I have been thinking a great deal recently about the word success after someone commented that I could retire content after a successful career (or careers). Really? What does that mean? While retirement usually marks the end of paid employment, the work we undertake to provide for our material needs is, of course, only one facet of our lives. So I asked myself the two-part question: what is a successful career but, more fundamentally, what is a successful life … and should we think of ‘success’ as a relevant or useful measure of human living?
This double-barrel question became more urgent after I started reflecting on the today’s reading from St Luke’s Gospel which features two uncomfortable statements from Jesus. The first in verse 17: ‘truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it’ and then in verse 25: ‘it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God’. These are extraordinary statements because they challenge if not chastise the things most celebrated in our society: knowledge and wealth. Those who acquire the first are esteemed; those who have accumulated the latter are envied. In the Gospel story, a man who had, by worldly standards of his day, achieved success is completely undermined by Jesus and walks away deeply unsettled.
So let me begin with the word success. What does success mean to you? It possibly means achievement of a goal, arriving at a destination, defeating your competitors or perhaps exceeding someone’s expectations. So if I asked whether you have lived a ‘successful’ life, what or how would you answer? It is not a question we often ask ourselves or meditate upon … although it is a constant feature of popular culture and everyday conversation: this person was a successful farmer; that person was a successful teacher … in reality, the actual markers of success are rarely articulated or assessed. In contemporary Australia, when we say someone has done well – meaning they have been ‘successful’ – we usually mean they have an abundance of the things of this earth. Money is the most ubiquitous currency of success.
Success magazine, yes, there is such an appalling publication, is completely devoted to financial and business success. But surely it is more than that? Perhaps it’s the question that’s the problem. We don’t usually ask: “what does success mean to the community’ but ‘what does success mean to the individual’? But does success matter at all? Albert Einstein, who was known for wisdom beyond the academic discipline of physics, remarked: ‘try not to become a person of success but rather try to become a person of value’. There is possibly a firm foundation here on which we might build a Christian understanding of how success might be measured.
There are, of course, some false views to dismiss first. We may consider one Christian more successful than the other if she or he seems to be better at keeping the commandments of God. Oh I know we would never admit to that, but we do it – subconsciously if nothing else.
I’m guilty of measuring myself up to other Christians. How did I perform today? At least I don’t sin as much or as seriously as my neighbour? These are things that go through my head, and hopefully I take hold of these thoughts, nail them to the cross, and find better things to muse on, but often I don’t. Often, I don’t realize I’m measuring my success in this way until I’ve been doing it for a while and then realise how judgemental and harmful it is to me.
When I think of success, especially in evaluating ministry, I try to keep one thing in mind: there is nothing we can do—no deed we can perform—that will make God love me any more or less than God does right now … at this very moment. I cannot contribute to either my loveliness or my salvation since it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with Christ who died for me and pleads for mercy on my behalf. That being said, we can measure our selves by asking a few questions:
In sum, am I becoming more Christ-like – which is the goal of the disciple and follower … not unlike the aim of the apprentice to emulate the master?
As Einstein intimated, it’s better to measure our progress in becoming a person of deep and abiding values than our acquisition of power, privilege and possessions. Values and character are important to human living and both are more important than success. In fact, even unbelievers will tell you that character is a requirement for success. True success and ultimate happiness can only stem from good character. That being said, what about organisational positions and financial success? Is it wrong to strive for them? It can be, but only if they are acquired or exercised in a particular way.
In sum, Christianity isn’t about living ‘your best life now’, either fulfilling your professional potential or building up material possessions, to “show people what God did for you. God wants to bless us and this type of blessing sometimes comes with having a full and fruitful life. I’ve invested in my retirement. I have more superannuation than the national average. I like to buy things and maintained a comfortable home. This is not, in and of itself, wrong or misguided. The key point here is to not make this outcome the primary focus of life. I’ve read too many articles about how diligent and focused on your number one goal you must be in order to achieve success. I’m sure if I developed a product from an idea and focused on nothing else for five or ten years, I could make more money than I have in being a wage & salary earner. Many people could and do as the nation’s rich list grows longer. But the book of Proverbs, the collection of Solomon’s wisdom, counsels: ‘Commit your work to the Lord, and your plans will be established’.
