There were two things that really stood out to me in Costa Rica. As I had expected, I encountering the overwhelming beauty of God's creation with what seemed like every turn of my head. Beauty was everywhere I looked. (Including the female body, since everyone there is greatly inspired to get back to our roots of nakedness, and has no problem wearing a good ‘ole thong in the great outdoors, making the whole purity thing a constant challenge and turning beauty into what seemed like more of a curse than a gift . . . but besides that mess . . .) The other thing that really caught my attention was the people and their culture. In particular, their absence of a materialistic drive within them.
From the first step I took off the plane to the time I re-boarded, foreigners stuck out like the President on skid row with all their clothes and gear - everyone dressing to impress while all around them people wear rags - offering this poignant contrast between our way of life and theirs. At the time, materialism wasn’t something that had really crossed my mind before, but part of me felt completely ashamed of thought that these people, and their ways, are what I associate with. Soon enough I found myself purposefully wearing a cheap t shirt and dirty board shorts everywhere I went in attempt to kill those feelings. All in all, I left this experience with eyes that looked past myself, past the glorious United States for that matter, and coincidentally, a heart for those in need.
This time in Costa Rica also illuminated a few of my own not so glorious tendencies. You see, once I shrunk my wardrobe down to the board short and single tee, rather than the huge suitcase (which sadly only represented a portion of my closet at the time), some weird things started to happen. For the first time in my life I wasn't comparing myself those around me because I no longer had this heavy sense that those around me were comparing themselves to me. And it was the most freeing sensation that left me feeling some much more natural.
From this point on, my trip was all about discovering what kind of truth might lie behind all this. Here’s what I came to a year ago -
I am constantly comparing myself to others like life is a competition. And for the most part I think we're all totally desensitized to this, because it's "normal." If you don't agree, just stop by my high school, or really any high school, (actually go anywhere it's just the younger you are the less aware we are of this) and eves-drop on a conversation, analyzing what’s being said and why, as objectively as possible. Do it and I promise that underneath all the talk, you’ll find this recurring theme of one justifying their self-worth and a desire to feel loved and valuable and beautiful and be cool and have glory . . . like something’s at stake.
So I got to wondering, what if this "normality" of how we interact, this competition of life, isn’t exactly so normal – almost as if there’s a reason why the way of life I experienced in Costa Rica felt so freeing, and way more natural. I mean, what if the reason for our natural tendency to engage in competition with one another lies in the wake of the fall?
I once heard it said that the most selfless thing God could do, that is, the most selfless thing a most perfect Being, who is perfectly loving, could do, would be to create other beings to enjoy Himself. I know at first it may seem like God is totally narcissistic, but just let it percolate for a second. In the same way the sun feeds plants, God’s glory gives us life.
Even Jesus acknowledges this. In John 17, you'll find he said that His glory comes from the Father, which I take to mean that Christ, a perfect Being, was valuable because God loved him. Jesus goes on to explain how the Trinity operates: a community of love, where one is constantly telling the other that they are great, and beautiful. And Jesus, also in John 17, goes on to pray that the disciples God gave him would also learn to live this way because it explains they way we are wired. As if to say that we will be fulfilled when we are finally with God and, in His companionship, we know who we are.
Whether we acknowledge it or not, we are constantly seeking to save our lives in some shape or form. Culture tells us this is accomplished through prosperity and importance, which are most often measured and indicated by accomplishments, wealth, good looks, and intelligence, just to name a few. (. . . Hopefully none of us are actually stupid enough to really think that those who save themselves by the world’s standards alone are actually happy. If they are then Jesus is a liar. However if you aren’t yet convinced, I welcome you to come work at LML, an elite estate management corporation that I have worked with for the past few summers. In short, we do anything and everything for people who have been extremely prosperous and, as a result, have so much money they can't exactly figure out what to do with it. I imagine one or two encounters with a few of their happy clients will likely persuade you.) I’d like to suggest that true prosperity looks slightly different than what culture says. And although I don't intend to imply that the pursuits culture is telling us to go after are bad, because they aren't, in fact they can bring so much good, but in themselves, they are void of any redemptive potential.
