How I Was Wrong About Humility

If you've been a citizen of Western Evangelical Christianity for any length of time, you're probably well familiar with the concept of humility.

"God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble."

"Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord and He shall lift you up."

"For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted."

We've all heard those verses and many more. We've also heard countless stories from the pulpit about the rewards of humility, of not thinking more of ourselves than we should.

And we've all certainly heard about the destructive consequences of pride, the antithesis of humility. So I grew up trying to be humble, doing my best to avoid having pride in my heart.

This, unsurprisingly, led to me being unable to take a compliment, even if I did something well. It led to me being unrelentingly self-deprecating, partly for the laughs but mostly due to the fear of what would happen if I let myself be proud of who I am.

But what's really funny is that at the same time I was being taught the benefits of being humble, I was also being taught the importance of certainty. Somehow, religion taught me that certainty was synonymous with faith and therefore the enemy of doubt. If I was not certain, I had doubt. If I had doubt, my faith was weak.

It seemed that those Christians with the most certainty were celebrated as the most spiritual. I grew up with the idea that spiritual maturity meant you had more answers than questions, more certainty than doubt, more faith than unbelief.

I believe we've created a very destructive idea of what it is to be a "good Christian". People are taught to think little of themselves but to have a dogmatic certainty and an unwillingness to entertain doubt when it comes to their beliefs. Does that sound like the kind of person any of us want to be around? Someone ill-equipped to engage in dialogue due to the crushing weight of their insecurities and fears, taught that what matters most is to be proven right? To have their self-worth determined by their ability to silence the honest questions of their minds?

I think I'm learning that humility and certainty cannot easily co-exist, not in this context at least. I think a large part of humility is having the courage to say "I don't know". It's not a matter of just putting myself down, it's the decision to honestly engage my doubts. Maybe real humility has more kindness for ourselves and for others. Maybe real humility has more to do with the grace that allows us to wrestle with doubt, with the God who is bigger than all our best dogma and theology, with the ability to be proud of ourselves without becoming prideful, with the tenderness and compassion to walk with hurting people who need a friend and not another Bible verse.

Maybe real humility is the ability to accept Father's extravagant love without assuming we've earned it or resisting it because we feel unworthy. As we learn to accept his boundless love and grace given without condition or restraint, I think we then begin to learn how to love in the same way. We learn to love in a way that leaves room for questions and doubts; we find ourselves willing to step outside the confines of certainty to explore the greater space of mystery and wonder.

So maybe that's a really long answer to a question you never asked, but that's what I think about humility.

The Cost of Conformity

"And I have tried but I don't fit

Into this box you call a gift
When I could be wild and free
But god forbid then you might envy me"
~ Damien Rice, "The Box"

I tend to believe there's something in most of us that craves connection with other people.  While some may be happy being hermits, completely cut off from all human interaction, I think most prefer healthy community.  Heck, most of us probably prefer unhealthy community to being alone, or so I would assume based on observation.

There's something wonderful about belonging.  There's a joy in meeting someone and hitting it off right away with them. Maybe it's bonding over a favorite sports team or TV show, or maybe a shared life experience.  The means doesn't seem to matter as much as the resulting connection.

And maybe it's our desire for connection, to fit in, to be a part of something, that sometimes leads us into dangerous places.  There are times that this desire may override our better judgment and we find ourselves compromising much about ourselves simply to be accepted.

It can be a gradual transition sometimes.  We might not even know the cost of admission until it's already been paid.  We agree to put aside our independent thought, to join in on demonizing those who are "outside", or even to change the fundamental priorities of our lives. Before we know it, we can be the ones on the "inside" who are so intent on keeping others out. Sometimes we define our belonging to something simply by who is excluded.

Those in authority, the ones who are in charge of determining exactly who does belong, know exactly how much this sense of inclusion means to people.  Even good leaders, with the best of intentions, can find themselves manipulating others by appealing to their desire to be part of a larger group such as, say, churches, to pick a totally random and not at all premeditated example.

