
Overcome / defeat → outcome-oriented
Cope with → process-orientedWithin the context of the sermon, I now tend to understand “salvation” not as a state where problems have been completely eliminated, but as a way of living and acting even when those problems remain unresolved.
This does not mean abandoning the effort to change reality, nor does it mean focusing only on the positive. It begins with acknowledging that both the good and the unresolved coexist. From within that coexistence, one continues to act, continues to seek change, rather than masking problems to maintain an appearance of coherence.
6. The Remaining Question
At this point, what feels most worth keeping is not a conclusion, but a question:
When reality does not align with my expectations, do I tend to reinterpret it to make it acceptable, or do I acknowledge it and continue forward within its incompleteness?
At the beginning, these two paths may appear similar, but over time, they lead to fundamentally different outcomes.