Am I Really Wanted?

"Many children never really feel welcomed in the world. Beneath their nervous smiles, there is often the question: 'Am I really wanted?'" Henri Nouwen, Life of the Beloved, 57.

This statement has been haunting me since I read it. This is the statement that speaks to the core of my being. This is the question that has been with me from the beginning: "Am I really wanted?" And behind it is the suspicion that the answer is: "No, not really. You're nothing special."

There is a great paradox in my experience of the world. On the one hand, a deep feeling that I am chosen, that I am gifted, that I have something really unique and special to give to my fellows. On the other,  a profound sense that I am unwanted, unappreciated, just a faceless nobody in a sea of faceless nobodies; that I do not stand out, that others, even some who are less talented than I, are able to receive all of the blessing while I am ignored. This hurts me. It fills me with a rage that cries out, "Look at me! Don't you see that I'm good? Don't you see that I can love?" But I cry out silently, or in neurotic spasms, and no one hears or understands. This paradox of sense drives me crazy. Literally.

W.E.B. DuBois in his book The Souls of Black Folks talks about what he calls "double-consciousness." As he describes it, it is the paradox within the psyche of black Americans at the turn of the twentieth century that perceives both the inherent blessedness of the individual as a unique and special child of God and at the same time the judgment of contemporary society that condemns that same individual to shameful inferiority. I have often discussed this concept with my students to try to understand race relations in U.S. history. Only now do I come to see that modern society to some extent presents us all with this experiential paradox.

The demons of the world sound a drumbeat incessantly proclaiming my lack of worth. It is so loud and insistent that I am tempted to claim it instead of my beloved-ness. And then of course as Nouwen points out I seek relief from this lack of worth in places where relief cannot be found: in clinging relationships that demand more from the other than they can give, in academic degrees and positions that provide prestige that cannot satisfy my longing for acceptance, in possessions that cannot fill my profound sense of emptiness. All of these strategies intend to deny my broken-ness, and all of them reinforce and even deepen it.

Nouwen's answer: claim the truth of my beloved-ness in God. And he so rightly points out that this is not easy to do. How do I claim my beloved-ness? He describes the process using the four words: taken, blessed, broken, and given, from the scene in Luke's gospel where Jesus feeds the masses, by taking, blessing, breaking, and giving the bread to the people. This process is repeated at the last supper, on the cross, with the disciples on the road to Emmaus, in the Eucharist, and, Nouwen claims, in the life of all Christ followers.

I think the journey from this sense of not being welcome in the world to accepting that I am at home in God’s love is not a straight line. Certainly it begins with acknowledging the possibility that the still small voice speaking eternal love to me is a real voice with a real message meant for me in particular. It assures me that I am taken, chosen, to be God’s special child, with a special purpose in the world; that I belong here. And, that if I can come to truly realize this chosen-ness, I can recognize the chosen-ness of every other one.

This chosen-ness is my blessing. It announces the “good things” (bene decire) God is saying about me, and because of this allows me to say “good things” about my fellows. Thus my chosen-ness becomes  a blessing for others, as theirs does for me.

When I am safe in the home of God’s love I can look my broken-ness in the eye and claim it, and by claiming it place it under the blessing and give it to the world. To give my own broken self to the world just as Jesus gave himself. All of these movements occur simultaneously and reinforce each other, all inching their way forward, just as we, as broken individuals, love and support each other, and the body of Christ continues its mission of restoring all of God’s kids to himself.

Nouwen writes that being given to the world has two aspects: the giving of ourselves in life, and the giving of ourselves in death. In the latter formulation, he tells us, our acting out the truth of our beloved-ness can be a blessing to the future, just as Jesus’ death continues to bless the world. He writes: “The spirit of love, once freed from our mortal bodies, will blow where it will, even when few hear its coming and going.” (125) I think he is really on to something here, because this work and a number of Nouwen’s others really speak profoundly to my own perceived dilemma, and bless me, and help me to claim and to live out my beloved-ness as a gift from God to the world. Thank you, Henri.

