“The day he left, I had been listening to them argue. I guess my dad was stressed out and my mom was just a [witch] ... I was crying and screaming, “Daddy, please don’t go,” when he walked out the door. I followed him out and clung to his leg until he got to the car. This was when he pried me off his leg, jumped in the car and sped off. He wouldn’t even look me in the eye, and he didn’t say goodbye.”

So begins the letter from a little girl to author Richard Peck, prompting him to write a novel for children about divorce entitled Unfinished Portrait of Jessica.

Divorce is a prevalent issue in our society, one that impacts countless families, including those within our church community. Despite the discomfort it may bring, we cannot ignore the profound pain it causes.

Divorce feels almost commonplace in our society now, so much so that it’s hard to remember a time when it wasn’t. States have made the process more efficient, allowing people to move on with their lives more quickly. We even have things like 'no-fault' divorce, where neither party has to shoulder the blame. The paperwork usually just says something about 'irreconcilable differences,' which is a phrase that suggests there’s a point where two people just can’t find common ground anymore.

I was reading Herman Wouk’s classic War and Remembrance recently. It’s the sequel to The Winds of War, the two books comprising a sweeping saga of one naval family’s struggle to survive World War II and keep the family intact.

The central character of this epic is Pug Henry, a naval commander fighting the often competing impulses we all face between his devotion to his family, his career ambitions, and his commitment to his duty.

Because of the length of the war and the extended absences naval commanders were required to take, Pug Henry and his wife Rhoda spent much of the war apart.

Well, you know how that story goes. They’re both lonely and anxious, trying to heart and soul together in a long and costly war when they fall in love with someone else. Eventually, after much agonizing and hundreds of pages, Pug and Rhoda decide to get a divorce.

Part of the reason the decision to part ways took so long was because of how scandalous divorce was during that period. The whole thing wasn’t terribly rancorous. Apart from the personal pain of it, both feared the social repercussions of splitting up. She risked the social stigma of being known as a scarlet woman, and he knew that a divorce could stall his career and his dream of becoming a battleship captain.

As I read, I was struck by the contrast with our culture 80 years later. The kind of rifts that lead to divorce are the same as they’ve always been. Only now, it’s easier(and, in many cases, much healthier) to walk away.

But it’s not just marriages where this happens. We see it in all areas of life. Entire nations, cultures, and communities often seem caught in these divisions. When it comes to divorce, we call these divisions “irreconcilable differences.” The Israelis and Palestinians, Protestants and Catholics. Sunni and Shia. U of L and UK.

Even large-scale efforts like peace processes don’t always seem to change things—some new obstacle or misunderstanding always seems to rise up, keeping the divisions alive. So, while we long for unity and reconciliation, there are times when the gap between us feels too wide to bridge, whether in personal relationships or on the global stage.

Indeed, irreconcilable differences happen not only with nations and people but with ideas. It’s possible to have two ideas that cannot coexist side by side: Capitalism and Marxism, Peace and War, and Love and Apathy. And right now, it seems, Democrats and Republicans. Irreconcilable differences.

James takes up this theme in his letter. He presents two different conceptions of reality—two different world views. The first we’re familiar with is that success is measured by what we can achieve and what we can acquire. Upward mobility. Financial independence. Self-actualization.

We’re overrun with images of smart young businesswomen, savvy entrepreneurs, tireless executives who drive expensive cars, play tennis, drink scotch, and go to the Hamptons on the weekend. Let’s be honest; we know what it means to be successful in our world. The one who runs fastest, thinks hardest, wears the right clothes, buys the right stock, and has the most fun is the paradigm of accomplishment. The one with the most toys at the end of the game wins. The golden rule: The one with the gold makes the rules.

You know the drill. Most of us feel at home in this world—and if not at home, then at least altogether familiar; its assumptions are underwritten in virtually every image we see in advertising and social media. Success is achieved through domination, cleverness, intelligence, and beauty.

But James offers up another way of looking at the world. He suggests that reality in the kingdom of God looks different from the reality offered by the kingdoms of this world. James, harkening back to Jesus in the Gospels, understands success by a different set of criteria. He says Christians have a different way of determining worth and meaning than Madison Avenue. He holds up for us an ideal in which God has “chosen the poor in the world to be rich in faith and to be heirs of the kingdom that he has promised to those who love him” (James 2:5b).

Mother Theresa. I’m continually fascinated by the woman who has come to be known as the “Saint of the Gutters." Mother Theresa has something to teach us about what James is trying to say. Having spent most of her life ministering to the poor, the needy, and the dying, she remarked upon winning the Nobel Peace Prize in 1979, “The poor must know that we love them.”

Now, that’s a message that’s often hard to sell in our culture. No amount of neon lights and dancing girls on yachts makes that make sense in a world where the highest criterion of success is having the biggest toys. A woman like Mother Theresa makes no sense in our world. People think it’s nice that someone helps the “nice poor people,” but they’re not sure they could ever be like that. For crying out loud, when she died, all she owned in the whole world were two $1 saris, a well-worn sweater, and two pairs of glasses. How are you going to have a successful life with so little stuff?

I went whitewater rafting with a youth group once. I found the whole thing to be a great experience—very thrilling, absolutely soggy, and lots of adrenaline.