Even if it's not vocalized, if you attend a typical congregation long enough you'll start to understand what is accepted and what is not.  It may be what clothes you wear on Sunday morning, how vocal you can be if you're a woman, or exactly what kind of theology is okay to discuss.  The pressure to conform may barely be noticeable, but even a light pressure takes its toll over time.

Although you may not like censoring yourself, or you may feel uncomfortable when those outside your congregation are disparaged, it might seem like it's worth it just to belong.  Often those in leadership (again, many times with the best of intentions) will hold up examples of those who dared to leave and the calamities that befell them once they no longer were part of the congregation.

The message is quite clear - there is a cost to being able to belong to something. That cost is conformity, and it must be paid continuously.  Your acceptance into the group is conditional and can be taken away at a moment's notice if you do not toe the line.

Yet again, I want to stress something.  I believe most people in congregations really believe this is for your own good.  And that may make it even worse.  We seem willing to treat loved ones much worse than total strangers as long as we believe we're doing it "for their own good".

And so we conform to what is expected of us, choking back our objections, dampening down our desire for healthy life-giving community, and doing our best to ignore that little voice that insists there is something much, much better available for us.  We may even work really hard to be one of the best conformers, constantly comparing ourselves to others and judging those who don't fit in as well as we do.

But, inevitably, I believe we find that even the most strenuous conforming cannot satisfy us.  We eventually realize that the cost is much too great and the payoff never seems to materialize.

So how do we finally leave this culture of conformity?  Is the only escape to be chewed up and spit out as an empty husk?  Do we just work and work and work until we burn out and then those who once championed us now point to us and judge our failure from the pulpit?  Do we try to convince ourselves that we can survive on this treadmill day after day while being painfully aware that we're not moving at all?

Between our innate desire to belong and the years of fear-based indoctrination about the dangers of straying away, what hope is there for a way out?

As is so often the case, I believe the answer is love.  I think we are loved out of conformity.  It's when we find a love greater than our fear that we find the courage to jump ship and strike out for an unseen shore.

When real belonging and acceptance is offered, the conformity counterfeit can't compare (holy alliteration Batman).  When we begin to discover the depths of Father's love for us, love that is not conditional or threatened by our doubts and questions, no amount of manipulation can hold us back.

It is incredibly freeing.  So freeing, in fact, that you may find that you become a target.

You see, the conformity-based institutions are threatened by those who have no need for them.  Simply by existing, nay, thriving, apart from the institution, you undermine the fear they use to manipulate others into conformity.

Fear knows it will ultimately be defeated by love, and so is threatened by it. Conformity knows it will lose its power if real freedom is offered as an alternative, and sadly this means that those in authority will often lash out against those who dare to revel in the freedom they've found.

And as we move out of the realm of fear and conformity, it is wise to remember that it often takes a season for detoxification.  Even though we're being won by love, our impulses may sometimes reflect other motives.  When attacked by those still in a conformity-based structure, it is tempting to lash back at them.

But as love wins us deeper into its wonderful reality, I think it's easier to let that stuff go.  Any argument driven by proving yourself right only plays right into their hands.  As difficult as it can be, often the best thing we can do is to let go of our need to be right and simply allow space for Father to demonstrate his irresistible love.

It may not always be on our timeline, but I believe tendrils of love and grace are working their way through the walls of these fear-driven, conformity-based institutional structures.

I think the cracks are starting to show.

Life, uh, finds a way. :)

Angst and Apathy

Lately, I've found myself simply coasting.  There's been a certain apathetic reluctance to engage in the spiritual.  It's not that God has become undesirable or uninteresting necessarily, just that I've allowed myself to be busy and distracted.

It's true that I have an unfortunate enthusiasm for chasing myriad distractions.  My "free" hours each day are easily filled by Netflix, sports, video games, and books.  And the whole buying a house adventure certainly demanded a lot of my attention for a while (and quite fairly I think).  None of those things are bad, of course, but as DFW would say,

". . . the insidious thing about these forms of worship is not that they're evil or sinful, it's that they're unconscious. They are default settings."

It's not really that I've been making bad choices, I simply haven't been making any choices.  I've floated along, letting each little whim take me where it will.

