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It was odd.
I was suddenly overwhelmed by the notion of my own inadequacy.
Thinking about the sharing I would be doing tomorrow morning at Cornerstone United Methodist Church in Houston, Texas, I was confronted with my lacking. I am a bald, aging man with limited mobility, who has suffered–or at least struggled–with obesity all my life.
To say that I feel humbled by the notion of offering exhortation, edification or even insight into the lives of others would be an oversimplification of my vacancy. I don’t know whether anybody is worthy to be a voice crying in the wilderness–especially entrusted with the concept of challenging people to “prepare the way of the Lord and make His paths straight.”
Somehow or another it seems prudent for me to straighten some of my own paths before instructing others in path-straightening.
But what does that mean? Am I to sit around and wait until I am a worthy representation of goodness in order to praise goodness, point to goodness or even stand in awe of what goodness can do?
I am pieces, trying to make peace with myself.
I am chunks of what could be a whole, but doesn’t really promise to ever coagulate.
I am an incomplete vessel who really has only one responsibility–don’t lie about my insufficiency. Don’t exaggerate my qualification. And don’t pretend to be anything other than the subtotal of my pieces.
When my knees gave out on me late last year, I thought my time of speaking in front of audiences and pouring out my heart was over. I honestly did not want to be a disgrace to the kingdom of God through my weakness. I was determined to develop an excuse for escaping my continued participation in the unification of the human spirit with the presence of God by pulling up lame–literally.
Maybe it’s just that I felt stupid. Maybe “wheeling” my way in front of an audience to hobble to my keyboard was just a little too much hyperbole of uselessness.
I don’t know. It wasn’t that I wanted to quit. It just seemed that quitting was an honorable thing. Make room for someone who’s more … whole.
And then I remembered the words that God said to Adam in the Garden when his little buddy was hiding among the fig leaves.
“Why are you hiding?”
“I’m hiding because I’m naked,” said Adam.
“Who told you that you were naked?” asked God.
Yes–who told me I was unworthy? Who told me I was weak and beyond redemption? Who told me that it was time to graze in the grass instead of shepherding people to greener pastures?
I did.
I decided what was righteous.
I decided what was beautiful.
I decided what was marketable.
God hasn’t worked with me for these many years and seen me crash and bounce to the earth to not allow me to continue to speak my mind.
I’m finding ways to be at peace with my pieces. For after all, being complete is over-rated. When we express our weakness, those around us perceive us as stronger by the confession. When we pronounce our strengths, yet obviously sprout flaws, we are only made weaker by our boasting.
I come to you in pieces, trying to find a way to have peace with them.
You can decide … whether it’s worth hearing.
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