I got into a fairly involved conversation this past weekend at a candle party.
The wife of a friend of mine was hosting one of those parties where the salesperson comes and shows the myriad of uses for candles in your home. My buddy was going to be the only male in attendance, so I volunteered to come up and represent the gender.
During the party I met about a dozen women in their late 20s and early 30s. Most of them were married, most either had kids or were getting ready to. And most were shockingly negative.
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I'm often told (by folks that read this) that I'm too hard on myself. And for years I've countered that internally with the thought that I'm probably not hard enough.
But maybe everyone's right and I'm wrong.
I've written ad nauseum about my problems, my shortcomings, my character flaws, my imperfections. I've publicly berated myself for them, partially as a method of cleansing, and (admittedly) partially in an effort to convince myself (and others) that I'm self-aware, introspective. Like the kid sitting under the tree in college writing in his journal or composing songs on his guitar.
In these self-rebukes, I've often consoled myself that though I'm wrong and stupid and vile, all I need to do is ask forgiveness and ask for help and all will be right. My evil will be overcome.
But in all these years, I may have missed the point.
Christianity is a fascinating idea. I've written before about the two 'laws of humanity' that we take for granted, even though they are impossible to reconcile, namely:
1) There are no moral absolutes. We are a product of a naturalistic world with simple cause and effect reactions. No such thing as good or evil, right or wrong - just social constructs.
2) People do terrible, evil things all the time. Indeed, there are some pretty wicked people in this world, some of whom have done some really nasty things to me or someone I love. Thankfully, I'm not one of those people. The things that I do that could potentially be construed as evil or wicked - that's just because people don't know the circumstances, don't understand the context.
Those ideas sit in tension in our subconscious, and we try to avoid addressing them (most likely because we know that thinking about them means trying to make them make sense, or else abandon one of them and rethink our position on the world.)
Christianity is fascinating because it doesn't try to sweep these ideas under the rug. It says that there is a natural order to the world, there are laws that exist that have cause and effect, but there's something else behind it - something that determines what is good or evil. It says that yes, I have screwed up just like everyone else, but that I'm not an evil person. Even better, it says there's a way to have a clean slate, a way to be associated with the character of someone who is not evil, and in so doing slowly, often imperceptably replace our muddled characters with His.
That's the story that I've come to believe in. Or so I thought.
All these years of writing have been from a paradigm that says that because I do evil things, because I screw up, I am an evil person. It's the classic 'worm theology' that various churches in various centuries instilled in its people, and it is one of the most deceptive lies we're fed (though we often don't know it.)
All these years, I've subconciously held onto the belief that I'm not a good person, and that I'm really lucky I've got my belief system or else I'd be totally screwed.
But I missed the point entirely. My heart is good. Your heart is good. I am loved just as I am, and so are you. The dirt and the evil things that we do are not who we are - they are what stand between us and a loving, faithful God that desperately wants to be closer to us.
Yes, it's true that this God is just and good, and that my evil actions are what has driven a wedge into that relationship. But those are my actions, not my heart. My soul is good - held captive, a faint image of what it can and should be, but good nonetheless.
It's funny, for all my talk about living life a certain way, I've always had the priorities in the wrong order. I can't take on my faults with a frontal attack - I can't create a to-do list that I can check off.
"Hey look, I'm not greedy anymore... Check! Seeya pride - I'm on a roll!"
I can try as hard as I want to berate myself into being a better person, or I can let go of the idea that I'm a bad person in the first place. I can decide to finally acknowledge that God created me in His image, as something good and loving and worthwhile. I can decide to acknowledge that I'll continue to screw up, but my chances of 'living intentionally' go up dramatically if I let Him do the work in my heart instead of stubbornly continuing to try to do it myself.
I can realize that after all these years of trying to remove the logjam of evil thoughts and actions that have kept me out of the kind of relationship I want, I somehow missed the self-imposed dam, the subconscious idea that behind all those actions is a person who is unlovable, unworthy of such a relationship.
I've tried for years to be less judgmental towards people - perhaps it's time to be less judgmental with myself.
Simplicity is a difficult thing to come by. We live fragmented, disjointed lives, always running from something, to something. We're trying to get more and more done with less and less time. It's an impossible race that leaves us tired, empty, drained.
