Community and Honesty

Honesty is a fourth essential ingredient to meaningful, authentic community. Honesty is obviously necessary for self-disclosure, and honesty works in tandem with active, unconditional love. We should take a look at this in more detail, and we should also consider how truth-telling intersects with hospitality and service to one another.

Some Christians say that Jesus commanded them to "speak the truth in love," even though it may seem rare to see anyone putting that into practice. It was actually a passing comment made by Paul in his letter to the Ephesians (Eph 4:15), but it's still a useful idea. Sometimes we get caught up in being loving (or appearing to be loving, or doing what we think is going to make others love or accept us) and we fail to tell the truth. We might lie about who we really are, what we really want or think or need, what we see in other people, or the dynamics we see at work in a system. When we don't tell the truth, we aren't being loving. 

Of course, we can tell the truth in an unloving way, too. We can be so blunt and direct -- and maybe even confrontational -- that the truth we express isn't very well received. Some people even get the cause-and-effect of this twisted around, thinking that their truth-telling gets a bad reaction from people rather than realizing that the way they express the truth has a lot to do with how others react. Even a lovingly-expressed truth can create some anxiety, but speaking truth without regard for a relationship is irresponsible. Actually, our reason for speaking the truth unlovingly is the same as our reason for not speaking the truth at all: fear. Dealing with our fear or anxiety about ourselves or other people is an important step toward speaking the truth hearably and lovingly. Speaking the truth is necessary for meaningful, authentic relationships, and the context of those relationships is active, unconditional love. So the way we speak the truth is as important as being willing to speak the truth.

When we aren't honest, it's always because of anxiety or fear. It may not seem that way, because we're so accustomed to a low-level of chronic anxiety that it feels normal. But when we avoid the truth, it's because we fear the consequences of the truth. We lie because we believe that someone else will react in a way that we won't like. We lie because we have something to lose. Some people are convinced that there's nothing wrong with telling a "white lie" to spare someone's feelings or to avoid a lengthy conversation with a stranger or acquaintance when you just don't have the time to spare. In his little book Lying, Sam Harris makes a compelling argument that it's always unethical or immoral to lie. Either way, lying doesn't create meaningful, authentic community. 

There are all sorts of reasons we might value community enough that we're concerned about how people will react to us, though. If we find something meaningful in community, we don't want to do anything to jeopardize those relationships. That anxiety -- that we have something to lose, and we'd better be careful -- can lead us to believe that telling the truth is dangerous. Yet, we can't have the quality of community we really want and need if we keep things at a polite, surface-level veneer of social falsehoods. Community is most valuable to us when we can practice self-disclosure, and hospitality, and active and unconditional love in a safe environment. Letting our anxiety convince us not to be honest in that community means that we are in some way showing up as a false person -- that we're pretending to be someone different from who we really are -- for the sake of being accepted, or loved, or safe. 

Pretending to be someone different from who you really are doesn't mean adopting a deep cover secret identity. It's simple things that erode our ability to be known and accepted for who we are. We pretend to be someone who likes gazpacho, or someone who is alright with a particular kind of humor, or someone who doesn't mind waiting 15 minutes for folks to arrive for a group activity. We may be none of those things, but we value the sense of community so highly that we feel obligated to make some sacrifices -- to give up part of ourselves -- in order to keep or strengthen that bond. Some people just call that being polite, but let's be clear about all of those times when we hide who we really are: When we hide who we really are, we lie. And when we lie about who are are, we can't be known. It isn't self-disclosure when what we disclose isn't really who we are.

We also can't be as meaningfully served by someone if we aren't honest. Yes, someone can prepare us a meal and we can sincerely appreciate it, even if it isn't our favorite food. But we can also lovingly, gratefully say: "Thank you so much for fixing dinner for me. I usually don't eat meat, but everything else here is delicious." Now, you can say that with a bit of an attitude, or you can be sincere in your gratitude that someone has done something hospitable for you. If you keep that bit of information entirely to yourself -- that you don't eat meat -- you may think you're just being polite, but what happens the next time that person prepares food for you? Do you keep lying? How many meals do you eat before you tell the truth? "Going along to get along" may be easier in some contexts, but it doesn't create meaningful, authentic community.

