The Grace of the Tangled Cord: Finding God in the Unscripted Mess
The Texas sun has a way of stripping away pretension, especially on a dusty plot of land in Roundtop. Recently, at the groundbreaking of St. Cecilia’s, the Spirit seemed to prefer a cowboy hat over a miter. Bishop K. Ryan stood on the site of what will become the state’s newest Episcopal church, a stark and beautiful contrast to her morning service at Christ Church, Madagorta—the oldest Episcopal congregation in Texas, boasting 187 years of history.
In that bridge between the ancient and the nascent, the atmosphere was thick with "local color." There were neighbors who had driven in from College Station just for the occasion, canines wagging tails in a silent liturgy of unconditional love, and a palpable excitement for the reception waiting at Rabbit Rabbit. But the most profound moment of the day didn't come from the polished readings or the planned shoveling of dirt. It came from a knot—a literal, stubborn, frustrating tangle of rope that brought the entire ceremony to a screeching halt and, in doing so, revealed the very heart of the spiritual journey.
The Liturgy of the Knot
In our tradition, we lean heavily into symbolism. On that afternoon, three cords were meant to represent the Trinity. The first two were stretched diagonally across the space by the community's leaders, their intersection forming the letter Kai—the first letter of the Greek word Christos. It was a geometric prayer in the dirt, a reminder of who sits at the center of the work.
But then came the perimeter cord. It was a long, heavy rope intended to enclose the entire sacred space, handled by Dr. Doug Stribbling, a capable veterinary surgeon. If anyone has the steady hands to weave a community together, it is a man trained to perform surgery on our most beloved companions. And yet, the rope buckled. It snarls; it looped; it became a "holy mess."
We often think of faith as a linear progression toward perfection, but the reality is more often a "screeching halt." When things get dicey and knotted up, the modern instinct is to walk away. We go in search of a "church with a shorter cord"—a community or a philosophy that never gets complicated, never demands patience, and never fails to look good on camera. But that search is a phantom chase. Real faith isn't found in the avoidance of the snarl, but in the willingness to stand in the middle of the entanglement.
"When Jesus said, 'I want you to take up your cross and follow me,' he was telling us, 'It's not always going to be easy, folks. There are going to be some hard, challenging, difficult places on our faith journeys.'"
The Three-Part Antidote to Chaos
When the perimeter cord became a mass of knots, the community at St. Cecilia’s didn't dissolve into blame. They didn't point fingers or retreat into embarrassment. Instead, they instinctively modeled a three-part response to the "holy mess" that serves as a blueprint for any community navigating a crisis:
Laughter: They chose to laugh. A sense of humor is perhaps the most underrated fruit of the spirit. It acknowledges the absurdity of our human limitations and instantly lowers the stakes of a mistake.
Music: The Bishop immediately called for a song. Music is the gift God gives us to navigate the predicaments we cannot talk our way out of. Just as those who penned the spirituals sang when they were at the "end of their rope," the community used Joey and Steven’s hymns to remember who they were and whose they were.
Remembrance: They acknowledged that these snarls are simply part of the story of "real people." By accepting the knots as part of the narrative, they removed the shame of the entanglement.
Defying the "Odds of God"
This struggle to untangle is the recurring theme of the faithful. Years ago, Trinity Church in Houston found itself in a similar thicket of conflict and public "dirty laundry." The situation was so dire that a local journalist for the Houston Press penned a cynical epitaph for the congregation. The article concluded with a biting projection: "The chances Trinity Church will cease to exist would make a better droll." (Though likely a transcription of "draw" or "bet," the sentiment remains: the world was betting on their demise.)
But the writer failed to account for the "Odds of God." While human observers saw only the knots and the mess, the community refused to walk away. They spent years untangling, moving, and sharing the gospel in creative ways. They didn't survive by hiding their laundry; they survived by trusting that the grace of God is most active when our human systems break down.
Sam and the Paw on the Ribbon
The theology of the "tangled cord" is perhaps best captured in a stained glass window at Trinity Houston, dedicated to the late Dr. Gordon Moore, a beloved pediatrician. The window is a masterpiece of light and reconciliation, but it contains a quirky, human-first surprise: a depiction of an earless dog named Sam.
The artist placed Sam with his paw resting on a multi-hued ribbon that weaves through the entire scene. Originally, the interpretation was that the dog represented the priest—the one whose job it is to keep a "paw on the ribbon," holding things in place while the Spirit does the weaving.
But the deeper truth is more humbling. The "paw" doesn't belong to the priest, the surgeon, or the committee chair. It belongs to God. God is the pivot point and the rock. When we realize that we aren't the ones solely responsible for holding the entire world together, we find the freedom to get unstuck. We can breathe through the tangles because the one holding the end of the cord isn't going anywhere.
Untying the Internal "Nots"
While external ropes and community conflicts are visible, the most restrictive tangles are often the ones we carry within. We are often bound by a litany of "nots" that obstruct our ability to move forward. If we are to be people of the untangled life, we must identify these internal barriers:
The have-nots, the cannot-s, and the do-nots that limit our vision.
The will-nots, the may-nots, and the might-nots that find a home in our hesitation.
The could-nots, the would-nots, and the should-nots that keep us tethered to regret.
Yet, the most dangerous of these is the "am-not." It is the persistent, quiet whisper that says, "I am not good enough to do this work." This internal barrier suggests that perfection is a prerequisite for purpose. But as the dirt of Roundtop reminds us, God works through the very people standing in the middle of the mess.
Keep Moving, Keep Untangling
As Dr. Stribbling stood there on that Sunday afternoon, he didn't throw the rope down and walk away. He didn't settle for "three out of four stakes." He stood there, patient and persistent, and he kept untangling. Neighbors didn't just watch; they prayed, they sang, and some even brought out scissors, ready to help in whatever way they could.
The cord of your life will inevitably tangle. There will be moments where the music stops and the knots look impossible to undo. In those moments, do not lose heart. Do not search for the "shorter cord." Stay in the mess. Keep laughing, keep singing, and keep untangling.
As you look at the landscape of your own life today, ask yourself: What is the "knot" you are currently tempted to walk away from, and what would happen if, instead of cutting the rope, you stayed to help untangle it?