We as a society love to prize the man or woman who can do it all. We force thousands of college students out the doors of our universities each year with a diploma and an unwritten mandate to work 80 hours a week to 'make a splash.' We drill it into them that success is exceedingly important, ensuring they do whatever it takes to add a few extra cents to our price per share.
Of course, if they're good we do reward them. But being good all too often means neglecting other aspects of their lives. They marry without understanding the commitment that covenant involves. They have kids thinking that they can realistically maintain their responsibilities both at work and at home. Over time, they're left in a mode of being consistently stretched to their limit. When they're working they're beating themselves up for not being at Jason's soccer game. When they're making brownies they're silently stressed about all the work they're not getting done.
And that's just the work-home dynamic. All the while, they're not exercising enough, not reading enough, not volunteering enough, not talking to their friends or extended family enough.
We long for a simpler life, a life with less stress, more fulfillment. We wish we weren't tired all the time. We wish we didn't feel like we were constantly neglecting some important aspect of our lives. But we haven't the faintest idea how to actually accomplish this.
We tell ourselves that we're just casualties of our society. The world of today places these demands on us, just as it does to everyone else. There's nothing we can do - except do our best to cope.
But what if there was a simpler life to be grasped - what if there was a way to find a more serene, peaceful, balanaced way of life?
What if you could say 'no' to people? What if you could decide beforehand how many commitments and of what variety you would undertake, resolving not to take on anything further? What if you could make a commitment to work on at most five projects or take on five clients, and be able to confidently turn down anything more, even if they were to be spectacularly profitable for your career or business?
What if you could stop desiring to be 'well-known?' What if you were to reject the notion that being more blogged about or technorati'd or whatever represented some measurement of success. What if you didn't care about your online identity nearly as much as you do?
What if you resolved to use plain speech? What if you stopped trying to manipulate people with your words, stopped trying to get people to understand you or see your way? What if you stopped flattering people when you didn't really mean it, racking up a series of small favors in hope of being repaid someday? What if you could only use 1000 words a day, and had to give up the ability to explain yourself? What would your words be? What if you could do this without worry? What if everything that came out of your mouth was full of honesty, sincerity, grace?
What if you could stop desiring more? What if you made a resolution to identify a standard of living you could be comfortable with, a standard you wouldn't rise above even if your means expanded considerably? What if you made the decision that as long as your needs were met, the rest of that money could be given away to people or causes that could benefit dramatically from it?
What if, every month, you went around your house and looked for something that you deemed valuable...and gave it to someone you knew who's life would be blessed by it? What if, instead of cursing aloud to anyone who would listen when that 10 year old stole my iPod in the subway last year, I just gave it to him before he could take it?
What if we approached our financial life as a system of pipes instead of a system of buckets? What if money was an instrument to be freely shared instead of a status symbol to be hoarded?
What if we got rid of our televisions and read more books, visited more museums, took more walks, made more friends? What if we played outside more - when was the last time we actually played?
What if we realized that our kids laugh 20 times more often than we do? What if we tried to be less serious, more joyful?
What if we got closer to the earth? What if we studied the trees and the flowers and the birds and realized that their existence was singular, their purpose clearly defined? What if we realized that maybe our lives are supposed to be similarly ordered?
What if our lives were meant to be focused on one thing, on one Person? What if that person were able to give us everything we needed to have happy, healthy, productive lives? What if that balance we could never seem to find were given to us - if we realized that everything, including ourselves, has a season, a proper time and place? What if we were to submit to those cycles of life, and to determine the proper place for everything by asking this Person who loves us and desires our happiness?
What if simplicity of life weren't something to dream about but something to be grasped? What if less really was more?
I think one of the fallacies that Christians (and many other people) have is their unwillingness to admit when they are wrong about something. Especially when the reasons for doing so have something to do with faith.
There are times when we makes decisions based on what we think are good precepts. We believe that something would be the right decision, would prove beneficial for ourselves or our families or our communities. We believe that there isn't enough objectivity - that the world is black and white, right and wrong, and those truths should guide our decision-making.
And so we make a decision. And we watch the repurcussions of that decision. Unfortunately we're human, and sometimes those decisions don't turn out quite like we thought they would.
