Strength's Illusion We’re too strong for our own good. Or at least think we need be. And only when we have the courage to set that illusion aside, do we find true strength. I’ve read or heard that idea expressed a few times. It may be an ancient truth professed by wise men and women sages. One that applied in earlier and simpler times but seems somehow inapplicable in our “enlightened” and “advanced” days. ••••••••••••••• The feeling of strength lends great confidence and self-assurance because it implies that which we desire most in our lives: control. And often, it is only when the feeling is shattered that we begin to question its validity and recognize a strength that can’t be invalidated by circumstance or situation. And thereby begin to know what life is all about and how it is best lived. We set out finally, to resurrect from our delusion. Many things may cause us to adjust our perspectives, including personal and professional setbacks and tragedies. These things have a way of causing an introspection otherwise disregarded in our rushed lives. We’re forced to acknowledge and accept the limits of and holes in our definitions of strength and of what truly matters. And in that process, begin to realize the need to expand our ideas about power, control and security. In short, to redirect our faith. Something everyone applies, its object the only differentiator. Granting the impetus of setbacks and tragedies toward re-consideration of such matters, the greatest catalyst perhaps is a feeling of loneliness and isolation. ••••••••••••••• I had dinner with a close friend recently. Physically beautiful and emotionally durable, she faces struggles that most of us can’t imagine. Suffering from an inoperable brain tumor replete with a host of restrictions professional, functional and social, she has endured with a humbling grace. Yet, as much as she’s accepted her disability and its curtailments, there is one “restriction” whose injustice is nearly unbearable. Largely due to its unfairness but mostly because it's out of her control. Generally, the fact that things aren’t under our control is what produces feelings of unfairness or injustice. In our minds, what is most unfair is that we don’t have the opportunity, ability or strength to try to “right” things. We are left forced to accept a situation, and though we’re encouraged to do that regarding things we can’t change and exhorted to understand the difference from those we can, life is a struggle distinguishing the two. In listening to her, I discovered how intimately her situation applies to all of us. The last thing we will surrender is control. From our perspective, relinquishing the right to run our lives as we see fit, which lies at the foundation of our sense of control, is something considered anathema. It means losing those very selves we’ve fought so hard to construct, justify and defend. We will surrender anything except our right to live as we choose. Our freedom is our strength. But is our freedom genuine? ••••••••••••••• Among other things, my friend and I talked about experiences in relationships, people’s arena of potentially deepest growth or most acute stagnation. Our abilities to develop relationships with others and with ourselves are what fuel our development. It’s the soil on which we tend who it is we’re becoming. Her experiences had been less than fruitful. In words borne by a mix of sadness, frustration and impending resignation she related, “Maybe I’ll just get a dog and live in my apartment. That’s not so bad, is it?” It seemed that try as she might, she’d been unable to extend a relationship beyond a few dates. At that point she’d receive a call from some fellow explaining any one of a thousand excuses as to why he could no longer see her. ••••••••••••••• Often, the thousand and one excuses “routine” is believed by those who use it to be in the best interests of the person who’s being “excused.” We lie “to spare others’ feelings.” Or so we think. In truth, we’re seeking more so to spare our own discomfort at the hurt rendered another than to assuage their pain. It’s far more difficult for a recipient to deal with the hollowness and questions left by insincerity than it is to handle the pain resulting from simple but genuine honesty. A sick person knows that after months of unanswered questions and "potential probabilities" as to the cause of their illness, the diagnosis has a freeing effect no matter how grim it may be. At least the patient now knows with what he or she is dealing. Although that may be frightening, it’s better than being left uninformed. There's a very good reason for the statement, "The fear of the unknown." ••••••••••••••• “You know” my friend told me, “all I really want is someone to come home to, someone to go to a movie with, someone to cuddle up with… Someone who can look beyond my disability. Someone who can see me.” Someone who can see me. Deep down inside, that is what we all want most. Beyond and above all the coats we put