Serving others is also more meaningful when we're able to be honest. Some people practice "hospitality" with an ulterior motive. "I'll do something nice for this person, and then they'll owe me one. I can butter them up and then ask for this big favor, and they refuse, I can make them feel guilty." This is in no way hospitality. When we're honest with others about what we want and need, and we're honest about our interest in being of service, there's less anxiety in the exchange of hospitality and service. 

In the context of meaningful, authentic community, we find loving ways to be honest. We don't engage in manipulation or playing safe. We stir honesty in equal measure alongside self-disclosure, service, and active and unconditional love. Then, when we serve others, they can legitimately trust the sincerity of our actions without worrying about ulterior motives. (To be clear, other people might suspect that we have ulterior motives when we are hospitable, but our willingness to be transparent and honest can alleviate those suspicions.) And when others serve us, they'll get sincere gratitude from us, and they'll learn more about what we appreciate. They'll learn more about what makes our hearts sing. 

And while we're being honest, keep in mind that doing something that contributes to another person's well-being also does something for you. Research has demonstrated that altruism feels good. Plus, our sense of interconnectedness suggests that when the lives of people around us are moving toward greater wholeness, our own lives are enhanced. So, there's no need to get caught up in puzzling through the selfishness of service. Hospitality is always of mutual benefit, if you're willing to receive those benefits.

Even at a purely selfish level, honesty is the best way for us to get what we want and need. When we play manipulation games with people, we're always hoping people will take hints and read between the lines, or maybe that we can ensnare them in a situation where they feel obligated to give us what we want. The problem is that what we actually want requires us to be vulnerable. Having power over other people is a reaction to fear -- maybe fear that we aren't lovable or acceptable, that we don't matter, that someone is going to take advantage of us, or whatever fear might bubble up for you. 

Persuading or compelling someone to do what we want seems to feel good because it alleviates that anxiety and fear for a moment. But it doesn't convince us that we are lovable or acceptable, or that we matter. It's the "consolation prize" of co-existing with others, when "first prize" is actually knowing that we are lovable, valuable, acceptable, worthy human beings. The best possible outcome is for us to get our legitimate needs met by other people who are willing to acknowledge and address those needs in legitimate ways. And we've seen that there's a mutuality built into that equation, because some of the things we need have to do with what we are able to offer to other people. The best way for people to understand and address one another's needs is for them to be honest about those needs to one another. 

It may feel safer to hide parts of ourselves. It may feel vulnerable to admit that we have needs, or to reveal that we have fears about not being lovable or acceptable or worthy. But everyone wrestles with these issues in one way or another. Being human means having needs and being vulnerable. There's no shame in that. It's just reality. Honesty about that reality is one of the key features that distinguishes meaningful, authentic community from so many of the other ways we try to find community. Rather than giving up who we are in order to have connection with other human beings, we show up as we are -- as our authentic selves. We don't carry around shame about who we are, and we don't make demands for acceptance. 

One person can do this, but it may freak out a lot of people, and it might be a challenge to infuse bold honesty into an anxious system where everyone is pretending to be someone they're not. A handful of people with a commitment to be in more authentic relationship with one another have a better chance of transforming an existing system to a more honest, loving, hospitable community. We'll see later on how honesty about current reality is a necessary part of casting vision for the direction of a community as a whole. For now, it's enough to see that honesty is a necessary component to blend with love, hospitality, and self-disclosure. 

There's one more essential ingredient to meaningful, authentic community: affirmation. So, next time we'll explore the importance of being sincerely celebrated, and sincerely celebrating others.

John 1: People Notice Authenticity

In the last section of John 1, we meet the main character of the story. We can draw some insights from the behavior of the disciples (students) in this brief summary of how they came to be associated with Jesus, and we can draw some insights from the behavior of Jesus. We might find ourselves situated in multiple places in this narrative. In a way, this flows directly from our observations about John the Baptist's authenticity and brings forward some additional things about people who are authentic.

