She'll Be Coming 'Round the Mountain When She Comes

Just a heads up:  this post really lives up to the blog name, "theological ramblings."  No grand revelation today.  Just some (admittedly one sided) questions.

So, there's this phrase kicked around the Christian circles I've been in--"going round the mountain."  It's a loose reference to when the Israelites were in the wilderness after God freed them from Egypt.  They could have entered the promised land in a few short months, but they failed the test, didn't trust God, and ended up wandering in the desert, going around the mountain, for 40 years, until that untrusting generation died.  When the phrase is used in Christianese it means something like not learning a lesson, therefore having to travel a long journey again, only to face the same lesson/test again.  But generally it takes more time the second (or third or fourth) go round, and is more painful.  The phrase also implies wasting or squandering time or opportunity. 

I'm a really good student.  That's in large part because I'm a great test taker.  Academically, I love tests.  When I worked in pest control, the company was trying to move into treating roses, which required an endorsement that almost no one had.  So they said anyone who passed the test and got that endorsement on their license would get a $500 bonus.  You want to pay me to pass a test?  That's freakin' awesome!  I was one of the first to get that endorsement.  (And I've been looking for the job that would pay me to take tests ever since.  Let me know if you hear of something like that, ok?)

But (there's always a big but in the way, isn't there?) that's just academic tests.  When it comes to life tests, I get petrified and paralyzed.  Terrified that I'm going to screw it up, and end up going around that mountain again.  The pressure mounts when some other bible verses start kicking around my head.  Like "without faith it is impossible to please God" (Hebrews 11:6).  And Mark 9:19, where after the transfiguration, Jesus says to his disciples who can't heal a mute possessed boy, "O faithless generation, how long am I to be with you?  How long am I to bear with you?"  When faced with a situation that requires action, and that situation looks similar to some other situation I've been in before, I'm frozen.  I don't want to get it wrong, fail, waste time.  When I'm stuck not knowing what to do, I realize I don't have faith in any of the options I have.  I get more stuck.  If I'm clueless about what to do, how can anything I do please God?  I don't want to miss out on achieving all that could be achieved.  It's a vicious cycle.  Much like thrashing about in quicksand, and only getting sucked deeper down. 

There's a passage in the book, The Shack, that comes back to me from time to time.  The character Mackenzie is talking with God, aka Papa.  (If you haven't read this book, you should.)

"Why do you love someone who is such a screw-up?  After all the things I've felt in my  heart toward you and all the accusations I made, why would you even bother to keep trying to get through to me?"

"Because that is what love does," answered Papa.  "Remember, Mackenzie, I don't wonder what you will do or what choices you will make.  I already know.  Let's say, for example, I am trying to teach you how not to hide inside of lies, hypothetically of course," she said with a wink. "And let's say that I know it will take you forty-seven situations and events before you will actually hear me--that is, before you will hear clearly enough to agree with me and change.  So when you don't hear me the first time, I'm not frustrated or disappointed, I'm thrilled.  Only forty-six more times to go.  And that first time will be a building block to construct a bridge of healing that one day--that today--you will walk across."  (pg 186-187)

While that's a really cool story, and potentially very freeing, it's fiction.  Now, fiction is a great conveyor of truth!  But, not everything in fiction is truth.  I'm a big big fan of orthodoxy and orthopraxy (right belief and right action).  So I'm cautious in wholeheartedly embracing the idea of this quote.  But the thought occurred, what if God views "going 'round the mountain" not as failure, but as a step closer? 

Tuesday, I was walking and thinking, and it seemed like God asked me a few questions.  One was, "Do you trust Me?" with a certain situation implied.  To which I sheepishly, but honestly, replied, "No."  He asked a couple other questions, and I answered those, too, sheepishly, but honestly.  Then I said, "And I know these aren't the right answers."  It seemed that God replied, with some passion, "I don't want right answers.  I want your heart." 

