The Humility of the Ellipsis

Good News for the Writer Afraid of Getting it Wrong

My first creative nonfiction professor was a poetic man with gray hair and glasses who played drums in a band and almost exclusively wore high top Converse. He read poetry to us in class, sitting casually atop his desk, speaking slowly—musically. He was a deep well of thought and he would hit us with the most philosophical things in the middle of a very normal conversation. For instance, the topic of journaling came up in class one day and he said we should all journal. His reason? “You should always be on speaking terms with your former self. [Journaling] gives the opportunity for us to dip our hand into the stream of time and pull something up.”¹

He taught me how to write. He taught me how to love writing. But perhaps most importantly, he taught me about the posture of a good writer—not self-important, but humble and open to wonder. He had a tattoo of an ellipsis because it is, and I quote, “a humble little punctuation. There’s more to say, but I don’t quite know what it is. More to explore.”

An ellipsis is humble because it admits there is more to say. It is generous because it offers the reader the option to imagine for themselves what lies beyond. It is wise because it recognises that even if the sentence went on and on, it could never be all-encompassing. When we as writers assume the posture of an ellipsis we admit that there is, as my professor put it, “more to say, but I don’t quite know what it is.”

The Christian writing space has historically been one of tidy boxes and tight ships. There is good reason for this: Theology is important. We need to be thoughtful and careful in interpretation as we write. James tells us, “Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers, for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness” (James 3:1 ESV). Handling the Word of God is a weighty business, and we should feel that weightiness.

But instead of sticking to avoiding heresy, we go a little further and pretend that we know everything. We are scared of being unsure and too uncomfortable to admit that sometimes we just don’t have answers to all the questions. But who do we think this pretending benefits? Ourselves? Our readers? God?

When I was in the beginning stages of writing Eternity in Our Hearts, I was nervous. Writing Bible studies and devotionals is a serious business. I’ve taken an Old Testament seminary class, but I don’t know Hebrew. If you’ve read the book of Ecclesiastes, you will know that there are a few passages that might feel uncomfortable or confusing, especially to modern readers. As I read the scholarship available on these passages, I realized that the people who have studied the Word of God for their life’s work do not agree with each other. Some interpreted these passages one way, others another. Because these were small passages and non-salvational issues,² I wasn’t concerned that these scholars disagreed.

But what was I to do? I felt pressure to pick an interpretation and explain why I thought it was the correct one. Surely, this would help my readers trust me… right? Wouldn’t it make me look smarter, more confident, and sure of my reading of Scripture?

I remember telling God over and over before I signed the publishing agreement and while I was writing, “If you want me to do this, I need you to help me. I need you to carry this.” And in this surrendering, I realized that pretending to know everything wouldn’t serve anyone. So instead, here is how I handled those especially complex passages:

1. I prayed. The Holy Spirit helps us understand the Word of God. We can call on him whenever we read the Bible to ask for open eyes and wisdom, not just when we come across something we don’t understand. But in this especially, I clung to him.

2. I recalled the entirety of Scripture. The Bible is one book that tells a beautiful story and is made up of many smaller books, divinely inspired by God. I asked myself: Where else in the Bible is this topic discussed? What does the Bible have to say about this topic in general? Scripture helps us interpret other Scripture.

3. I studied the context. If we take verses out of context willy-nilly, we can draw some pretty funky theological conclusions. I asked myself what the whole book’s meaning was, what the point of the section I was writing about was, and if there was anything cultural I might have been missing.

4. I laid out all the options. I looked at which interpretations made sense in light of those three filters and explained the arguments for each one to my readers, encouraging them to apply those filters for themselves.

Because these weren’t salvational issues, I didn’t need to take a stance I wasn’t academically or spiritually certain of. I knew that there were right answers, but perhaps only God truly knew those answers. I didn’t need to play the Holy Spirit in the lives of my readers, interpreting things for them I wasn’t even sure about.

Did this erode their trust in me? No. On the contrary, some readers have said they appreciated how I presented all the orthodox interpretations and encouraged them to pray, let Scripture interpret Scripture, and consider the context to draw their own conclusions with the Lord. Unless we are writing academically about the Word, it’s not always our responsibility to tell readers exactly what to think about non-salvational issues like these. God asked Job, “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?”³ Who are we to assume we know it all?

I will always encourage us to be wise and confident in the Spirit when writing about the Word of God. I will always exhort us to be both reverential and delighted as we tell others about our wonderful Savior. But I will also always tell us to remember the ellipsis, because we can learn from its humility.

We are free to have strong convictions and write clearly about them. We are free to draw confident conclusions and explain how we arrived there. But we are also free to be open-handed and honest with our readers and just say I don’t know. We don’t need to die on hills we aren’t called to die on. We aren’t called to have all the answers. In fact, we aren’t even given all the answers. What we’re called to do is to point to the One who laid the foundation of the earth and holds the answers—along with you and me!—in his very capable hands.

Great is our Lord, and abundant in power;

his understanding is beyond measure.

Psalm 147:5 ESV

Southern Coast of Guernsey, 1875 By John Brett. Reverence and delight!

This Week’s Prompt

Journal for five minutes about this topic. If need a place to start, ask yourself:

• Where are you tempted to pretend like you have all the answers? Why do you think this is?

• Which of the three “filters” I wrote about is hardest for you? Which is easiest? Which do you have questions about? What would you add?

While these journaling prompts are for your own reflection, if any public pieces come out of this processing, I would love to read them! Tag me on Substack or on Instagram @alicialynnhamilton.

Cultivating Community

Note: We have writers in this community from all kinds of denominational backgrounds, and that is a gift! Please be charitable in your assumptions and kind in your responses. Aim for love and unity in your comments. Let’s be the family of Christ.

• It finally feels like SPRING in New Hampshire this week! How have you been able to enjoy nature in the place you live this month?

• How does it feel to release the need to know the answer to everything or to be the expert on every topic? How might that freedom beget beauty, creativity, and trust in God?

• In your writing—fiction, nonfiction, poetry, memoir—how might you point to the One who holds all the answers? What does this look like for you in your specific genre?

Do you have questions for me? Ask away in the comments! Do you want to request a topic for this newsletter? Tell me in the comments!

Other places to connect:

• Instagram

• My book! Eternity in Our Hearts: How the Wisdom of Ecclesiastes Frees Us to a Richer Reality

• My other Substack: A Creative Connection

1. I pulled this directly from my class notes. I always took notes not just on the material but what people said in my classes. I have a whole list of quotes from a kid named Spencer in my sophomore American Lit class because whenever he opened his mouth you just knew the most unhinged, wild, hilarious things would come out—so naturally I wrote them down. I took lots of notes in this creative nonfiction class too, not because what this professor said was funny, but because it was beautiful.

2. All theology is important, but it is important to allow room to disagree with our brothers and sisters in Christ about non-salvational doctrine. For more on this, read this article.

3. Job 38:4 ESV.