Sometimes I hate intellectual banter.
Honestly, it can smell of such arrogance and sound a bit like we’re “playing God.” We are silly and small. We know very little and yet act as if we have the corner on the deepest, most obscure thoughts that no one has ever had. Essentially, we think far too much of ourselves. We admire people like C.S. Lewis and hear stories of him and the Inklings sitting around in their Oxford pub speaking about fantasies and theology and the webbings of life. Ironic it is. We mimic them and somehow think we are the same, and yet the image of being smart and clever is far more motivating than truly learning from one another. We discuss topic after topic and comment on every new wave of thought as if we are the masters of words and opinions, thinking we have finally made a point no one else has ever made. It’s the world of the internet, free range thought and late night postings. Sadly, we have come to believe we are smarter than God Himself, and somewhere along the way we became arrogant enough to think we can more effectively speak for Him since He can’t quite make His own defense with enough clarity for the human race to be at ease.
Danger lurks around these platforms. Worship is misplaced. We begin to bow down to our own minds, and our personal, sophisticated creativity and have come to assume we are worth “following” on our blog, Twitter, or Facebook. Our goal, as Tim Keller says in his new book, The King’s Cross, is to get the rest of the world to “orbit” around us; instead of pointing them to “orbit” around someone far bigger. Now, of course I hesitate and have to consider my own participation in this, the writing world. Truth be told, I hate the tension that steals most of the experience from me. Underneath, deep inside of me, are many thoughts rolling around, and some that I wholeheartedly believe are worth sharing. However, I delay the delivery of these words all the time. Throwing my words, opinions and thoughts under my personal microscope, I critique my motives and discipline my intentions like a child who is wandering far off to do what he wants, void of all consideration and wisdom, narrowed by only the thought of self. I, too often, become the person who I am so frustrated with and as fear tangles around me, I restrain myself.
Those “thinkers” who are long gone, who we admired so much, were drenched in humility. Men like C.S. Lewis did not think highly of himself, he thought because he was a genuine intellect. He did not chase an image, he chased the truth. He did not chase a name, he chased clarity. A.W. Tozer taught himself by reading and re-reading, searching and thinking. He was quiet, awkward and mild. Charles Spurgeon preached to 10,000 people at a time on any given Sunday and yet lived hidden in the power of secret prayer. It seems their goals were different than the goals of the 21st century writers. We want a name. Many budding writers think our own minds are wells of inspiration and hidden theory and we thrive on our pulpit of self-promotion. This pride is our greatest barrier to truth. Our insights are clouded with cynicism and arrogance.
So I’m not sure about the balance. We who love to write, are called to write. Those who love to sing, must sing. The artist must paint. The dancer must dance. Our goals, our motives, our reason for doing what we do, must first take the stand and come under question. We must face our own cross-examination. Pride steals. It makes us ineffective in what we say and do. Human beings can smell it a mile away. C.S. Lewis said this of pride,
There is one vice of which no man in the world is free; which every one in the world loathes when he sees it in someone else; and of which hardly any people, except Christians, ever imagine that they are guilty themselves. I have heard people admit that they are bad-tempered, or that they cannot keep their heads about girls or drink, or even that they are cowards. I do not think I have ever heard anyone who was not a Christian accuse himself of this vice. And at the same time I have very seldom met anyone, who was not a Christian, who showed the slightest mercy to it in others. There is no fault which makes a man more unpopular, and no fault which we are more unconscious of in ourselves. And the more we have it ourselves, the more we dislike it in others.
So to those who write: Weigh your words carefully. But more than that, weigh why you do what you do. We are, and never were meant to be the center, that place is reserved for One.
2 comments:
this is so great, i can think of about 12 people i want to shove this in the face of. but then, i realize that's me being unconscious of my own need for it. dang pride.
"the dancer must dance" -that's me. haha!
As I read this I feel a sense of pain: Gut-wrenching, entrail burning pain: the pain of a participant, an accomplice in the crimes of arrogance and self promotion. I have, so often sounded my own horn, preached from the top of the sky, but true joy finds only the humble. I do struggle (as a tribute to my arrogance) with the fact that I feel called to and to an extent gifted in so many areas, that I do have something to share, to let loose. But what am I letting loose? Often it is just me, a slave bound by the things I hate in others, chained to things I most despise. All of this; however, I cover up with mimsical verse, catchy tone, and mellifluous verbiage. I often play the wolf in a story of sheep. I clothe myself with the white fleece of a lamb and banter about among the flock, yet all the while searching for the one goal of being praised. It has been brought to my attention so recently, that I rejoice in suffering, for sympathy is my drug, and as I breathe its air, the purity of God is weaned out of my everyday life, and I am of the earth.
I do feel compelled however, to throw into question how one may go about sharing what he or she feels led to in a godly way. Everything I write is purposeful. I live under the false pretense that the world cares for me and about me, and that 21st century people have the capability to listen and learn. I share what is within because I feel vulnerable without: this weird conundrum that vulnerability makes me stronger. In a sense it does. Everything is exposed in my mind as I let loose with a pen, yet I am still hiding it from the reader through complex, hard to read mazes of words. I am hitting a rock so to speak letting go, putting it all out there, I am painting an abstract mural of my feelings thinking that someone else might feel the same things. I am truly a mess but I’m truly saved.
I think that this post is particularly evidenced on discussion days in Bible, and I think it would be a wonderful thing to read to the whole class. Especially on this last discussion day, I felt particularly awful, as I can see that an entire class is dominated by a group of opinionated, educated, and painfully arrogant clique of debaters. I often feel, this time justifiably so, that my background is very grasped by a number of classmates willing to learn. For example, my Wednesday night small group often asks what I think about a certain topic, because it is most likely a little bit of a new perspective. I realize that this is an enormous responsibility, capability, and calling. I feel that when I can at last rid myself from the robe of egotism and be truly prostrate before my peers and my God that God may be able to do great things through me. This all came to a head last Friday at the very end of class. I don’t remember the exact words that were spoken, but a certain class member who had been rather disrespectful and immutably inexorable throughout the class was yet again proving his non-sensical point, and I spoke. But rather, I feel that I did not speak for at that moment, my mouth was moving, but I did not hear me speaking. My silence had erupted and God, hopefully, was able to seep through my lips. Once again, I mention this not to say that I am so great that God uses me, but rather that God is so versatile, and his power so great, that he CAN use me to do his work. A man’s tongue is directly tied to his soul, and only by the spirit working within can good come from its double- edged blade. Word’s so often define us, and many don’t give a rip. This leads to complacency, which leads to pride, which Solomon so wisely said, is our downfall.
I ramble here, all to say, that this was very helpful in seeing and pinpointing where I am in life. I look at myself. Something I have not done for fear for what I might find. I am on a pedestal, one of arrogance, and one I built myself, but just as all other earthly things fade, to be eaten by the moths and rust, so will this pedestal, and there is but one who can build me back up.
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