Often akin to a missing-the-forest-for-the-trees type of narrow mindedness, tunnel vision--the psychological not physiological malady--just ain't cool. A narrow perspective or a simple focus is the enemy of your best life now and if you want to be happy, you've got to become a big picture guy, stand above the situation, be objective, not get caught up in the little details and focus on the whole in lieu of any one of its parts. This is the conventional wisdom they are peddling on the motivational speaker circuit and it, my friends, is the secret to success, happiness and love. It is also hogwash. The advice, while not totally without merit, is incomplete at best. Sure, too much focus on too many different trees can be overwhelming but the sheer size of the forest can be as intimidating if not more so. One look at Tiger Woods (a man who literally embodies tunnel vision) and his 14 major titles, debunks the myth that tunnel vision is limiting and a quick glance at all the men who have crumbled in his wake compels me to not spend too much time worrying about the size of any given forest. In search of balance, I'm going to defer to The Byrds' who remind me (and they're right) that to everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven...turn, turn, turn.
For me, right now, in this season, I'm gonna be a tree watcher...turn, turn, turn.
The transformation from forest watcher to tree watcher, like the progression from playing in traffic to playing in the emergency room, was a natural one which required a few close calls before the need for transformation made itself apparent. You see, I kept wandering along bumping into tree after tree and I assumed--we all know what they say about assumptions--each tree to be a different, if not inconvenient, obstacle. In truth, I had been assaulting the same persistent tree over and over again and my forest-level oblivity had left me completely unawares. The way forward, while at first obstructed by the canopy life often creates, grew less avoidable as my tree came into focus. The tree I'm watching, the tree in my way: pride.
Consider the coincidences: On Tuesday (5/19) a book came in the mail, Friday I justified myself by incorrectly referencing 2 Cor 12:5-10, Saturday and Sunday devotionals commented on this scripture, Sunday the sermon addressed what 2 Cor 12:5-10 is actually about and our small group discussed John 6, Thursday morning brought a study from Acts 26, Thursday evening brought a study from Daniel 4, and then I got it (Also, at different points along this timeline, I did my best impression of Prov 16:18 --which didn't need as much empirical evidence as I provided). I'm a quick study, I know, but please save the compliments for the end.
Pseudo-piety aside, I am telling you this not because I, like the chap who goes to the gym because he has not yet found a venue with larger mirrors, adore my own reflection (though I do) but because I more closely resemble the slovenly pear-shaped gentlemen in the back who is punishing himself and the StairMaster in hope of correcting the imperfections which only surface after a long, hard look into those floor-to-ceiling mirrors. This is not a self-congratulatory toaster about the author; it is a toaster about the author, creator, Lord of all who will use a story about bread, a tribunal, or a dream to teach me a lesson about pride. His creativity is as limitless as His patience.
This is the part of the story where I drop some knowledge on you; where I lay down some pithy pearls of wisdom with an above average truth-to-syllable ratio so you can justify reading this far, right? If it is instruction you seek, go here for I am still prideful and have little to add.
What I have learned is pride is love's converse. Also, love, despite what your local hippie might say, must have an independent, external object which leads us to the fairly palatable conclusion that pride's object is internal--the Other vs. the Self. Jesus supports this conclusion by assigning two appropriate outlets for love--God and neighbors--which are external and "like" each other while contrasting pride by suggesting that we love externally as we already love internally. We don't need much (read: any) admonition to love ourselves because we kinda have that one figured out. Are we getting warmer? It seems like the internal focus of pride isn't as large a problem as the singular internal focus of pride. What I see Jesus saying is "you're loving yourself and that's not necessarily wrong, but it's not right either. To do it right, you've got to love God first and that will free you up to love others as you are currently loving yourself--unconditionally." When we mix up the order, our love gets small. When the story is about us; when we are the ones of first importance, there is no room for God or instruction, we quarrel and mock, we discriminate, we stumble and finally, our story is writ small and singular. I know this intimately. Pride is my default setting. It is going to take nothing less and a divine recalibration to correct this defect.
That's bad news, right? Where's the hope? Relying on divine intervention is the ultimate cop out, isn't it? Well, no and you'll have to bare with me a bit because the following sounds like gobbledygook but it is a resource of the faith and it is real. Modernity has tried to do away with sin--the concept, not actual sinning--but I haven't been able to follow suit. I believe in sin not because the Bible tells me so, but because my actions have symptoms and those actions and their symptoms are diagnosed throughout the pages of the Bible--a WebMD for the soul. Biblical heroes great and small, their stories are my story and only a fool ignores the counsel of his predecessors. Cue the Romans Road, cue Jesus. Jesus--born of a virgin, miracle worker, son of God, God incarnate--changes the game, literally. He lived the life I should have lived and he was crucified for it. On the cross, he bore, for three hours in the darkness of his father's absent gaze, the punishment my sins--our sins--deserve and then he died. Abandoned by his friend, humiliated by his accusers, ignored by his father, he was buried in a borrowed tomb and hope with him. But. But his story doesn't end there. It is because his story continues, because the rock was rolled away, because he was not there, because he kept this promise that my story can change. Though we have not earned it and do not deserved it, the debt is paid for all who would say to Jesus, "my Lord and my God." This. Is. Good. News. God uses the trees to remind us of this good news, if only we'll pay attention.
-Jake