Actually, that's overstating it a bit.  It's not like I've been spiritually bankrupt, but I have noticed an itch for something deeper.  But that takes me to a somewhat conflicting realization: I've lost my angst.

Oh, how I remember those years of angst.  Always desperate, always pushing in, pressing in, digging deeper, begging for more, making promises and commitments and covenants . . .

It was so exhausting.  Just a soul-crushing cycle of fervor, burnout, and "renewal".  I have absolutely no desire to go back to that place.  As Father has revealed the depths of his love and affection over the last decade or so, all that desperation and angst has slowly faded away.  There's no more fear about missing out on what God is doing, or of disappointing him, or feeling some need to work up some type of supernatural experience.  I have found fullness and completion in him, love and affection that carry me through every circumstance, grace for every failure and joy in every sorrow.

Not that I'm claiming I've arrived or reached the peak of spiritual knowledge and wisdom, far from it.  More than ever I am aware of my incredible ignorance and lack of understanding.  But I've found peace in situations that used to terrify me, a calm and comfort that certainly seems to come from something beyond myself.

And that's the conflict.  Am I truly apathetic or just finally moving into a serenity born of fellowship with Father?  Is there room to be more intentional in my relationship without regressing into angst?  Is it just that I have a hard time comprehending why there seems to be fruit developing in my life at a time that my effort is nearly nonexistent?

Maybe this is simply a season of discovering that all the years of striving and working could not produce any lasting fruit while the simple surrender of relaxing into Father's love has untwisted much of the fear and frustration that resided in my heart.  It's possible some of what I'm feeling is an echo of the guilt that used to plague me for never doing enough.  I suppose I'll probably be wrestling with this for the rest of my life, trying to find that balance between devotion and surrender, intentionality and relaxation.

I want to learn to be present and engaged, ready to respond to each of Father's invitations to join Him in this dance, but not so over eager that I try to build something of my own effort and strength.  This seems to be a delicate walk and I have no doubt that I will often stumble off both sides of the path.  But grace, always grace, will bring me back.

Changes

I'm in a fog.  A funk.  A funky fog of frustration and fear.

To what end?  Where does this angst take me?  Why am I surprised by how quickly anger leaps in my chest?  Why does there seem to be no hope, no redemption, nothing of interest at all?

Drudgery.  That's the word I've been looking for.  All is drudge.

I'm being forced to make decisions, which I approach with bone-deep dread.  Ambiguity is more my speed.  Plan, but nothing concrete.  Prepare, but ready to bail.

I need resolution, but refuse to travel down that path.  Too many long hard conversations block my way.  Too many possibly painful moments of honesty.  I fear the truth I've buried in the dark.

But doing nothing solves nothing.  The gloomy clouds do not dissipate by ignoring them.  A storm may be on the way but this little shanty of fear and frustration will do nothing to shelter me.

Still I am mute.  A heaviness rises from my heart and lodges in my throat.  The more space is given to speak, the more I shrink back.

Possibly I am too aware of the impact of words.  What is said can never be taken back. Why talk about a problem when you can simply ignore it and hope it fixes itself?  Despite all evidence to the contrary, I live as though that may actually happen.

Avoidance begets avoidance, distraction begets distraction.  Running in place is exhausting and hiding under a rock offers no refreshment.

But what alternative is there?  To face the issues I have caused with uplifted chin and shoulders thrown back?  Preposterous.

Another day of fluorescent lights and shrinking cubicles.  Another evening of anxious escapism.  All too easy to see thousands of these days stretching out before with no change and no relief.

Yet change is as frightening as it is needed.  It is not easily controlled, it leaks into every area of life.  A shift of the rudder to avoid a sandbar can lead you dangerously close to an unseen whirlpool. Better almost to be becalmed on the still seas. At least that only leads to madness.  And a certain comfort can be found in madness.



But even this rambling is simply another way to delay, to analyze without engaging, to make an abstract study of the very fabric of my life.  Much easier to stand outside and observe than to slip inside my skin and risk the many trials and tribulations of life.

