Tourists flock to the Leaning Tower of Pisa for selfies with its famously crooked tilt. But behind the charm lies a cautionary tale about compounded error: the tower began to fail before it was even finished. Construction started in 1173, and by the time builders reached the second floor, the structure had already begun to tilt. The foundation was too shallow, laid on unstable soil. Engineers tried to compensate by building the higher levels at an angle to counter the tilt, an act of architectural denial that accommodated the flaw rather than correcting it.
In essence, the tower turned its flaw into its identity.
The Tower of Pisa is a brilliant visual representation of our lives when misalignment becomes normalized. The lean becomes the lifestyle. Our structure never collapses completely; it just tilts hard, and everyone learns to work around it. We carefully manicure our environments, surrounding ourselves with people who accept our dysfunction and distancing ourselves from anyone who dares to point out the tilt. We develop narratives to justify it and build theology to bless it.
The lean may even feel like freedom for a while. We imagine we've discovered a sustainable way to navigate life's pressures without the exhausting work of standing straight. We look around and see that we're not alone. Entire communities, whole churches, vast swaths of culture have learned to lean together. The collective tilt becomes its own form of validation.
But this kind of architectural denial is nothing new. Millennia before engineers tried to cheat the physics of gravity in Pisa, the citizens of ancient Jerusalem tried to cheat the geometry of God. The people of ancient Judah had built their entire security system on deception, yet convinced themselves they were safe. God’s response to their brash security begins with a single, piercing command:
“Look! I am placing a foundation stone in Jerusalem, a firm and tested stone. It is a precious cornerstone that is safe to build on... I will test you with the measuring line of justice and the plumb line of righteousness. Since your refuge is made of lies, a hailstorm will knock it down.” (Isaiah 28:16-17)
Pull back the deception. Lift your head above the fog of your false narrative. See what you have actually built your life upon. Look.
Sometimes confronting the truth is the hardest part. Once a lean becomes our identity, correction requires admitting we have been wrong, not just in a single moment, but possibly for years. It requires us to dismantle the elaborate infrastructure we built to support our misalignment. So, we avert our eyes. We think we cannot afford to face it. But Isaiah reveals that every refuge made of lies will eventually be tested by the storm.
I learned this the hard way. For years, my personal lean held. The consequences were manageable, and the systems I used to prop up my misalignment seemed to work. Until they didn't. When the pressure finally came, the structure shattered. The consequences rippled out to the people I loved most, those who had been depending on a life that looked sound but was fundamentally compromised.
Exposing the lean before the total collapse is the most loving thing God can do. He tests our structures not to be cruel, but because he knows a refuge of lies cannot withstand the hailstorm.
Mercifully, God never exposes our misalignment without offering a foundation. In ancient construction, the cornerstone was the absolute reference point for the masonry. Every other block was positioned in direct relation to its edge. If the cornerstone was set square and true, the building rose straight; if it was off by even a millimeter, the bad geometry would compound with every subsequent layer until the walls buckled. The cornerstone dictated the alignment of the whole project.
Isaiah emphasizes that God’s cornerstone is tested and proven reliable under pressure. Christ was exactly that, submitting completely to the Father's vertical alignment even under the crushing weight of Gethsemane and the cross.
God is not asking you to manufacture your own straightness. He is offering to be your cornerstone, the immovable reference point that makes true alignment possible. When I finally stopped defending my lean and looked at the devastation I had caused, I discovered that the Cornerstone was still there, unshaken by my failure, ready to anchor whatever I built next.
The question isn’t whether we have areas of misalignment. We all do. The question is whether we will stop defending them long enough to set them alongside Christ's cornerstone and allow him to show us where the lean has set in; whether we're willing to fall to our knees and say, I see it, Lord. I see the lean.
Sometimes we remain unaware of our own lean because we have built "scaffolding" around our lives (hobbies, overwork, or even certain friendships) that props us up and hides the tilt. What are the things in your life keeping you too busy or distracted to check your own plumb line? What scaffolding are you leaning on instead of relying on God?
God’s most loving act is to expose our lean before the collapse. If you were to pray, “Lord, I see the lean,” what is the very first thing you would have to admit that you have been avoiding?