In Galatians 6:16, Paul calls the body of believers, “the Israel of God.” In the Hebrew, the word Ishrael literally means human beings (“Ish”), fighting and wrestling (“rah”), with God (“el”) . . . only slightly appropriate for us and the people of Israel considering our conditions. With that in mind, consider what Frederich Beuchner has to say concerning Israel:
“When Israel asked the question why God elected them, of all people, they arrived at two main answers. One answer was that God elected them for special privilege, but the tragic course of their own history soon disabused them of that. The other answer was that he elected them for terrible responsibility.
When Israel asked the question what the responsibility was that God had saddled them with, they arrived at two main answers. One answer was that their responsibility was to impose upon the world the knowledge of the One. The other answer was that their responsibility was to suffer and die for the world.”
The Israelites were for the most part an utter failure at bringing the word of God to his people. In recognition of this, Beuchner seems to suggest that the ultimate purpose of the Israelites, their calling, was to suffer and die. Therefore, if we are in fact God's New Israel, doesn’t that make it our fundamental calling as well? Hey! that almost has a biblical ring to it. Oh wait, it does, for “The man who has found his own life will lose it, but the man who has lost it for my sake will find it.” (Matthew 10:39)
Now although we are called to suffer and die (oh joy!), it isn't a Maudlin notion of "life sucks" and "woe is me." To begin understanding this mystery of change, it is implicit that we separate ourselves from linear thinking (thinking this way doesn't help in anything of life that is of great importance). Instead we must learn the trait of poetic thinking, the ability to hold two seemingly contradicting ideas at once. Also known as a paradox.
I only say this because the greatest truths in life are inherently paradoxical and Matt 10:39 is no exception. Maybe you're familiar with the popular paradox that goes something like, "Those who are least afraid of death, live the most", and if you aren't, now you are. This my friend is a good thing because it directly applies to what Jesus is saying here. It’s a mystery of change that we’ll surely never fully understand, but if we're true to ourselves it reads something like this, "Those who are the most open to death and sacrifice and suffering, are the ones who will receive more of both the extraordinary things of life and great suffering." Jesus invites us to loose our lives so that we might gain them. This is His calling, and if we are open to it, and the word of the Spirit, and dare we to live thoughtfully as we pay attention to the suffering and death that's taking place all around, He will take us to the darkest places of the world and ourselves. Redemption is never easy, but it will undoubtedly rock your world.
It's messages like these that don't preach well from the pulpit because were obsessed with safety and have this tendency to protect ourselves (physically, theologically, and spiritually). We'd rather hear prosperity gospel messages that say if you're good, God will bless you, which we typically define by a lack of suffering, often through monetary things. We get ideas like this because they're scattered all over the old testament. Take the infamous Jeremiah 29:11 for example - "For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the LORD, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." This text has been totally abused and ripped from it's imperative context, most importantly forgetting that we must analyze the old through the lens of the new because I promise you, God is not some Genie in the sky,who likes to play Santa and give you what you want as the prosperity gospel insists. In fact, it's messages like this that you hear the devil say. . . and it's messages like this that you'll be hard pressed to find any scriptural evidence to sustain a conversation that this was the message of Jesus of Nazareth, or Paul for that matter. Reality is that the fact that messages like this don't preach well from the pulpit is a terrible tragedy because what lies in a life of great thoughtfulness and great suffering is a life on the edge, full of vitality and depth; and to protect yourself from it only causes more inertia on our lives.
In the end, it's a question of whether were up for it or not. Whether we've got what it takes to be open and suffer and change (since none of us are particularly found of any of those things. But if were being honest, these things are good, as they cause us to grow and become stronger.) G. K. Chester says this, "The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and left untried." The way of Jesus isn't this cuddly little thing you hold onto, like the notion which most of us have been raised with that has coincidentally lulled us into a world of dysfunctional Christianity that is little, if anything, more than a functional atheist.
The terrible beauty of God is the cross. A symbol of torture. The symbol of the world's largest religion. And any message that doesn't end around the suffering of the gospel is a false message. For the majority of the world this makes sense, because for them life involves suffering. But we're the privileged few to whom it doesn't make sense. And it is to our cultural tradition that the bible warns how very hard it will be for us to be on the way of the cross and truly say, "Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?" (1 Cor. 10:55)