Part of the purpose of this segment of the story is to legitimize -- or at least relate -- the brief origin stories of some of the significant legendary figures in the early church. This story is not identical to other stories about how the followers of Jesus were assembled, but it serves as an introduction to these men and defines their connection to one another. It appears that all of these initial followers were friends or family members of one another. We can't overplay this observation, because we don't actually have any written materials from any of these followers. We know them (and their relationships) only by tradition. Still, it is perhaps worth noting that the reason people gathered in community around this teacher is because of the invitations of friends and family members -- people who were known and trusted.

Various readers might try to make a big deal about how Jesus knows the things that he knows about people -- as if he had some supernatural insights about them. We aren't explicitly told that he has any telepathic powers, but people read their own impressions into the story. In the context of the story, it's just as likely that Andrew could say to Jesus, "I want to bring my brother to meet you," and the next day Jesus said, "Ah, you're that guy that Andrew was going to bring." And it's just as likely that Jesus literally saw Nathaniel sitting under a fig tree and formed an opinion about him. It's also worth remembering that it's a story that has no means of being verified, so we have to just let it be a story. The point is that it's a story about human interaction, not about superhuman abilities.

In noticing what the story leaves out at this point, two things seem apparent. First, we read nothing about those people who ignored or rejected Jesus as a teacher. We only read about the handful of individuals who saw something worth emulating in Jesus. We also only read one instance of Jesus "calling" someone, and that person seems to have known some other folks who were traveling with Jesus. Everyone who decides to follow this leader makes a personal choice to do so; they aren't all sought out and tapped by the leader as if they had been destined for it since birth.

On the one hand, if we want people to know about what we are doing, we have to talk about what we are doing at some point. That may not mean calling people to follow us, but there are some people who will only consider collaboration when they are invited into it. Maybe that was what was going on with Philip. Who knows. The truth that this story highlights, though, is that if we are authentically ourselves, we will attract people who want to know more about how we developed that ability. It's rare enough to see someone show up authentically that people still find it rather impressive. We won't attract everyone by showing up authentically, but that isn't the point. It isn't a marketing tactic. It's a way of being.

By suggesting that we be authentically ourselves, I'm also not suggesting that we do whatever we want and act like we rule the world. That isn't actually authentic. The attitude that some individuals adopt that seems to suggest that they own the road, or a restaurant, or a store clerk's attention, is far from authentic. Equally inauthentic are those of us who play small and pretend to be invisible, as if we have nothing to contribute and we don't want anyone to find out how worthless we are. In order to show up authentically, we have to be aware of ourselves and aware of our connection to the people around us. It means not pretending to be something we aren't, neither more nor less than our complete selves.

Some people will be attracted to that level of authenticity for different reasons. A couple of John's disciples jumped ship and decided to learn from Jesus instead. Maybe they had learned all they could from John. Maybe they just didn't like what John was teaching them. We have a tendency to do this kind of thing, too. We want to grow or learn something, but when a teacher or situation challenges us beyond our comfort zone, our fear may provoke us to run away and look for something else. We concoct all sorts of excuses, but sometimes the most honest reason we do things is that we are scared.

To complicate matters, there are legitimately some circumstances that are unhealthy or unhelpful to us. We may actually be ready to move on to something else. Some teachers misrepresent themselves, perhaps even unknowingly. If we stay in a situation out of a sense of loyalty, we might actually convince ourselves to stay in relationships that are detrimental to us -- that don't lead to greater well-being. So, we have to consider why we are choosing to do what we choose to do. If we leave one relationship for another without thinking through the honest reasons why -- not just the convenient excuses to cover up our fears and anxieties -- we are likely to find ourselves in similar situations over and over again.

Some of the people who approach Jesus in the story have to get over their own prejudices. "Can anything good come from Nazareth?" is not far off from some of the assumptions we make about the capabilities of people who come from different cultures. When we buy into the idea that people are intrinsically different just because they have some different practices or beliefs, we run the risk of considering ourselves to be worth more than other human beings by virtue of superficial things. When we understand that all people have inherent value, but that we all have different perspectives, we have a better opportunity to assess ideas honestly and still honor and respect the human beings who hold those different ideas. From one perspective, we are trying to "win" somehow -- to be right or to be better than someone else. From the other, we might grow toward a best possible version of ourselves by remaining open to other points of view.

