why break up songs are so awesome

A friend posed the rhetorical question while I circled the driveway, stepping on crunchy leaves: "Why are break-up songs so awesome?"

The leaf-stomping stopped. "Uh, I'm not really sure. But they are." (For us, this statement isn't even worth questioning. Besides worship music, many of our favorite songs are rather…melancholy.)

"Do you think," they said, "it could be because break-up songs, in some broken way, reflect the continued love of God for us?"

"Nah," I wanted to say. How could anything like a break-up reflect God's perfect, unending love? But the question is a good one. Why is it that the gut-wrenching songs about love resonate with us the most? I have a hard time thinking of any perfectly happy love songs that have stuck with me. There's always some line about fear, about thorns, about rediscovering love all over again, etc. etc.

Take for example, Taylor Swift. She's made her name through love/crush/whateveryoucallit songs. But you'll notice, none of her songs are about "dramaless" love. T-Swift knows that writing a good song is like writing a good story; and good stories are always complicated.

But it runs deeper than that. I wonder if, simply, the reason break-up songs resonate so much is because we can't relate to faithful love. We don't see it in real life. We don't have it often in ourselves, because we're not perfect and there is nothing in us that is not mixed with some imperfections. The closest we get to knowing faithfulness or real love is when we realize we've lost our chance, and love anyway. (Hence, 99% of break-up songs.)

And what does it say of us, that we identify most with brokenness? Is that not a verdict on the human condition—that we both long for perfect love, but relate best to broken hearts?

We want faithfulness—the kind God has—but we are most comfortable with the opposite. We think highly of love, but when push comes to shove, the closest image we have is a guy with his guitar, "Our love was lost/In the rubble are all the things/That you've, you've been dreaming of…"

In yet another space, we find an ancient fight: The pull between what we are, and the image into which we are being made; the yearning for perfection, but the hearts and affection and atmosphere that are still so far from perfect.

I think of Augustine, who aspired to obey and be like Christ, but who prayed: "Command what You will, but give what You command." Tell us to obey and aspire to greater images, but give us grace to follow through; for we are still spreading roots, learning what it means to depend on grace in You.