“CHARACTER”

 

 

A post-homiletical discourse delivered by the Rev. Dr. James R. Beebe

Rector, St. Patrick’s Church, Incline Village, Nevada, February 7, 2010

 

 

     I have this recurring nightmare.  There I am on Jeopardy.  I’ve just skated through the first round.  I’m on a roll.  One after another of the categories I sweep from top to bottom – the Civil War, basic aerodynamics, American literature, the Bible, 19^th century German theologians, baseball….We stop for a word from the local sponsor…and continue with Double Jeopardy.

 

     I have a comfortable lead and need only break even to get the win – and the money.  Alex Trebek introduces the new categories:  Swiss wild flowers, ancient woodwinds, cooking with East Indian spices, famous crocheters, nuclear physics, Phoenician astronomy, and contemporary fashion designing.  

 

I wake up in a cold sweat….

 

     So here’s the question:  “Am I a good Jeopardy player?”  The evidence suggests that when I’m answering questions about history or theology or sports or flying, the answer is, “Yes.”  But take me to Southern Asia or the esoterica of advanced science and needlepoint and I’m a disaster.

 

     I remember having a conversation with a parishioner whilst winging our way to Haiti to help build a school.  She told me that she was afraid that, under the awful conditions in one of the world’s poorest countries, she would “show her true colors.”  I was left with the impression that her usual kindness and concern for others didn’t really count. 

 

    Character was that kind of moving target for the apostle Paul, too.  How can this same guy proclaim that in Christ there is neither male nor female (a truly radical idea in the first century) and, at the same time, tell the women in Corinth to sit back and shut up? 

 

(By the way, my wife thinks that some church historian was incorrect when he reported that Paul had died a martyr in Rome at the hands of Nero – she thinks Paul was chased down by a crowd of angry women.)

 

 

    Paul was an enigma.  He never knew Jesus.  He didn’t even begin to meet the job description of an “apostle” (being a boots-on-the-ground eyewitness to Jesus from baptism to resurrection).  So what was he doing, galavanting all over Asia Minor, calling himself “The Apostle to the Gentiles?”

 

     People had serious doubt about him and he was forever defending himself against their accusations.  As a lead-in to his letter to the Galatians, Paul lists his references:  “Paul an apostle – sent neither by human commission nor from human authorities, but through Jesus Christ and God the Father….”  Wow!  I’m thinking my resume is seriously remiss….

 

     And now, in today’s reading, he’s saying he’s the “least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle, because [he] persecuted the church of God.”  Methinks he doth protesteth too much….

 

     So which was he:  undaunted spiritual leader of the ancient world…or lowly worm?  I imagine he was both.  David Brooks, a columnist for the New York Times, talks about the movie, “Where the Wild Things Are.”   [David Brooks]   In the beginning, young Max is torn by warring impulses he can’t control or understand.  Part of him loves and depends upon his mother. But part of him rages against her.

 

     In the midst of turmoil, Max falls into a primitive, mythical realm with a community of Wild Things.  The Wild Things contain and re-enact different pieces of his inner frenzy.  One of them feels unimportant. One of them throws a tantrum because his love has been betrayed. They embody Max’ diverse tendencies. 

 

     Well, Max wants to control the Wild Things.  The Wild Things in turn want to be controlled. They want him to build a utopia for them where they won’t feel pain.  Maybe they should talk to the Buddha about that.   At any rate, in the movie, Max fails as king. He lacks the power to control his Wild Things.

 

     And so it is with us, psychologists tell us.  Most people tend to the philosophical side and see “character” as something that pervades a person’s actions.  An honest person is honest most of the time.  A compassionate person tends to be compassionate most of the time.   A greedy person is greedy most of the time.  These traits, as they say, go all the way down.   They are ingrained.

 

     Or at least that’s the premise in the story about the honest politician, the humble clergyman and Santa Claus, all of whom found themselves in an elevator.  As the doors opened, they noticed a crisp $20 bill on the floor.  So here’s the question:  which one of them picked it up?  Well, Santa, of course – the other two don’t exist.

 

     [Brooks]  But this view is being challenged.  Social scientists now say that the data suggest that people don’t have one permanent thing called “character.”  We each have all kinds of tendencies, and they’re activated according to what role we’re playing.  That means, as Dan Brown would say, we all have “angels and demons.”

 

     Angels are usually not the problem.  It’s those darn demons.  But it isn’t so much conquering your demons as knowing that you have them.  [John Sanford]  It’s your “shadow” side – those dark, feared, unwanted traits.  They’re not in that resume of angels you project up there for everyone to see.  But that doesn’t mean they’re not there.

 

     Narcotics Anonymous has a saying:  “You spot it, you got it.”  In other words, those hateful things about other people that really make you mad are the very things that you have, but reject or are unaware of.  Here’s a quick field test:  think of someone you can’t stand.  What is it about them you hate?  Guess what?

 

     So you deny you have this characteristic.  And project it onto others.  Protestants have carried the shadow for Roman Catholics and vice versa.  Gentiles have carried the shadow for Mormons and “English” for the Amish.  Jews have often carried the shadow for Christians and vice versa.

 

     Another way of discovering the shadow is through Freudian slips.  Like the man who telegraphed his wife:  “Having a wonderful time on vacation.  Wish you were her.” 

 

     The good life is won indirectly. There is no easy way to command all the wild things jostling inside.  But it is possible to achieve momentary harmony through creative work.

 

     Max has all his Wild Things at peace when he is immersed in building a fort or when he is giving someone else his complete attention.  This isn’t the good life through heroic self-analysis but through mundane, self-forgetting effort, and through everyday routines.

 

It’s called, “losing your life to find it.”