We said early on in introducing this book that we would be meeting ourselves -- or at least our potential selves -- in observing the main character of Jesus. In this story about gathering people in community, we see the possibility of understanding ourselves and our connection to others so clearly that other people notice something compelling about how we show up. We might expect that the rest of the story will suggest some of the means to grow toward that level of authenticity. For now, let it suffice to say that we often show up the way we think other people expect us to show up, or we show up reacting to other people out of our anxieties about ourselves. When we are comfortable with our deep values and we show up confident in our authentic identity -- not pretending to be more or less than who we really are -- people will notice.

A Little Experiment: Our journey begins with noticing how we are -- how we choose to be. Notice this week when you are trying to "win" something you don't need to win, like driving or drawing the attention of a store clerk away from another customer. Notice also when you are letting yourself pretend to be invisible or playing small, like not speaking in a conversation or trying not to be noticed. What is going on for you when you are trying to prove your importance or hide from people? What would it be like for you to be more authentically present? More aware of who you actually are and more aware of your connection to (and impact on) other people? What would it take for you to be comfortable showing up without any sort of mask?

John 1: Being Comfortable with Ourselves and Pointing to Others

The next section of the gospel of John sets up the relationship between John the Baptist and Jesus. In John 1:19-34, we see a brief character sketch of John the Baptist before we are officially introduced to the character Jesus. Some scholars see evidence (in biblical and extrabiblical sources) that John the Baptist and Jesus had competing cults, and that eventually the Jesus cult received many of John's followers after John was executed. It is possible that John was the leader of a Mandaean sect. There are still some Mandaeans today in southern Mesopotamia, and they generally revere John the Baptist (among others) and reject Jesus of Nazareth. A significant Mandaic population in Iraq and Iran (tens of thousands of people) has dwindled in recent years due to war and religious persecution. If the Mandaic community and the new sect of Christianity were at odds with one another in the first century, it would provide some incentive for gospel writers to attempt to bridge that conflict in a way that placed their group in a superior position. Such a conflict, however, is largely conjecture at this point; the scant evidence that exists is only suggestive.

From just reading the story, we get an impression of the John the Baptist character, though. Here is a man of conviction, unafraid to stand up to the religious authorities of the predominant culture, and even impish enough to be a bit cryptic while he does it. John the Baptist reflects a person who knows himself, and isn't afraid of pointing the way to another leader or teacher. His rejection of the Pharisees is not simply a manifestation of authority issues or narcissism; he is willing to recognize true capability and wisdom when he sees it. This character sketch may have some value for us.

There are some other bits that make for a compelling story, but it would be rather fruitless to get too mired in details from a historical or factual perspective. There is simply too much time that passed between any actual events and the writing of this narrative, and there is no way to accurately guess what was going on in John the Baptist's mind. Did John refer to Jesus in such obsequious tones? Nobody can know, and it ultimately doesn't matter. Did John actually see a dove-like supernatural manifestation? Probably not, but he may have seen something that he interpreted as a supernatural event. Or he may have been having a heat stroke. Or he may have had other hallucinations that aren't recorded anywhere. Or he may have made things up to bolster his own identity as a mystic and to convince others of the veracity of his words. Other religious leaders have been known to do so. There's really no telling if any of this "actually" happened. It's a story. Let's take what we can from it and leave it at that.

So, this fellow John is the focus of these few paragraphs. He knows who he is, and he is presumably a capable leader of his sect (otherwise the Pharisees wouldn't care what he was doing). He is also able to see competence in others, and he is not intimidated by another capable leader. Quite the contrary--he recommends another capable leader to some of his own followers. He apparently does not base his own sense of personal value or identity on the behavior of other people. He doesn't base his self worth on people's reactions to him. He acts out of his own guiding principles and lets that be enough.

