Christian Life 26 - Note to Self

    If nobody ever reads this, that's fine.  I'm writing it for myself so that I can re-read it occasionally and remind myself of this moment.     

    I was cleaning the bathrooms yesterday, a rather mindless task which allowed me quite a bit of time to think about other things.  I'm not sure how I came upon this, but I remembered something interesting:

    In 1990, I felt "called by God" to start a Christian television ministry.  I even quit my job and returned to college to earn degrees in theology and television production.  I earned the degrees, but I dropped the idea of television ministry one morning when I picked up a copy of USA Today on my way to class.  On the front page of this particular issue was the result of a poll, the conclusion to which was that 97% of the people who report watching religious broadcasting on a regular basis consider themselves born-again Christians who believe the program is being broadcast for the benefit of someone else.    

    A dear brother of mine recently started his own podcast in which he essentially preaches about various topics.  I have listened to all the episodes to date.  I am curious who else has.

    Two cherished sisters take to Facebook on a near daily basis and post rather long devotions.  So long, in fact, that I rarely read them in their entirety.  I wonder if anyone does.

    Near my house, at a rather busy intersection, a lady stands with a megaphone preaching to the passing traffic.  She's been there every day for years, rain or shine.  I've never seen anyone stop and listen to her.

    I don't know what brought all these to mind, but the remembrance made me ponder the question "why would God call so many of us to preach in our own ways if no one - no one! - pays any attention?  Are we actually following the call of God, or are we simply stroking our own egos?"

    And that brought me to this blog.  I've been posting on this blog now for almost 4 years.  If the counter is anything to go by, I have zero followers and my average readership is four views per post.  I have on several occasions been talking to friends or family members and all but begged them to at least glance over a few of my posts and give me some critical feedback.  To the best of my knowledge, none have, with the exceptions of my pastor, who has responded three times, always in answer to a specific request, and another sister who looked it over on one occasion as a matter of courtesy.  Over the four year period, I have made 72 posts, had a total of 1209 observations (including myself, robots and repeats), and received exactly 7 comments.  When I observe others "preaching into nothingness," I realize that I am possibly the single biggest offender in this regard!

    Ironically, this is the same realization that my own children have been trying to get me to see for decades.  They appear to love me unconditionally, but they aren't remotely interested in any insights from me.  With a single exception, neither my parents nor any of my siblings have, to the best of my knowledge, read anything I've ever written.  As I consider other more distant family members, the observation is the same.  I have a niece who, although too courteous to put into words, makes it fairly apparent that she would strongly prefer that I not be included in the family holiday gatherings.  I will confess, that sort of hurts.  My self identity is has always been tied to my ability to reason.  I've never been the biggest, strongest, best-looking, most assertive or most honorable fellow on the block.  I've always considered my self-worth as being found in wisdom.  Now, I'm not only uncertain of my level of wisdom, I'm not even convinced that, if I actually possess any, wisdom is a worthwhile attribute.  Even if I was the wisest man since Solomon, what use is it if no one - no one! - cares to listen to and apply that wisdom to themselves?  It's a bit depressing to have your entire self-image tied into a talent that is completely useless to the rest of the world.

    These are the thoughts that were plaguing me when I awoke this morning and headed to my closet, so, naturally, this was the first thing I brought before God.  "Lord, if I'm not supposed to teach, then exactly what is my purpose?  Why do I continue to exist if all I'm doing is menial tasks that could easily be accomplished by someone else?  I feel so useless."  Guess what God said?  "You're right.  You are useless."  Boy, that really helped!  After the sun came up, I got dressed and headed to the park where I usually jog and continue my meditations in the morning.

    As I ran, I came to understand that I've spent the last several years answering my own question via the various posts in this blog.  I've discussed at length the concepts of pride, emptiness and dedication to God.  I've happily told others that they must die to self and live for Christ.  It seems that I've been able to preach the concepts, but not live them.  Those who can, do; those who can't, teach.

    I've also been thinking a good deal about a little prayer written by Brother Lawrence, an incredibly humble Carmelite monk  who, by all accounts, radiated the love of Jesus to everyone, yet, to his own chagrin, was never given any monastic responsibilities beyond that of scullery master.  His prayer reads thus: "Lord of all pots and pans and things, make me a saint by getting the meals and washing the plates."

    In 1940, C.S. Lewis published a book entitled The Problem of Pain at the suggestion of friend and colleague Ashley Sampson.  It is a fascinating scholarly look at how and why we suffer.  In the preface, Lewis admits that he does not personally abide by a number of the principles contained within.  In 1960, he pseudonymously published  A Grief Observed, an essay amassed from the collection of scribbles in his daily journal as he helplessly watched his wife slowly die of cancer.  By juxtaposing these two works it becomes painfully obvious that studying a human condition is not at all similar to experiencing it.

    And maybe that's the whole point for me, as well.  Perhaps it is time for me to stop boastfully thinking of myself as a teacher and writer of these things and to humbly learn to see myself more as a student.  I think, in the meantime, I'm likely to find myself a bit depressed.  I'm typing all this here because I want to remember it, and I can't discuss the matter with friends or family because they will immediately want to comfort me.  Comfort is not what I need at the moment; enlightenment is.  I'm afraid that I need to spend some time walking through the valley of the shadow of death before I can come out the other side.

Pax