InMediasRace

Christians can be really stupid sometimes. On the good side, it gives us a connection with the rest of humanity that most non-Christians don’t think we have (cf. the “holier than thou” mentality). On the bad side, it can tend to lead those of us with untrained minds into some very snarled labyrinths of thought, which sometimes take years to successfully exit.

A very good man at my second church gave my Sunday school class some very bad advice one day. I was about sixteen. We were discussing ambition, in a general sense, which my male, work-oriented mind translated to “choice of career”. My friend, the teacher on that day, said, “You shouldn’t aim to do what you want in this life, because if you do what you’re good at, then who gets the glory? That’s right: you do, not God. So look for the thing that God wants you to do, and follow after that.” At the time, this made sense to me. So a little switch-track was flipped in my brain, and my thoughts began a course along these newfound neurons, striving to find that thing that God wanted me to do, the plan he had for me. After all, if he has a perfect plan, then he’s got one thing, and one thing only, in mind, right?

For years I labored to find this thing. It became a sub-conscious search, always running like daemon program in the background of my mind, in constant contrast with whatever I was doing at that period of my existence. Life moved me forward, from school to school, from school to work force, and still there was that uneasy feeling that I wasn’t doing what I was supposed to be doing: i.e., what God had in mind for me. It bludgeoned me day by day because I felt powerless to change my course without knowing what I was supposed to change to. I had no pride in what I did, because it was just the layover to what I eventually would take hold of, and then I’d have satisfaction.

Then I reached my current church. And one day, our pastor gave a unique sermon. He talked, as so many Christians do from week to week in America (for I believe this is a singularly American way of thinking) about God’s plan for our lives. And he said something I’d never heard before. He said, “I believe that if you’ve trusted Jesus Christ for salvation, then wherever you are now is exactly where God wants you to be.” And he didn’t limit that to the present: he went on to say that God had most likely been working in our pasts up to this point, even before we came to believe, and that he would continue to work faithfully in the future, so that every step we would take from here on would be likewise counseled and sanctioned by God’s will and his hand.

I’m ashamed to say that this seemed unnatural to me at first. My heart balked at it. Humans have free will, and we won’t always make the exact right decision, will we? If we were really all aligned with God’s good, pleasing, and perfect will, we’d be in Uganda handing out food to the poor and hungry, right? Hubris told me that it was up to me, and me only, to direct my steps and make sure I was conforming to God’s plan. Yet at the same time, because of recent lessons that rendered my human arrogance a less useful defensive weapon, my heart was also more open to this idea of constant guidance than it had ever been, and when I thought more about it, I realized how beautiful an idea it really is. Why wouldn’t an all-powerful God be in control of his servants’ lives? Why wouldn’t the benevolent God we know exists be intervening for the best? My hubris, creeping up just outside my peripheral vision, as it’s so skilled at doing, had kept me from realizing my creator’s power. As if I could usurp God.

This is a matter of pride. I’m not saying my former Sunday school teacher was an awful, prideful man; but I think he fell prey to a misaligned belief system stemming from the bad kind of pride.

Christians tend to deride the word pride. We fear it. It was Satan’s sin, after all, and one could say the mother who gives birth to the other deadly sins. This is true: it’s a dangerous thing to be. But it’s also a healthy one.

We English speakers have only one word for the light and dark sides of this human state of mind. We say, “He’s too prideful,” but we also say “You should take more pride in your work.” When my parents told me they were proud of me, I never thought they were encouraging satanic behavior. The good pride is a healthy part of life: it is the tasty fruit of a job well done, a day full of hearty work. And it spurs us toward improvement, encourages us to love what we do. But Christians get ascetic about pride. We think we need to eschew every form of it, run away from the very word in any sense. So we stop taking pride in our jobs, in our families, in our accomplishments, because we think it somehow drains the reservoir of God’s glory on Earth. As if we could ever remove a drop of it. Even though all creative energy comes from his Spirit anyway, and all glory will eventually flow back to him, I really don’t believe that God hordes our accomplishments for himself, robbing us of any sense of satisfaction for them. I think he shares. And I don’t think he minds if we’re proud of them, especially if we’re proud in the knowledge that it’s all a gift from him anyway.

So when you look at your son, be proud. When you finish the project on time and under budget, be proud. When your daughter gets her scholarship, be proud. When you get done cleaning the bathroom, hey, be proud for that. God rejoices with you. Just remember the Source.

And I really think we need to jettison this belief in one special way that God is going to direct our lives. Wherever go, there we are for him to use. Let a little hippie in: go with the flow. Let the wind, or the job, or your Ford Escort take you where you wind up. The fields are white all across the globe. There’s always work for you and God to take pride in.

When I was about five years old I was playing in the woods behind my house and got lost. I remember the clearing well–can even picture it in my mind now, stumped branches of dead and dying pine trees sticking out at me like soldiers’ guns, and a thick mat of orange pine needles on the ground. Realizing I was lost, I called for my father, whom I knew was working in the garden nearby. He came almost immediately, scooping me up and carrying me out of this pocket of my universe I had helplessly fallen into.

How many times God has done this for me. I am incredibly fortunate to have an earthly father who exemplifies God’s true character: loving but just, expectant but understanding, patient but demanding discipline. So many of my friends have no such father to look up to, usually because he has left, divorced not only from his wife but from the entire family. This enrages me. At a time in my life when I yearn for a family, I can’t imagine leaving one for selfish pursuits. But I can understand it, because I have experienced the squishy, weak heart that prompts a man to run. To silence his true self and take the silvery path. And since that is the man some of my friends have as a father, it’s become very difficult to convince them of a true, loving Father who created them.

As I look back on that day I was lost, I wonder at a certain memory. I could be fabricating it, but I recall being steady, reassuring myself that I would get out of there. Even if this was the case, it’s only because I knew my father was near. And even as I try to be self-reliant, composed and strong in the midst of self-doubt and situations that chisel at my hope, I can only come to the same conclusion now. I am now a man, roaming in a forest in the midst of my life, and I still need a guide. Sign of weakness or of wisdom, it’s the simple truth.

Now that I find in myself the curious but natural yearning for a child, I think about my own ability to be a father. On some days I have simple confidence; on others, utter skepticism. It is as if I have the opposite problem of those friends I described. How could I hope to be the steadfast example that my father was, when I change so frequently and so extremely? He never did. He never wavered.

But ah–there’s the mistake.

My father never spoke about his work. He worked in corrections, a job no one really wants to take home at the end of the day, so this is understandable. But I always found this curious, why he never vented, never really talked about the challenges he faced there day to day, in that world we as kids could only fantasize about in preparation for our entry into the workforce. But an interesting thing has happened since my father’s retirement. He has begun to speak about those things: the lessons he learned, the very methods of management he used. It’s become a huge boon to me as I take his place in the workforce now. I suspect, and hope, that he’ll start to describe the shortcomings and doubts he held while raising his children.

Just because my father never spoke about his doubts, though, does not mean they didn’t exist, as I was so naively wont to believe. Even as adults we can elevate our parents (or other role models) to superhuman status, but we do so because we cannot see the back of the rug, the gnarly cords and tangled yarn that make up their imperfect yet successful lives. We see our own unfinished and thrice-mended weaving, and weep at the horrible job we think we’re doing. But God sees effort. He sees us trying, and that speaks more to him than we know.

I have no idea if or when I’ll have kids. But I do know that I’m not going to let fear stop me from it. I won’t know what kind of father I’ll be until I get there. But my father will help me. My father will help me.

Of course, I’ve got to find a wife first.