Some roles in our society require pointing to others. When a concert pianist performs a virtuosic solo, she shows up very differently from when she is accompanying a vocalist. In one instance, she is the star feature, and in the other she has a supporting role. It takes a slightly different set of musical skills to be an excellent accompanist. One has to be tuned into what the other performer is doing if one is to really collaborate in creating a musical experience. The same performer can be an excellent soloist and an excellent accompanist, but it requires a shift in attitude -- it requires showing up a little bit differently. I'm sure you can think of other roles that similarly require directing attention to others rather than to oneself.

We sometimes find ourselves in a roomful of people who want to be seen as capable, who want to be recognized as competent leaders. Often such people talk about themselves. A lot. They have an experience that relates to (and possibly trumps) whatever anyone else says. Or perhaps they have been down that road before and they have expert advice to share. We have all probably been in those conversations. Unfortunately, at some point in time, we have all probably been the person who wanted to share advice or who had a "better-than-you" story to tell.

Gaining a feeling of superiority and giving advice are reactions to the anxiety we feel when we want people to see us a certain way. This anxiety becomes particularly acute when we think that we might not actually be that competent, capable person we want people to see. When we are telling stories that trump other people's experiences or giving unsolicited expert advice (or doing anything else in an effort to seem better than somebody else), we are often trying to show up as somebody different than who we really think we are. We are trying to convince people of something about us, and perhaps we are not so convinced ourselves.

When we show up authentically, when we are honest about who we are and what we are capable of doing, people will notice. Part of this requires managing the anxiety that we feel when we want to be seen a certain way. For some people, it requires being visible -- showing up and being fully present rather than shrinking away from attention. Showing up authentically does not mean playing small any more than it means pretending to be more than we actually are. It means being honest about who we are and how we want to engage in the world.

John the Baptist (as he is portrayed here, at least) is an example of that sort of person. He is clear about how he wants to show up, and he seems to be relatively low-anxiety about that. He does his thing, and when another capable leader comes along, he acknowledges it. Now, John the Baptist may go a bit overboard in humiliating himself and propping up Jesus. No one needs the sort of boot-licking compliments that John the Baptist heaps on Jesus in this story. Compliments are nice, but people can be personally responsible for showing up authentically without us going off the deep end in our attempts to "sell" them to other folks. John saw something that impressed him about Jesus, though, and he wasn't threatened by it. He told other people that he saw something impressive without it needing to mean anything about John's capability.

Now, as we continue along in the story, we'll see that showing up authentically does not mean that everyone else is going to love you. Other people are still potentially wrapped up in their own anxiety, and their reactivity is out of our control. John the Baptist's authenticity gets him killed. Or maybe it is his lack of tact. We'll see. The point is that showing up authentically is not risk-free. The advantage is that we aren't pretending to be something different from who we really are. Knowing how we want to show up as a reflection of our deep values -- our guiding principles -- means that we give people an opportunity to see us more clearly. Some people will be attracted to that. Some people will be threatened by it. The real advantage is that we are at peace with ourselves -- that we have integrity. Who we are on the outside can reflect who we are on the inside.

Of course, the first trick to this is knowing ourselves better, and that requires managing our anxiety better. We all carry around fears and lies about who we are deep down inside, and how we think we have to show up so that no one sees the "truth" about us. We have to dismantle those fears and lies in order to be the people we most want to be. This story into which we're delving will point the way for some of this work.

For now, we can recognize that we don't need to be threatened by other competent, capable people. We can point to what impresses us about others without demeaning ourselves. (Are you listening, John the Baptist?) We don't need to trump other people's stories or give unsolicited advice in order to impress other people. When we show up reflecting the things that matter most to us, people will either be impressed or they won't. Our role is to live out of our deepest values.

A Little Experiment: The next time you are in a public setting, notice whether you are trying to be impressive or trying to compete with the people around you for attention or acknowledgment. If you're willing, try to relax into yourself and let go of that anxiety. Consider the possibility that you may not need to pretend to be something other than yourself in order to be seen the way you want to be seen.