It's even worse when our decisions are public ones, when the repurcusssions are in plain sight in front of our friends and loved ones - sometimes even in front of people we barely know, and sometimes in front of people who told us we were idiots for doing what we were about to do.
All to often, instead of apologizing or admitting we may have made a mistake, we dig in, entench ourselves, look for a reason - any reason - to justify our actions. We look for the tiniest silver lining to back up our opinion. We may look progressively more foolish as time goes on, as the situation gets worse, but it doesn't matter. If we're going to be wrong, we should do so with bravado.
The problem when making decisions based on faith is that we make two assumptions, one right, one wrong.
We're right to think that there is objective truth in this world - there is a right and a wrong answer, and we're right to base our assumptions on those values.
We're wrong to think that we're omniscient enough to always know which answer is which.
The answer isn't to act like a child and demand that we're right even when the evidence more and more clearly suggests we're probably not. The answer is to be willing to admit that we made a mistake, apologize if necessary, and then resolve to do what you can to remedy the situation. The disciple Peter, who once thought that the Gospel was something only for Jews, later recognized his staunch beliefs weren't accurate. He didn't pout, didn't hold his ground - he submitted to what he now saw as the truth and changed.
I guess what I'm trying to say is this: America, I'm sorry about the whole voting for Bush thing.
I have always had a problem with trying to do big, important things.
It’s not a problem in that it often works – for whatever reason, many projects I’ve undertaken have been successful for just this reason. But it’s a problem because I’m often closing a door to the mundane as a result.
We as a people don’t really like the mundane, the practical. We shy away from jobs that need to be done, instead looking for the jobs that have great titles and prestige but no lasting impact. We avoid doing the two or three simple things that would ensure a life of physical well-being, opting instead to make bold New Years resolutions and try to lose 30 pounds in a month. We decide to plan elaborate parties for those we love, inviting everyone we know and spending a fortune in the process...but fail to do the simple, tiny things that make the object of our affection know that we love them every day.
We choose big and public over small and hidden. We want to do something remarkable and great – and let everyone see how remarkable and great we are in the process.
You’d think pulling it off would be enough, but it rarely is. Once we’ve tasted success, made our big score, proved to everyone that we’re smart enough or beautiful enough or talented enough to succeed…we have to do it again. We’re trapped intro thinking that the only problems that should be solved are the big ones, the only battles worth fighting are the public ones, the only lives worth leading are the admired ones.
We can’t for the life of us understand why an author or musician stops after one hit record to be a mother. We can’t comprehend why an athlete would retire after winning their first championship to join the ministry. The idea of a Fortune 500 CEO leaving their post to be a teacher? Impossible.
There are enormous problems in the world that need people’s help. But there are also tiny problems in the world that need a great many more folks pitching in. There’s the school down the road that can’t afford an after school program and could desperately use some volunteers. There’s the church looking to help feed some homeless people this weekend. There’s your father or mother or sister or brother or cousin who you got in a fight with six months ago and haven’t talked to since. There’s the boyfriend or girlfriend or husband or wife who wonders if you still love them.
Since college, I’ve been a great boyfriend and a great worker. I’ve been a lax son, an even worse friend and a miserable brother. I’ve gained 30 pounds, haven’t donated nearly enough of my time or energy or resources, and have turned down countless opportunities to do important, soul-filling work in obscurity. I’ve worked countless hours doing work with concrete, very visible deliverables, ignoring many other things in the process. My agenda has been focused on what’s big and public and remarkable, often at the expense of what’s small and unnoticed and truly worth doing.
Truth is, no one’s life is going to be improved that significantly by my interface design. No one’s life is going to be forever altered for the better because you closed that deal with the big foods conglomerate, or because you wrote that article in the paper about the top 10 places to buy a handbag.
But that $5 bill you gave that guy on the corner? That might have kept him from going hungry tonight. When you got home from work, threw your bags down, ran to your girlfriend and told her how much she meant to you? That was probably the most important thing you did all day. That prayer you said for your coworker as you were falling asleep? That could end up changing their life.
In a world where everyone is clawing to be more important, more visible, the guy who's really blessed is the guy who's too busy changing their world to care whether you or I are paying attention.
With the wedding and my upcoming move to Chicago, I’ve been worried a lot about money lately. This week I resolved to not spend any money eating out.