To feel is to know pain.  The alternative - an unfeeling existence - seems to me to be a little less than life.  Even now I have not slid so far as to desire that.

So I tentatively point one foot down the path, knowing I wear no armor at all that will protect me from the discomforts of change.  To live honestly is not the same as living easily, but I must trust that there is a far greater reward.

Two Left Feet

My feet felt light for the first time in months

It was like You came walking across the room
Straight at me and then straight through me

And then stopped and stood still for awhile

I knew then that I’d been lonely for quite some time

And as we started to dance, You gently took off my tear-soaked coat

And let it fall heavy to the floor and then

We danced some more

I do not dance well.  This is a fact.  I can blame it on a variety of factors, but the plain truth is simply that I can not dance, nor should I try.

It's that stupid rhythm thing, y'know?  I can hear the rhythm fine, but the translation to movement is where I get lost.  And the more I get out of rhythm, the more I analyze each move.

"Should my left knee bend now?"

"Do I sway right now?"

"What the hell am I supposed to do with my arms?"

Shockingly, intense analysis of each limb's movements does not lead to graceful dancing.  The more I try to calculate movement, the further I fall out of rhythm.  It's a vicious cycle.  

I think dance needs to come from the heart, not the head.  There needs to be an instinctual, shameless response to something larger than myself.  Instead of trying to control the rhythm, I need to give myself to it.  

And this pretty much sums up why I struggle with a lot of things in life.  It occurred to me recently that life is a dance, and for most of my life I've been at least half a beat off.  I have grabbed and grasped and tried my best to control every outcome.  Even when the music invites me one way, I stubbornly stomp another.

It's like I'm getting on the dance floor determined to dance a samba, even if the band plays a gentle waltz. And the worst part about it is that in life I am capable of dancing wonderfully.  For the few moments I've managed to let go and simply move to the music around me, I've been able to join in life's joyous rhythm.  I've allowed myself to be swept away by One who is music and movement itself.  

The only catch is that I have to allow myself to be led.  It's not always an easy thing to let myself be pulled into the dance, it seems my natural impulse is take the reins myself.  Maybe it's a guy problem, or I have control issues, but I've always fought against being led.

I do think part of the problem is that there are some misconceptions about what it means to be "led".  It seems that we've somehow used that language to imply that Father lays out a specific path for us to take and then it's up to us to walk it.  At least, that's what I had always thought.

Now I'm wondering if maybe it's not a specific path we're invited down, but rather an invitation to dance down whatever path we are on.  I tend to focus too much on my particular situations and circumstances and remain unaware that Father is asking me to dance in the middle of it all.  

I fight and I struggle and I cling so hard to the many frustrations and disappointments that fill my day, all the while missing the fact that I'm being invited to let them all go and join the God of Love as he leads a dance of grace and joy. Sometimes the hardest thing of all is to surrender my right to be miserable.  

So now I'm trying to quiet myself a little bit, to take a deep breath and listen for the faint strains of music in the midst of the everyday.  I'm trying to remember that my feet will move to the rhythm if I let them and that if I really want to dance, I need to face each day with a soft, tender heart.

When all is said and done

When all is gone and still just begun

I will be asked what I did with my time and why

Can You be my alibi

Cause I know I spent it dancing with You  

~ Blindside, My Alibi

Peace in the Corners

My wife and I went to North Carolina last fall for our vacation.  One evening I was randomly wandering around downtown Charlotte by myself and came across the library.  I was quite heartbroken when I realized they were already closed, but I found this wonderful quote (pic on right) on a column outside.

I have started to realize that I really do find peace in the corners.  It may have to do with security, with knowing limitations, with feeling protected and sheltered.

I often find myself gravitating toward the corner of a room when I'm in a new social situation.  Part of it certainly has to do with my introverted nature.  But on the whole, it just gives me a level of comfort as I navigate a new environment.

Right now I'm at a point in my life where I can't see any walls, let alone a corner.  Everything seems vague and nebulous, poorly defined.  I struggle to find a place of comfort and security.  On the one hand, I seem to have a lot of options.  I could try to change jobs, or move, or change my life in a different way.  On the other hand, I have no place to rest or recharge.