Another Little Experiment: Be on the lookout for authentic people -- people who seem comfortable with themselves, who aren't giving unsolicited advice or trying to gain superiority through story-telling. Allow yourself to be impressed by other people's authenticity.

Mark 9: Authentic Power

The next portion of Mark 9 is a string of short scenes with a couple of overlapping themes. As such, they are probably best approached over two weeks rather than trying to fit everything into one entry. We'll look first at the scenes, and then at how the authors of Matthew and Luke treat them, and finally we'll consider the argument about greatness. Next week, we'll look closer at what it means to "cause another person to sin," especially in a more humanist context that doesn't grant validity to the idea of sinfulness.

Both the gospel of Matthew and the gospel of Luke include a version of the first scene, in which the disciples argue about which of them will be in positions of authority when the Romans are overthrown and a new world order is established by their revolutionary leader. The response recorded indicates that they have some misconceptions about the new measure of leadership that is being established. This scene is followed by what appears to be a threat to Jesus' brand, as another miracle worker is seen performing some wondrous deeds without the direct approval of Jesus or his followers. The gospel of Matthew doesn't represent this scene, but the author of Luke included a truncated version of it. Once again, the response to the disciples' indignation is a revision to their assumptions about authority.

In the gospel of Matthew, the final scene in this grouping is dovetailed into the discussion of leadership, with the symbolic child being the bridge between the two passages. The author of Luke includes an abbreviated version of the teaching, separated from the scenes about leadership and authority. This scene suggests that the people who promote wrongdoing (or wrong thinking) in others will suffer for it, with symbolism suggesting that the author had an impression that individuals would have some kind of physical bodies in the afterlife.

This is also one of the passages that has given us a perspective of hell as a fiery place, but the actual word used here (Gehenna) refers to a specific place, also called the Valley of the Son of Hinnom in the Old Testament. It was here that Moloch and Ba'al worshipers (some of whom were Israelites) are said to have sacrificed their children to the fire. Since no mass graves of children's bones have been discovered anywhere in the area, many archaeologists and scholars have concluded that the symbolic sacrifices were something more akin to child dedications involving fire. Obviously, upstanding Jewish citizens would disapprove of parents dedicating children to a foreign god, and they would have had obvious reasons for equating such dedication as tantamount to sacrificing the child's spiritual future. The author of Mark puts clever words in Jesus' mouth, suggesting that anyone who is a negative spiritual influence on a child will be punished not just by being sacrificed to a fire, but by a fire that never quits consuming -- a darkly ironic Gehenna that is never quenched. We'll return to this passage next week, but it's obvious that the author of Matthew connects it with the earlier discussion of who deserves to be in positions of power.

We don't have to try very hard to find modern day parallels to the two earlier scenes in this passage. Sometimes we become quite preoccupied with what our position is, in the microcosms of our life as well as in a broader sense. We find ways to measure our level of power, whether in terms of the titles bestowed upon us, the amount of money we have, the number of friends (or "friends") we have in our networks, or some other scale that represents power to us. Some people are impressed by those who seem to have an air of authority, people who just exude self-confidence or seem to have an unshakably high opinion of themselves. The lesson expressed through Jesus in this passage suggests that all of this is valueless. These things are illusions that have no real bearing on what matters most. More important than how much apparent power one wields is how well one serves, particularly how well one serves those who are unable to do anything in terms of compensation.

A child is used as a powerful example here of the kinds of relationships that most reflect how well any of us understand what is most important. A child cannot pay us for our actions. A child cannot award titles or promotions. A child can't even vote in the next election. A child can do very little to increase our apparent power. Yet, if we are truly aware of ourselves -- if we are adept at dismantling fears about scarcity and insignificance, if we practice living with integrity by guiding principles that reflect something deeper than titles and dollar signs -- then we will likely be paying attention more to what we can do for other people than we will what other people can do for us. It won't matter that a person will be unable to offer us anything for our efforts (including a chance to have our picture in the paper and a headline with the word "Hero"). What will matter is that we have an opportunity to act with integrity to a deeply held value.