Here is where the pithy closing line of the blog comes, where it closes things nicely, or hooks you with a cool twist on a thought, and you come back for more.  But I don't have a pithy closing line for this one.  I just have a desire to go hiking this weekend and see if God might want to elaborate. 


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The Tyranny of Perfectionism

There is a quote from C. S. Lewis “that the doors of hell are locked on the inside.”  Leaving the particular theology of hell aside, there is some truth to our tendency to lock ourselves in our own torment.  That’s what perfectionism looks like for me.  Like a dictator who enforces martial law, who gathers all the resources of the state, inflicting poverty and fear on the people, all in adherence to an unattainable ideal. 

So is perfectionism.  Only the dictator isn’t the standard of perfectionism—I am the dictator.  I am my own tyrant, imposing an unattainable, usually contra moral, ideal.  All mental, emotional, physical, and even spiritual resources are spent in service to this ideal, causing a poverty in a life meant to be lived in abundance.  Failure to meet the ideal is met with internal martial law.  Producing fear in a life meant to be lived with power, love, and a sound mind. 

The standard that I do not meet is my own.  But what is the most insidious part of this is my tyrannical self is convinced this standard is God’s standard.  And when the pain and resentment of living under a standard that is never met reaches a boiling point, when the anger can no longer be internalized to correct and control behavior, it bursts out at God. 

This is very much like the older brother in the prodigal son parable.  He is infuriated at the grace shown to his younger, irresponsible, reckless brother.  This is not a normal emotional reaction—well, perhaps normal, but not appropriate.  It is a disproportionate emotional response, and is evidence of paint caused by a lie he is believing.  He has been stringently trying to adhere to his standard.  His brother did the exact opposite, and gets a banquet hall feast.  The older brother stays away from the celebration, sulking, and the Father comes to find him—for He loves all His children. 

How does the older brother respond to his Father seeking him?  He lashes out at him, saying that he never even got one goat to share a meal with his friends.  His Father points out that he is always with Him and all that is His is also the older son’s.  But the older son obviously did not agree with this statement.  He did not agree that he had all along had full access to the bounty of his Father’s house.  Why?  He never met his own personal standard and therefore never felt worthy of asking His Father for anything.  The older brother states that he served his Father for many years and never disobeyed.  Yet he never felt that he belonged.  He never understood his inheritance.  He never felt worthy.  He defensively protests that he never disobeyed.  But it is one thing to never commit a sin of commission, quite another to never commit a sin of omission.  He is keenly aware that his has fallen short of his standard, and the anguish over the years has turned to anger.  He lashes out at his Father, accusing Him of being stingy, withholding reward. 

He has served his Father these many years, but does not know his Father.  He complained of never even receiving a mere goat.  When in reality, all he had to do was ask, and he would have access to his entire inheritance.  I mean, the younger son asked for his half of the inheritance, and the Father gave it, no questions asked, no strings attached. 

The self imposed tyranny of perfectionism draws an iron curtain around one’s self.  When I adhere to my own standard, I am cut off from God’s free market of Grace.  And the tyranny of perfectionism cannot be overthrown by a bloodless revolution.  Blood is required.  The kingdom of God invades with violence.  My tyrannical self resists, but is overcome by the blood of Jesus, and Grace invades.  The Holy Spirit renews my mind, seizing all weapons of mass self destruction, disarming this tyrant.  And for the first time, freedom is tasted.  Grace flows and rest is entered.  The righteous Lord Jesus judges and releases me, and reconciliation and healing begin.

So join me in lifting a cry against tyranny!  But know that it will require death—yours.  But you will rise again with Christ.  Praise be to God!

For this Lenten season I am giving up perfectionism and posting a blog each day, Monday through Friday, from Ash Wednesday on February 13th, through Easter, on March 31st.  For more information, read “What Are You Giving Up?”  Jesus died for me and loves me, and this is an exercise in remembering that.  Thanks for joining me!

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