“I would not give a fig for the
simplicity this side of complexity, but I would give my life for the simplicity
on the other side of complexity.” 
(Oliver Wendell Holmes)

The other side of
complexity is where we end-up after we have wrestled
and wrangled with a
worthy question, or struggled and suffered with a wounded heart, or tried hard
and failed at living-out a powerful dream, or prayed and worked for an
opportunity which never came. The other side of complexity is beyond the
fatigue and frustration, the disillusionment and discouragement, which set-in
when the simplicity before the journey into complexity proves empty,
insufficient, and lacking. 
To say, for instance, “God is love” is a simple
thing to do.  To experience betrayal,
heartbreak, failure, or shame and to wonder what God’s love means in those
experiences is complex.  To hear how
harshly and condemningly some of God’s people speak about other human beings
and to ask how they represent a God of love is complex.  To see the world wracked and ruined by evil
and violence and to doubt that the world’s brokenness is compatible with a God
of love is complex. 
These kinds of complexities have taken me,
more than once, into the wilderness of uncertainty and complexity.  Slowly, though, often through the tender and tenacious
care of others, grace peeks through the brokenness, mercy grows-up in the
misery, love rises from the dust of death, and a path opens to the other side
of complexity.  There, it is possible to
say again, “God is love.”  There, it is
simple, but not simplistic.
An T. S. Eliot
said in “Little Gidding”:
the drawing of this Love and the voice of this
shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.