When we start thinking in terms of our role in the pecking order, or our position in a hierarchy, we can start determining personal value (of ourselves and of others) based on superficial details. Our value as human beings is not based on apparent power. It's an inherent trait that all human beings have in common. Chains of command and hierarchies of responsibility have their usefulness, but their benefits do not include knowing a person's value based on place within a hierarchy. People who wield authority have greater responsibility (as is indicated by the discussion about diving suits fitted with millstones), but they do not have greater value as human beings.

We determine how our human capability will be expressed in our lives. If we release our need to be seen as powerful, our actual capability will have more of a chance to shine through with authenticity. Our fears about there not being enough respect or love or admiration to go around can cloud our thinking on this to some extent, but we really don't know what the world would look like if everyone stopped worrying and started living out of their deepest guiding principles. If everyone stopped being afraid and just loved, we might all look pretty powerful. The truth is that we all are powerful, and we don't need to prove it to anyone. We are all capable of incredible acts of love and creativity. We are all capable of being peacemakers. We are all capable of profound feats of connection. We are all capable of seeing the inherent worth in people who seem to be doing their very best to keep it hidden.

The disciples in the story were concerned (probably even angry) because someone else was stealing their schtick. You've probably already seen through this as more fear of scarcity being expressed. There were then, as there are now, plenty of hurting people to go around. The point behind helping people was not then, as it need not be now, a chance to make a name for oneself, or an opportunity to get appointed to a position of authority, or a way to get ahead financially. The point behind helping people was and is to help people. The point behind living with integrity and intentionality was and is to live with integrity and intentionality. Being authentic and exercising one's full capability is the reward; our relationships with other people are just the context in which we get to be authentic and capable.

There was a book a while back with a title suggesting that if we do what we are passionate about -- what "feeds our soul" some might say -- then financial well being will come automatically. The content of the book revealed something different, that if we do what we love, then the satisfaction of doing what we love will follow. That's potentially a discouraging message to people who are caught up (like the disciples were in these scenes) with concerns about apparent power, market share, and personal brand management. The message of these scenes is not intended to be discouraging at all, though. The author of Mark is conveying that if we recognize what really matters to us and we intentionally live like those things really matter to us, we will be noticed by all the people we need to be noticed by and we will have all of the things we need to be happy.

Honestly, we may not have all of the wealth or apparent power that we want, or all that will allow our every whim to be entertained. The point, though, is that we don't get any closer to living by our deepest guiding principles by prioritizing wealth or wielding power over others. In other words, we've allowed our standards to become skewed toward something artificial and superficial. Most likely, we've done this because looking inward at what really matters most to us is scary at some level. Some people are afraid that they won't find much there at all if they look within, and others are afraid that if they are honest about their deepest guiding principles, their entire life will have to change. Maybe it will. The message of these scenes in Mark is that it will be worth it: Realize what really matters. Change your standards. Change your life -- and quite possibly the lives of everyone around you. It's an image of authentic power that any of us can choose to embrace.

2 Chronicles 29-31: Appearances vs Authenticity

We'll soon be turning to the books of Isaiah and Micah, which were attributed to two "prophets" or outspoken spiritual commentators (preachers) during the time of King Hezekiah, who probably came to the throne in Judah a few years after the kingdom of Israel fell to the Assyrians. The authors of 2 Kings actually place the fall of Samaria six years into Hezekiah's reign, but it's difficult to make the dates work out with what is known of the dates of other rulers in the Ancient Near East. Some scholars propose that a practice of co-regency accounts for any apparent discrepancies. At the very least, we know that Hezekiah's reign (and in general the conflict between Assyria and Judah), is very well attested in extra-biblical sources. Hezekiah was a heroic ruler in the eyes of the Jewish historians, and it appears that his reign saw a surge in population, literacy, and power, potentially fed by Israelites fleeing south from Assyrian forces.