Very often, of course, it is not our physical needs that remain unmet. The wealth extracted from the world exceeds the needs of its inhabitants, if shared and distributed more equitably. Jesus addresses this point in St Matthew’s gospel. Because divine provision is generous, he teaches, “Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you’. The values and the character that mark progress towards Christlikeness are apparently more elusive. And in terms of personal resources, the question is more about what you should keep rather than what you should give away – and that requires a different outlook on other people and, indeed, life itself. If we have enough money to feed and clothe our family, we should be giving. It’s arguable that we should be giving … even if we don’t very much. If we have free time, for instance, we should be spending at least some of that time doing the work of Jesus. This is what makes Christians different and what makes success a very different notion for the follower of Jesus.
An example might help: happiness is often idolised as the ultimate goal of human living. Yet, as Christians, we should strive for joy over happiness. Joy in the fact that we are forgiven, loved and achieving victory over greed and self-interest as a consequence of Christ being active in our lives. The same is true of marriage. It isn’t supposed to make you happy, it’s supposed to make you holy. This misunderstanding is why divorce is so common. As soon as someone is unhappy in their marriage, they think something must be wrong. But the truth is, that’s normal, and God never promised we would be happy every minute of every day – nor are we. But we can be joyful … and hopeful … when we take the broader view of our lives and reflect at a deeper level on the world.
Ultimately, the Christian outlook is not preoccupied with measures of success – however nuanced and finessed they may be. The emphasis is on conviction and consistency – what you value and how it shapes your decisions and influences your outlook. In being a disciple of Christ the stress is on faithfulness and fidelity – you tried to follow and strove to do so … and when you stumble and fell – you didn’t stay down, give up or walk away – your resolved to stay the course and last the distance because Jesus pledged to be at the end of the journey to meet and greet you.
Our Bible reading today from Luke 18 offers an important teaching and depicts an awful tragedy. It implores us to seek – actively seek – the wisdom of God through the things we do and say. The wisdom (which is the reward) comes as a by-product of doing selfless things – so, Jesus is promoting a learning-by-doing approach to godliness. But the man who is the focus of the story lacks courage and imagination, he is timid and risk-averse, and is tied too tightly to earthly markers of progress and is too captivated by the illusory promise of material comfort and physical security. He won’t take the plunge into a deeper life; his love for God has a fixed boundary. This story also features in Mark’s gospel and, notably, it has an additional observation. When the man walks away unwilling to divest himself of his power, prestige and possessions, the writer notes: ‘and Jesus loved him’. He did not criticise or chastise him; he did not dismiss or damn him. He did not even chase after him. Simply, he loved him. When we fail, when we refuse what is offered to us, when we reach for cheap solutions rather than accept spiritual comfort, God does not give up on us … there is divine attentiveness to the next opportunity to turn our vulnerabilities into revelations … and so, to draw us nearer to the Christ we say we want to follow … and resemble. Ironically, we more often encounter God in our failures than in our successes – and praise be for that. Surely, that’s good news.
About a decade ago a student said to me, “I just can’t get comfortable in my own skin.” He went on to describe his life. He described comparison and competition with others to be enough – to be as good – to be recognised and respected. He also spoke of expectations that he could never meet. He revealed that loneliness had isolated him in his family, with friends, and even at church. He was essentially describing skin-level life. He was looking all around him, at the people and circumstances of his life but he was either unwilling or unable to look within himself. He wanted what the nine lepers wanted. He wanted new skin, comfortable skin. He wanted the acceptance and approval of others. He wanted the priests of his life – all those people to whom he gave power and authority over himself – to declare him to be clean, to belong.
If today’s gospel statistics are any indication, 90 percent of us live life at skin level. That is, we live on the surface. It is a “what you see is what you get” attitude. We assume (or at least act as though) there is nothing else in life than what can be seen, heard and smelt. At skin level, our view of life is mostly determined by whether life is going our way and whether we get what we want. Life is very much exteriorised. I am not, for a moment, suggesting that skin-level life is relatively easy or pain free. To the contrary, life at that level feels mostly like day-to-day-survival, is rarely peaceful, and leaves us feeling as if something is missing or waiting to go wrong. More than anything else skin-level life seeks to be comfortable: physically, emotionally, spiritually, socially, and financially. There is, of course, nothing wrong with being comfortable until we choose to settle for being comfortable rather than moving to a deeper place, a deeper way of seeing, relating, and living. Asking questions, challenging conventions and probing possibilities. Sometimes the desire or achievement of comfort can insulate us … from the fundamental realities of life and the persistent presence of God. It seems that only about ten percent, one in ten lepers, are willing to move in a new direction, to seek a wholeness that cannot be found in mere comfort.