By being able to move in any direction, I find myself paralyzed.  With no map or landmarks, I don't know which direction to move.  My fear of making a wrong move prevents me from making any sort of progress on my journey.

Sometimes I find myself wanting to just pick a direction and start running.  Damn the consequences!  All forward motion is progress!

But then the "what ifs" start playing in my head.

"What if I end up in a worse place?"

"What if I hurt somebody?"

"What if I disappoint the people that care about me?"

And I long again for the comforting corner, the wall against my back, the quiet moment to rest.

But sometimes, if I'm conscious enough to put aside the panic and the worry, to be aware, to find the space between the heartbeats . . . I hear a whisper in the sunlight and the breeze.

I am reminded that I will not be given a map that tells me the best route, but I do have Someone who will help guide me.  I am reminded that even wrong steps can lead to beautiful places.  I am reminded that Love and Grace are my constant companions, that they provide me with a corner in which to rest even in the midst of the wide open wildernesses.  

Being Right

Walter Sobchak: Am I wrong?
The Dude: No you're not wrong.
Walter Sobchak: Am I wrong?
The Dude: You're not wrong Walter. You're just an asshole.
Walter Sobchak: Okay then.




I used to think it would be nice to have the answer key to life, the universe, and everything.  Trying to maneuver through life using only instinct and guesswork has always been uncomfortable for me.  Everything would be so much easier if I had something that told me exactly what to do and say.

And I've approached much of my Christian life the same way.  I tried to use the Bible as a book of answers that could solve any and all of my issues or predicaments.  The whole point of being a Christian seemed to be to get all the right answers so I could live the right way.  Those who professed to have the answers seemed to be the most spiritually mature.

But eventually I began to realize something.  Having more answers didn't make you a better person.  Even when I felt like I had a lot of the whole God-thing figured out, my life was a mess.  And I began to see it in others as well.  Talking a good game loses its luster when you start to see through the cracks of the facade into a person's broken life.

So now I was really lost.  If getting all the answers wasn't the point, what the hell was I doing?  Where was I going?  What did I have to show for all the time and effort invested into getting it all figured out?

Why worship being right when you can be right and still be an asshole?

It was really in the midst of this confusion and loss that Father gently and quietly began to invite me into something else.  Something that was even better than having the answer key to life.  He began to show me how my desires were misguided and how there was something much better than what I had been looking for.

He invited me to know a Person instead of a theology, to know a Father who loves me beyond my comprehension, to know a Jesus who is actively at work around me and asking me to join in.

It is, in some ways, a much more difficult path to walk.  I like concrete solutions to problems.  I am somewhat of a linear thinker.  I like to have a toolbox full of principles that I can use to fix any situation.  Learning to hear Father's voice and walk alongside him in everyday life can be scary at times.  Letting go of my need to control things has been a difficult transition.

But you could not pay me to go back to my old rule-driven, paint-by-numbers religious life.  Knowing all the answers in the world can not give me a fraction of the peace as enjoying a quiet moment with Father.  Life is more unsettled now but it is finally life.

And this has really begun to work through into other areas of my life.  I'm less concerned about being the person who is right, and more interested in truly hearing other people.

I've begun to realize that to have really meaningful dialogue, all participants need to at least consider the possibility that they're wrong.  Once I let go of needing to be right about everything, my conversations with other people became so much more enjoyable and rewarding.  People have started to be more important that my own agenda.

And lest you think I'm trying to simply preach a different set of answers, let me assure you that this is all still very much a work in progress.  This is not something I think I am going to master in this lifetime.  Some days I do better at quieting the noise and distancing myself from distractions in order to create a space for Father to speak.  Some days (or weeks) I remain consciously unconscious, choosing meaningless busywork because it can be much easier.

But now we see another example of why knowing a Person trumps the quest for answers.  If I stumble on my walk with Father I am not given a failing grade and told to go study harder.  On a journey together there is grace to sustain me when I falter, there is loving correction when I screw up, and failure is never the final word.