on, faces we wear and images we project. We want someone to be willing to “hold” us no matter what. That is our deepest and truest vulnerability. And there-in lies the problem. Because vulnerability seems to conflict with strength and control. With so much of what we’ve founded our lives upon. ••••••••••••••• For my friend, that “sight” she seeks would acknowledge her disability but look beyond it. To perceive the real strength and its attractiveness held and shared by its owner. Those eyes would understand that she has a great deal to offer. Far more than any “rejecters” might ever have imagined. And due to their shortsightedness, may ever be able to experience. With anyone. When wading through the rough, one needs to know that the diamond is there. Too many "prospectors" cast their tools away to settle for counterfeits because the effort seems too great. They settle for convenience, walk away with trinkets and end up empty handed. The fortunate ones are those like my friend, and so many of us, who are “forced” to seek the diamonds in theirs and others’ rough. In clearing our own away, we may hope that by this, others might see the diamond in ours. But we can’t control that. And even in the clearing away of our own, our sense of control becomes strongest only when surrendered. There-in lies our truest sense of well-being and security, our sense of connectedness and love. Our release from isolation and loneliness. Because there-in lies God, waiting for our surrender back to Him. Back to where we have always belonged. ••••••••••••••• The great writer Russian Vladimir Lossky said, "The divine risk, inherent in the decision to create beings in the image and likeness of God, is the summit of almighty power. Or rather, a surpassing of that summit is voluntarily undertaken powerlessness. For the weakness of God is stronger than men (1 Cor. 1:25)". In short, God created us out of love. It’s that same love which accords us the free will to choose whether or not we’ll accept it. The summit of that love for us is experienced when we choose it over the multitude of imposters and counterfeits that tempt us away. Like self-assurance, self-control, mastery over our own lives and even for some, over others'. Men and women are created to be imbued with love and connectedness. That is our design. The words of St. Paul ring truthfully and relevantly for us all, "When I am weak, then I am strong." Specifically, when I have acknowledged my inability to fill my loneliness, to bridge my isolation through my own or other people’s efforts apart from Christ, then I can come to know true strength or love. And dismiss the counterfeits. Which the prospector still seeks only to walk away empty handed. There’s an anecdote told by a revered Russian monastic, Father Sophrony, regarding a short conversation between two seekers of God. Russia has been a land of extreme political and religious persecution throughout the ages. Such oppression perhaps peaked in the intended though impossible eradication of God from existence during Stalin's terror-filled reign. The anecdote addresses the response to such persecution. In the story, the first man declared with evident satisfaction, "God will punish all atheists. They will burn in everlasting fire." Obviously upset, the elder of the two replied, "Tell me, supposing you went to paradise and there looked down and saw somebody burning in hell-fire. Would you feel happy?" "Perhaps not that, but my reaction can't be helped," responded the first justifiably, "After all, it would be their own fault." The other answered with a sorrowful countenance. "Love could not bear that," he said, "We must pray for all." Love could not bear that because that’s not its design. In the words of Paul Evdokimov, "God can do everything except compel a man to love Him." And when we choose not to, God grieves over His loss of us. He does not hate us for it and desire “justified” revenge or even coerced acceptance. Instead, He calls us back. As Jesus said to indignant religious authorities of His day and tells us always, He has come to seek not the righteous armed with their sense of strength and self-assurance, self-justification and self-confidence. He has come to seek those who will admit their weakness, their powerlessness and their inability. Those things so forsaken and loathed by men today. In all our "enlightenment" and "advancement " and “strength.” The limit of our control is centered on the choice we make as to whether we’ll be connected with God and others by love or separated into isolation and loneliness. The question, after all debate, is a black and white one. Our consideration of it may lie somewhere in the middle ground but our decision cannot. It’s the strong, well-abled and self-assured who are most prone to making the wrong choice. The weak, less-abled and insecure who are “forced” to consider the right one. A consideration that they will come to discover, is their deepest blessing.
Copyright © 2002 Jeffrey (George) Winter |