This afternoon, as I was sitting in a Starbucks, I realized that I hadn’t eaten anything all day. A few minutes after I realized I was pretty hungry, I was pleasantly surprised by a barista, who randomly decided to bring me a cup of coffee and a sandwich. I asked what I did to deserve this gracious and well-timed gift.
She said, ‘nothing.’
I used to think that pride was the most troublesome vice to overcome, but I think there might be a worse one. As I walk through the streets of New York and listen to conversations, as I pass the enormous billboards painted onto buildings, as I look at my bank statements and calculate where my money has gone, as I see how I react to the homeless guy outside the deli, as I purchase the overpriced burger from the overpriced restaurant that I went to because it’s trendy, I’m faced with an enormous truth.
The desire for more is terribly destructive.
We live in a world that prizes accumulation of goods above almost all else. Our status in life is determined much more by the size of our pocketbooks than the content of our characters. We want to associate with people who have money, we long to be in a position where others want to associate with us for the same reason. We look at US Weekly or watch Cribs and not-so-secretly long for the lifestyle that these people possess.
We can’t avoid it. Even those of us who would consider ourselves free from the lusts of pop culture are constantly worrying about how much we have, how much we have coming in, how much we’ll have when we stop working. We worry about where the market is going, how our IRAs are performing, how much equity we’ve built up in our homes. We read books and attend seminars to learn how to improve our net worth, to discover the seven secrets to wealth and happiness. We argue and fight over our finances with our loved ones, and those fights lead (more than any other factor) to the destruction of our closest relationships.
We spend more than we make. We look forward to the weekend so we can hit the sales. We clip coupons. We stockpile. We hoard. We obsess.
We are outraged when the cost of gas goes above $2.50 a gallon, but don’t bat an eye at the fact that half the world lives on less than $2.50 a day. We’re so busy talking about the exclusive club that we managed to get into that we walk right by the guy on the corner holding out their paper cup – the guy who may or may not actually be homeless but whose circumstances are such that they’re forced to degrade themselves by standing on the corner with matted hair and clothes that haven’t been washed in weeks, holding out their paper cup in hopes that we wake up from the absolutely pointless conversation we’re having to toss them a quarter or two.
We enter into bitter court battles to “win” what we “rightfully deserve.” We go to war to “preserve democracy.”
We work an insane number of hours so we can get the promotion that will cause us to work more hours so we can get the next promotion that will cause us to work more hours to buy the expensive suits we need to look as good as the other people on our rung of the corporate ladder and finance the houses we never live in and the cars we never drive and the exotic vacations we never seem to take because we have to work some more.
This is the world I live in, the world you live in, the world our parents and friends and loved ones and co-workers and acquaintances and fellow subway passengers live in. We are the wealthiest people in history, living in the wealthiest country in history, living lives of absolute decadence.
And we’re rotting inside. We’re worried constantly. We’re tired and overworked. We’re envious and covetous. We’re gluttonous and unhealthy. We’re bitter and heartbroken. We’re dying, and we can’t take it with us. Worst of all, we’re so blind we call this worry and jealousy and green and anger and hardness “the American dream.”
I worry all the time about money. I worry whether or not I’ll have enough to pay my credit card bill. I worry whether or not I’ll be able to cover rent. I worry whether or not the market will crash. I worry about what my standard of living will be like when I’m old.
The funny thing is, there has never been a day in my life when I went hungry. There has never been a time when I didn’t have anything to wear, a day when I was forced to sleep outside.
Growing up we didn’t have much, and I always looked at the other kids with their cooler toys and cooler clothes and wished our roles were reversed. But looking back, my childhood was amazing. I had loving parents, a great companion in my younger brother, amazing friends, all the food I could ever hope to eat, a bunch of clothes in my closet I refused to wear after a year, a television in my room with a video game system. My life was pretty amazing.
When my first business failed and I was forced to take a job in Seattle waiting tables, I thought my life was over. I had such little money it was crazy. But looking back, that was a pretty amazing time as well. I lived in a beautiful part of the country, rooming with two friends who absolutely went out of their way for me, knowing I couldn’t carry my fair share, never once condemning me or calling me out on it, exhibiting a kind of generosity and patience I’ve never seen before or since. I met amazing people serving up plates of fish. I gained a newfound appreciation for my skills and my passions. I met a girl on a random evening in a different city under the most unlikely circumstances, and spent the next three months getting to know her over a ridiculous number of long-distance conversations.