The Chronicler indicates much more about Hezekiah's religious reforms than the authors of 2 Kings. He started by ordering a group of Levites (the tribe that had exclusively been assigned duties of caring for the temple) to clean up the temple and get rid of any paraphernalia that represented the encroachment of foreign religions. Then Hezekiah hosted an extravagant sacrifice and public celebration for the people in Jerusalem, followed by an invitation to all worshipers of Yahweh in the surrounding areas to celebrate Passover properly in Jerusalem. According to the biblical record, his efforts were so successful that they extended the celebration for an additional seven days. This may have been due, at least in part, to Hezekiah's contribution of eight thousand animals for the ceremonies, augmented by another eleven thousand animals from Jewish officials (who were possibly "encouraged" to do so by their king).

After all of that, Hezekiah organized task forces to go around the entire kingdom and tear apart any worship sites that would detract from the state religion, with the end result that the Temple got all of the offerings that had been dispersed among various alternative worship practices. Very clever. While Hezekiah insisted on tolerance for people with different concepts of the state religion (2 Chron 30:18-19), he oversaw profound intolerance for any other religious practices. As Micah will report, that didn't make everything perfect, but the Chronicler has only praise for Hezekiah's leadership in these efforts. By all appearances, spiritual order had been restored and the country was prospering.

Even with the controls inherent in a theocratic dictatorship, and even with a great leader like Hezekiah, there are limits to what enforced religious practice can accomplish. People can become very adept at outward appearances while still continuing to live by fear of scarcity or a sense of entitlement. In other words, changing the visible religious practices of a community does not necessarily change the inward character of the people in that community. This is a problem to which various prophets call attention. We can certainly observe the character and practices of ancient people from afar and draw some conclusions about those people. However, we get more value from looking at our own character and practices with bold honesty.

So often, we spend our time and energy on appearances. We want to appear pure, good, right, noble, strong, charitable, trustworthy, competent, lovable, or whatever package of traits it happens to be for a given individual. We want people to see admirable qualities in us. We make our temples look clean and we make our sacrifices abundant, even extravagant. Hezekiah was trying to make up for a legacy of inappropriate behavior, and he went to great lengths to make a public show that things were going to be different. For some people, things probably were different. Hezekiah certainly seems to have been acting out of sincerity. He didn't really require that people change their lives all that much, though. People could still be as ruthless in business as they were before, or as discompassionate to the alien and impoverished as they were before, as long as they worshiped the way they were "supposed to." Changing people's character would require an entirely different kind of reform.

We are often the same way. We sometimes change the outward displays without bothering to change the inward motivations. We try to hide all of the things that we are afraid of or ashamed of about ourselves and display the person we want people to see instead. It's a lot of work for some of us, and it's work that never ends, because the things we are afraid of or ashamed of about ourselves never really get addressed.

What is it for you? For me, I often do battle with the fear that I am really a selfish person at my core. On top of that, I have an "inner critic" that likes to tell me that I'm not _____ enough. I know both of those things are false, but sometimes I wind up spending energy trying to prove my own inner lies about myself wrong, instead of spending my energy proclaiming what is true about myself. It occurs to me that if I spent more time working on dismantling the lies and living out of what is true, I would have a lot less worry about what other people see when they look at me. If I live out my authentic, capable, beautiful, noble, creative self, I don't have to worry about appearances.

So, that is one challenge that emerges from this passage about Hezekiah. What are you doing just for the sake of appearances, and how does that distract you from meaningful personal development? What would be wrong with just being your authentic self? What are you afraid people are going to see if you stop worrying about appearances and just allow your own deep guiding principles to inform your actions?

I certainly don't mean that what people see in us doesn't matter. To be clear, I gain a lot of insight from what other people notice about my demeanor and behavior. The more vulnerable I am willing to be with people, the more I get from other people's observations. So, by suggesting that we worry less about appearances, I don't mean that we should abandon personal hygiene or let fly every petty judgment that pops into our brains. I mean that our outward behavior can be more authentically influenced by our own inner values than by our fear about what other people will think. I mean that our time and energy is better spent nurturing our own integrity rather than nurturing a less-than-authentic image. We have nothing to fear about how people see us if we recognize what matters most deeply to us and live out those values with authenticity and integrity. Honestly, I'd rather be an authentic person than a person with a well-rehearsed persona. Maybe you agree.