Mr., I have a question.

While sitting at my desk, I fell upon this question. I had last revised it on January 11^th of 2013, but I'm afraid, by the incompleteness of my second point, this question never found its man. I'm disappointed because I think it would have been a wonderful question and I believe the man who was intended to receive it would have given me a run for my money. It's a shame what a critical mind will do to an incomplete work, but it is infinitely more wonderful to experience the fullness of time's decay upon everything but that which is worthwhile.

Before posting this question, I completed the second point. It is to the best of my memory and produced with the greatest care as to reflect the missing threads of whatever it was that bothered me so long ago.

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What does it mean, as a Christian, to find beauty? And is the heart the best communicator in its acknowledgment and appreciation?

But before I leave you with this question, I would like to take the liberty in explaining and clarifying it.

First, why an abstract question. In the past few months, which I hope isn't the start of a trend, people speak of “theological matters” as if it pertains to something external and unimaginative. Almost like a chess match for the religiously convicted, theology students tend to move pieces with slightly more animation than the chessmasters themselves. What theology has become is quite a cold game of riddles which end up being more concerned about everyone else than the people playing. But those aren't the questions I stay awake for. I'm committing myself to ask a question of abstraction because it forces one to think about the pieces in a different light. Instead of seeing theology has a course for the logically gifted, in which laws are pitted against laws, we find convictions. And, in a way, we see less and less queen gambits.

And second,

(What follows are my added thoughts...)

in the long and winding road of retractions, we arrive at the core dilemma which I hope this question strums. It is this: who is to make the first move? It is not a game of white on black or black on white, but a movement of one of two virtues. Does the mind begin constructing the citadel by which the heart follows soon after, padding the seams; bringing vitality and warmth to the walls; and making the chilling dampness into a home? Or does the heart begin the journey along this winding road with the ever-watchful mind following after; An eternal sentinel to guard those who become lost?

My question could be thus stated: Who makes the first move?