Literally every single time I’ve been the slightest bit tight, circumstances (or something else) intervened. It has truly seemed like any time I needed something I was taken care of.
It happened in my childhood. It happened in college. It happened in Washington. It happened today in the coffee shop.
My posture about money and wealth and status must change. I must learn to not care what you think about me. I must learn to stop worrying about where I will live in a year. I must learn to stop fretting over the global economy. I must learn to give that $20 in my wallet to the guy who needs it, and do so joyfully. I must learn to let go.
I must learn to consider the birds of the air, and the lilies of the field.
Every few weeks I get reminded that I work too much. I have a day like today, a day spent at the house watching Walk The Line, eating and being unproductive...and it noticably upsets me. I like to work, and when I don't I feel as though I'm wasting time.
What is that?
I believe strongly that our work is a form of prayer. Work came before Eve took a bit out of fruit - part of human existence is to engage in and enjoy the creative process.
But only to a point - a point that I routinely blow past. I don't know how to put it down. I've worked this way since college, and it's turned me into a very dull person.
Worse, it's turned me into a very dry person. You're not meant to live this way. It's been about three years since I graduated, and I've gotten into this mode where from the moment I get up until the moment I go to sleep I'm doing, doing, doing.
I don't think I'll ever be able to become a 9-5 type - I'd probably go crazy with all the downtime. But there comes a point where you have...to....stop.
I desperately hope a day doesn't come when I have regret - regret caused by not turning the computer off enough, not stepping outside enough, not calling up my friends enough, not playing enough. Not slowing down enough to enjoy life, to be a better friend and family member and....husband. A better father.
Why is it so hard to let go of our goals, our agendas, our plans long enough to just enjoy life the way God wants us to? Why is it so difficult to forget about our to-do list for the week, forget about the things we're trying to accomplish long enough to enjoy this beautiful world, the smell of the air, the sound of people laughing, the taste of that cup of coffee I'm gulping down, the feelings behind the voice on the other side of the table?
Why do I have to keep reminding myself that my work is never going to give me what it is I'm thirsty for, that thing that God is so eager to give me if I just put the work down and ask?
Who's going to get that mockup done while I'm 'at peace?'
For all my character flaws, I feel as though I'm generally a pretty good natured guy. But these past few weeks I've been extremely angry.
The majority of clients we work with are fantastic - good natured, easy going, and excited to be collectively striving to acheive a shared goal. But once in a while you get a bad apple.
For some reason, we have a disproportionate share of bad apples in the form of faith-based schools. Again, most have been great to work with. But we've had a few recently that seem to absolutely contradict their beliefs via their behavior.
The irony in some of the emails I get is so heavy I feel like my desk is going to break under the weight. The following represents an exaggeration, but by the tiniest of degrees:
Dear Sean,
I woke up this morning hoping it'd be a good day, but I see you've decided to destroy such a wish. I'm sure I've worked with more idiotic companies in the past, I just can't seem to think of one off-hand. If you'd consult the copy we submitted to your incapable hands on February 12th, you'll clearly see that the second paragraph on page two is supposed to say "...our culture is the product of our students and their relationship with Christ. With God as their counsel and guide, they conduct themselves with dignity, patience and grace." You misspelled the fifth word, idiot. Call me when you've fixed this, and when you've gotten a clue.
This client has called our salespeople shady, our designers incompetent, our editorial staff lazy and our client services team liars. For a company that is used to having productive client relationships, regular recommendations to other departments in the university, and clients who volunteer to stand up in front of their peers to testify to the effectiveness of our programs, these couple of clients have represented enormous drains on resources and employee morale.
In a way, though, dealing with these couple clients has been an enormous blessing. I used to wonder why so many people criticize Christians when they slip up, or when they exhibit patterns of behavior that seem contrary to their theology. But now I get it.
