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| Which do you see? Man? Or mouse? |
For the first half-hour of the conversation, I felt
reasonably certain that I was being lied to. The caller represented himself as
having insights and purposes that were at odds with a course of ministry I had
pursued. He said that he was aware and actively pursuing a course of action with
which my efforts were interfering. He had specific demands of me. But when I
asked what goals or outcomes he felt his work was intended to accomplish, he
admitted he had no vision for any positive results in the lives of those whom
we were discussing. And that’s when the conversation took a turn for the…less-than-pleasant.
I was only reasonably
certain that his portrayal was inaccurate, until he offered to lie about me. Of course, it wasn’t an overt
threat. “You know, someone could say….”
And yes, they could. If they said it to anyone who knows me at all, it’s hard
to imagine they could retain any realistic hopes of being taken seriously about
that or any other subject in the future. And yet, in discussing the conversation
with my wife (who was hearing my half, and most of the other half of the
discussion), we realized: similar accusations had ruined others.
And still the threat didn’t concern me. I’ve given
significant thought to my reasons why. Here’s what I concluded.
First, I believe that my confidence has nothing to do with
being “above reproach.” I am very aware of my fallibility. I could recount many
clever and creative ways in which the enemy of our souls seeks and succeeds in
tripping me with temptations of both the unexpected and obvious types. I cannot
claim that any accusation could be
said to be impossible. I could make
any number of serious errors, some of which could be devastating to my
ministry, my family, and my own walk with Christ. And yet, were that to happen,
or if false accusations were made and believed—this is my second conclusion—I
believe strongly that they could never ruin
me.
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| "Here I come to save the day?" |
On what do I base such an audacious claim? Simply this: I am
already ruined. The life I once lived
so freely in the flesh is the subject of relentless demolition. It stubbornly
resists being razed, but my intent is to have the site as cleared and leveled
as possible by the time Christ is done with me. The point of my claim to be “your
servant for Jesus’ sake” (II Corinthians 4:5) is to acknowledge that God’s
resources and others’ needs require only that I locate myself in the gap
between the two. Whatever I may have to offer is only what I have myself
received from God. The rest, although not yet perfectly so, I intend to leave
in ruins.
What are my hopes in return for these efforts to provide a
vacant lot for Jesus’ construction project? Ironically, I find Jesus promising
me something that is already relatively in ruins and only becomes more so each
day.
Jesus says, “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit
the earth.” A friend and colleague recently asked, can you be “meek” without
being “weak?”[1] Of
course you can. In fact, the very nature of being meek involves a conscious decision to refrain from using one’s
natural strength, whether physical, emotional, mental, socio-economic, or even
spiritual.
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| Beware of men in mice's clothing. |
Who brings about this restraint? Is it externally enforced?
Or is it a self-initiated exercise of personal power to limit or eliminate the
use of one’s personal power? Ancient Greek texts use the word “meek” in
reference to powerful animals brought under control by a bridle or yoke, but even
there the emphasis is on soothing or calming “those that are irritated or
excited.”[2]
Biblically, the term is used in both testaments to reference those who fulfill
a subsidiary role in a household or other relationship—those who know where
they fit into the plan and purpose of the whole. Whether as a disciple under a
rabbi, or in more modern contexts as a team member under a coach, the sense is
of one who understands their place among others, without “being overly
impressed by a sense of one’s self-importance.”[3]
I believe that I am privileged to serve a God who is seeking
to accomplish His purposes. That He
chooses to do so through fallible human beings still amazes me. In fact, I find
it a ludicrously inadequate approach to doing business. But that’s all the more
reason to tear down the façade, the framework, and the very foundation of
anything, or anyone—even myself—that threatens to stand in the way of what God
is seeking to do.
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