Wednesday, October 3, 2007 at 2:02am
Seeing with God's eyes
Column: New Houses from Old Bricks
As a pastor, one of my responsibilities is to help people become who God has created them to be. In their processes of spiritual and personal growth, one of the most frequent fears along the way is a common human sentiment: "If people really knew me (what I think, what I feel, who I am), they would reject me."
I've always assumed that that referred to people knowing us at our worst — seeing our mistakes, brokenness, faults and weaknesses. In that interpretation, we become vulnerable to rejection when we let someone see our worst, the "real" self that we'd rather keep hidden.
But defining our worst as our "real" self is somewhat arbitrary and pessimistic. Who's to say that our "real" self is not the best of who we are? Who's to say that, if we could see from the Creator's perspective, we might better appreciate our God-given gifts as who we "really" are?
One strand of Christian tradition suggests a different perspective on "really" knowing ourselves and each other. In her book "To Love as God Loves," Roberta Bondi writes: "We moderns ... believe that somehow we see people as they really are only when we see them at their worst. We know that secretly Mary is slovenly, or John is a crook, or Susan is only interested in herself." Perhaps we are so careful to be realistic that we see the glass as half-empty rather than half-full, attentive to the worst rather than the best. "When we find people's flaws after a long acquaintance with them, we believe we are finally seeing the truth about them."
Then, with the help of the early Christian church, Bondi turns the glass upside-down: "Our Christian ancestors thought exactly the opposite: we see people as they really are only when we see them through the tender and compassionate eyes of God."
Seeing the glass as half-full, however, does not eliminate the fear of rejection. After all, our best selves can be rejected too. When I was in junior high and high school, in stressful social situations, my mom and others advised, "Just be yourself." That was supposed to calm my fears, I believe. Instead, it ramped them up. In fact, it was "myself" I was afraid of having rejected, by the eyes of peers and teachers more analytical and critical than "tender and compassionate."
Revealing one's best might require even more vulnerability than disclosing the worst. To be rejected for one's worst would be no great surprise — deep down, that's what we expect anyway. It would be no big deal for our worst to be judged "not good enough." But what if our best isn't good enough, or doesn't fit in? Then we're really in trouble. To unveil the best of ourselves — to offer our deepest love, to present our greatest talent, to share our most unique gift — is to risk everything.
In a relationship, it is indeed painful when the other person cannot tolerate our faults and brokenness. But it is truly excruciating when the other person cannot receive our giftedness. This is true not only in romantic relationships or friendships, but also in living out our callings, in which we offer what we have to a community and hope it is needed and accepted. Speaking on vocation discernment, Father Michael Himes of Boston College has compared that vulnerability to the risk of "unrequited love" — arguably one of the most painful kinds of rejection.
In any relationship, and especially in a Christian community, it's essential to accept people at their worst. That's what confession and absolution are for: bringing to light the things we'd rather keep hidden, and assuring each other of love and forgiveness.
But after reading Bondi's perspective on the early church, I don't want to stop with accepting the worst. I want to be part of a community that sees the best in people, receives their God-given gifts, and celebrates the signs of the Creator in their lives. I want the community to be a place where people can be themselves at their best, without fear.
— — —
Rev. Rebecca Schlatter is an ordained minister in the Lutheran Church (ELCA) in Reno, Nevada. You can contact her at {email newhousesfromoldbricks@hotmail.com}newhousesfromoldbricks@hotmail.com{/email}. © Copyright 2007 by Rebecca Schlatter.
I've always assumed that that referred to people knowing us at our worst — seeing our mistakes, brokenness, faults and weaknesses. In that interpretation, we become vulnerable to rejection when we let someone see our worst, the "real" self that we'd rather keep hidden.
But defining our worst as our "real" self is somewhat arbitrary and pessimistic. Who's to say that our "real" self is not the best of who we are? Who's to say that, if we could see from the Creator's perspective, we might better appreciate our God-given gifts as who we "really" are?
One strand of Christian tradition suggests a different perspective on "really" knowing ourselves and each other. In her book "To Love as God Loves," Roberta Bondi writes: "We moderns ... believe that somehow we see people as they really are only when we see them at their worst. We know that secretly Mary is slovenly, or John is a crook, or Susan is only interested in herself." Perhaps we are so careful to be realistic that we see the glass as half-empty rather than half-full, attentive to the worst rather than the best. "When we find people's flaws after a long acquaintance with them, we believe we are finally seeing the truth about them."
Then, with the help of the early Christian church, Bondi turns the glass upside-down: "Our Christian ancestors thought exactly the opposite: we see people as they really are only when we see them through the tender and compassionate eyes of God."
Seeing the glass as half-full, however, does not eliminate the fear of rejection. After all, our best selves can be rejected too. When I was in junior high and high school, in stressful social situations, my mom and others advised, "Just be yourself." That was supposed to calm my fears, I believe. Instead, it ramped them up. In fact, it was "myself" I was afraid of having rejected, by the eyes of peers and teachers more analytical and critical than "tender and compassionate."
Revealing one's best might require even more vulnerability than disclosing the worst. To be rejected for one's worst would be no great surprise — deep down, that's what we expect anyway. It would be no big deal for our worst to be judged "not good enough." But what if our best isn't good enough, or doesn't fit in? Then we're really in trouble. To unveil the best of ourselves — to offer our deepest love, to present our greatest talent, to share our most unique gift — is to risk everything.
In a relationship, it is indeed painful when the other person cannot tolerate our faults and brokenness. But it is truly excruciating when the other person cannot receive our giftedness. This is true not only in romantic relationships or friendships, but also in living out our callings, in which we offer what we have to a community and hope it is needed and accepted. Speaking on vocation discernment, Father Michael Himes of Boston College has compared that vulnerability to the risk of "unrequited love" — arguably one of the most painful kinds of rejection.
In any relationship, and especially in a Christian community, it's essential to accept people at their worst. That's what confession and absolution are for: bringing to light the things we'd rather keep hidden, and assuring each other of love and forgiveness.
But after reading Bondi's perspective on the early church, I don't want to stop with accepting the worst. I want to be part of a community that sees the best in people, receives their God-given gifts, and celebrates the signs of the Creator in their lives. I want the community to be a place where people can be themselves at their best, without fear.
— — —
Rev. Rebecca Schlatter is an ordained minister in the Lutheran Church (ELCA) in Reno, Nevada. You can contact her at {email newhousesfromoldbricks@hotmail.com}newhousesfromoldbricks@hotmail.com{/email}. © Copyright 2007 by Rebecca Schlatter.