Engaging with these few bad apples has seriously upset me. I've never felt as ashamed to be associated with Christianity as I am when my colleagues read the emails that are blasted their way from these folks in Christian higher ed. It is absolutely appalling that they don't recognize the sharpness in their words, don't understand that every single word that comes out of their mouths or is typed into a correspondence has an impact on what people think of their faith. They, of all people, should know that their obligations as representatives of their university pale in comparison to their obligations as witnesses of the faith they claim to profess. I pray their institutions don't produce graduates of simliar character.
I get it now - Christians are held to a standard, whether we realize it or not. People are often dispositioned against the beliefs already, and any character flaws, vices, or careless words serve as fuel on an already smoldering fire. I don't claim to be a great (or even average) carrier of the proverbial torch, but when I see an email from one of these clients taking something that my team has put a ton of energy into and just rip it to shreds, it breaks my heart. Not because we have more work to do, but because of the bad taste it leaves in the mouths of everyone they come in contact with.
You claim to walk with God - I fear you took an enormous fork in the road somewhere. Open up that Bible you claim to love to much and read try reading it again - you skipped a few testaments.
November 26, 2005
The season of giving is supposedly upon us, but as in years past I'm a bit of a humbug. It seems as though I'm not alone.
I've been witness to a number of conversations in the past week or so about panhandlers and the things they do to 'trick us' out of our hard-earned money. We're appalled when we read in New York Magazine that the bum on the street corner below our office is making upwards of 24K a year. We get noticably angry at the guy who apparently tells the same sob story to everyone he meets about how his daughter is going into surgery and he needs cab fare to go visit her because he can't walk all that way given his injury sustained in the war.
Is he lying? Probably. But who's the villian in this situation - him or us?
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November 16, 2005
The Bible is just a crutch. God is a belief system that man created to make ourselves feel better. We like to be drawn into a story, and that's what this old book is - a story. Passed down from generation to generation, probably embellished and changed as the years have passed. It's a myth, something to make us feel better.
That's the argument, that God and Christ and Adam and Eve and the Bible represent are a story. And I wholeheartedly agree.
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November 03, 2005
I had a very interesting conversation with a coworker the other night. It started with a conversation about job stuff but quickly turned into a talk about the meaning of life (it's officially a trend.) I explained to her why I see us not as evil people but broken people who are missing something very big and real and important, and that as a result we do lots of mean and terrible or stupid or hurtful things to ourselves and others in an effort to capture that piece that's missing. I talked about how for me, being a Christian isn't about being right or about avoiding something terrible but rather is about rediscovering a long lost love.
It was interesting - she listened. It wasn't like those discussions in philosophy class, or those debates one has in bars about the meaning of existence. Those are about proving something, and that's probably why they just result in people getting angry.
People say don't talk about religion or politics. But I'm realizing politics and religion are two completely different things. Politics is about figuring out what's right and wrong. Religion is (or should be) about understanding why we behave the way we do and why we all feel like we're missing something. It should be about that search. And, ultimately, it should be about an amazing love relationship.
I've heard it said that you can't love something unless you've seen someone else love it. If you think about all the televangelists and the people standing on blocks in college yelling about the end of the world, and even of the thousands and thousands of well-meaning people in churches all over the country who don't talk about love but rather about being good enough and right enough...when you think about all of that, it's easy to see why people are turned off or downright hostile. You're selling them an idea - and idea that goes against their worldview and a sell that reinforces why they don't like 'people like you' in the first place.
When I talk about what it's like to be in love with my girlfriend, that doesn't invite hostility. More often than not, people not in a relationship want to hear about what it's like and want to know more.
If I talked about my relationship with God the way it's meant to be, what would people's reaction be?
October 29, 2005
Had an interesting conversation with a budding improv comedian and weekend philosopher last night. The conversation was over drinks, and as such it jumped from topic to topic every 15 seconds or so. But looking back it seems the heart of the conversation was about meaning.
My friend asserted that by focusing on meaning (referring to my faith) I was confining myself, limiting myself to a tiny view of a much larger world. He said the only way to appreciate life is to understand that there is no meaning (since we're all accidents, the result of an endless series of evolutionary mutations large and small over billions of years) and to 'embrace what is now.'
This troubled me, because my entire life is constructed around meaning. The more I thought about it, the more It seemed as though all our lives are constructed around meaning. The things we say, the things we do. The job we have, the shows we watch, the things we buy.
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