Free to Love

It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery. (Gal. 5:1)

How often is it the case that we feel the initial thrill of being brought to life by the gospel and then burden ourselves with expectations about how we ought to live that life? In his letter to the Galatians the apostle Paul is addressing just this issue in the Galatian church.

Paul had founded the church in Galatia by bring the gospel of grace: the good news that the Galatians were free to enjoy God’s favor, not because of their own merit or actions, but on the merit and work of Christ. But then other evangelists had come to the Galatians and told them that in order to be truly justified before God they had to follow the Law of Moses, specifically the ceremonial calendar, the food laws, and circumcision. It appears that some of the Galatians were ready to believe this and it was in response to this that Paul writes this letter to the Galatians. It is in some ways a harsh letter, bringing the Galatians to task for easily abandoning the freedom Christ has won for them.

I think we want to feel somehow that we are not like the Galatians. But at the same time I think we are in many ways just like them. In particular, there seems to be something in the human psyche that makes us feel that somehow we have to earn our salvation. This attitude is unfortunately reinforced by our religious culture which quickly turns the freedom of the gospel into a litany of do-s and don’t-s, telling us we have to behave in a certain way in order to keep our righteousness before God. The result is that we trade our slavery to sin for slavery to religion. In effect, we trade a God who loves so deeply that he is willing to give himself up in the most excruciating way for our freedom for one who says “Be good or else!” (with the “else” being spiritual and maybe even physical death). And amazingly we try to convince ourselves and others that this is a god of love. No wonder many in our midst feel that this so-called “good news” isn’t very good at all!

Paul tells us that the freedom we gained through Christ’s sacrifice is real freedom; not only freedom from sin but also freedom from religion. Look what he says in Romans: “Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit who gives life has set you free from the law of sin and death.” (Ro. 8:1-2) We are no longer condemned for sin, and we are no longer condemned by the law for not being good enough. Jesus paid it all.

Wouldn’t it be better to have a God who says “Rise to new life! You are free from the shackles of sin and can now be truly free!” Wouldn’t it be better to have a God who is not a stern taskmaster requiring obedience but a generous father who shares all He has and gives us the opportunity to share all that he has? Wouldn’t it be better to see the life of the Christian as freedom to love, rather than slavery to rules?

If we understand the gospel correctly, we are left with the conclusion that we will conform to righteousness because God is righteous, and when we surrender to him we become more like him. We have to cooperate, but we cooperate out of love rather than fear. We are free to cooperate. Jesus said, “This is my command: Love each other.” (Jn. 15:17)

The Sin of the Elder Son

25 “Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing. 26 So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on. 27 ‘Your brother has come,’ he replied, ‘and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.’
28 “The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him. 29 But he answered his father, ‘Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. 30 But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!’
31 “ ‘My son,’ the father said, ‘you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. 32 But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ ”  (Luke 15:25-31 NIV)

In Rembrandt's painting “The Return of the Prodigal Son” there are three main characters: the younger (so-called prodigal) son, the elder son, and the father. Most of us find it easy to identify ourselves with the younger son because most of us sense that we are screw-ups, and that is what the younger son is. We work hard to try to make a go of it on our own steam and in the end we are defeated and come (back) to God.

It is harder to identify with the elder son. That's because the elder son's sin is of an entirely different nature. Rather that a sin of excess, this sin is one of pride. The elder son plays by the rules. He experiences a little arrogance when considering his younger brother's actions because he has avoided the temptation to succumb to the temptations of excess. He has worked hard, expecting that he would win the approval of his father, who in his turn cannot help but feel hurt by the actions of his younger son.

So when the younger son returns and the father welcomes him back, not with a rebuke but with open loving arms, restoring him to full inheritance and celebrating the return with a great feast, the elder son is resentful. He feels hurt that his years of quiet service have in an instant been swept aside in favor of a lavish homecoming celebration for his screw-up brother. Can you blame him?

Yet this is the nature of the father's love. His love for the younger son does not affect the beloved-ness of the elder. The father's love is infinite, and his inheritance is infinite. I have experienced the excess of the younger son and felt the power in the father's forgiveness and love. I have also felt the pride of the elder. It is here that I need to claim my beloved-ness.