For most of us, life starts to get uncomfortable when things do not go our way, and we do not get what we want or expect. It is at that moment that we begin seeking relief. We want the pain to stop and the difficult situation to change or go away. Too often we look for quick and easy solutions (perhaps better termed fixes), something that will restore our former comfort; something that will allow us to go back to life … the way it was before. That is the life of a leper. That is life at skin-level. One day you are clean. Life is as expected. You have work, friends, and family. You are part of the faith community. The next day everything changes. The next day you are unclean, and the whole point and purpose of life confronts and confuses. Why did this happen to me? Why is the world like this?
For the ten lepers in today’s gospel, being unclean means no family, no friends except each other, no work, no recreation and no temple worship. They were physically shunned, excluded from community life. They were kept at the farthest edges of society. They had to wear shabby rags for clothes. Their hair was to be a mess and left uncombed so their unclean status was visibly displayed. If anyone came close, the leper was required to cry out “unclean, unclean.” That’s how it is when you were a leper. Unsurprisingly, the lepers want to go back to the way it was before, when they were clean. But now they would settle for comfort. From a distance they cry out, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us.” We can only imagine what they wanted. Maybe they hoped for a piece of bread, some water, a blanket. Maybe they sought to hear a kind word from a teacher known for compassion. Maybe they simply wanted to be seen and, if only for a moment, feel real, feel alive, feel like a human being. There was nothing comfortable about their lives. At skin-level, each day of life was spent searching for some relief. I know that search and perhaps you do too.
Regardless of our skin condition, we all know what it is like to be a leper. We may not have lived under the same conditions as the lepers of Jesus’ time, but we could each tell a story about a time when we could not get comfortable in our own skin – when we felt out of place or a stranger in our own lives. That feeling is the leprosy of today. Today’s leprosy is not a medical condition or a legal status. It is, rather, a spiritual condition. It is leprosy of the heart and its symptoms have nothing to do with our skin.
Instead they are things like perfectionism and pride, greed and gluttony, sadness and anger, boredom and back biting, the need for control or the quest for approval, fear and judgmentalism, restlessness and excessive busyness, gossip and grudges, prejudice and jealousy, condemnation and indifference, addiction to substances and experiences. Leprosy distorts how we see and relate to God, the world, others, and even ourselves. Leprosy keeps life at a superficial level. These symptoms, what the early church referred to as “passions,” reveal a deep discomfort. As long as we deal with them at the level of skin, seeking cleanness rather than wholeness, we can – I would contend – never truly be made well.
Leprosy even convinces us that the most we can hope for in life is a declaration of cleanness. So we settle for being comfortable rather than being changed. We seek relief rather than wholeness. We desire something from Jesus more than a desire for an encounter with Jesus. That is life at the skin-level. That is where we tend to live. It is where the lepers in today’s gospel have lived. Nine of the ten lepers will settle for a declaration of cleanness. But there is always that one, that one who is able to look below the surface, to see more than new skin. One leper, the Samaritan who was socially marginalised even before he contracted leprosy, looks past the exterior illusions of new skin. He sees a deeper reality and understands that healing is an interior condition. It is about the heart more than the skin. If he wants the healing and wholeness that Jesus offers, he will have to turn around and go in a direction different from the other nine. And he does.
While nine lepers celebrate new skin, one leper celebrates the creator of life and the restorer of skin – to know the one who changed his life and to explore the deeper depths of human living. While nine lepers hear the priests say, “You are clean,” one leper hears the Son of God say, “Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well.” What gave him the authority to say those words? What kind of power was he able to command? These were the questions the leper no doubt wanted to explore. He wanted to understand, to grow in wisdom and to grasp a little more about his own potential for nobility.
Last weekend I attended the twice delayed 40th reunion of my high school class in Wollongong. It was a terrific evening, albeit late as I drove home afterwards. In addition to comparing waistlines and hairlines, much of the discussion was dominated by what we had done. I seemed to be the odd one in wanting to probe what we had become as graduates of a selective state school which was known for strong academic competition among students. This was probably too intrusive for some but it struck me how superficially we relate to other people, assessing their personal lives on the basis of professional achievements. It was also apparent that I was one of very few non-drinkers and among a small handful of Christians with most people apparently liberated from the religion of their parents. It was, then, a terrific night, but also a terrifying one as I drove back to Tarago and wondered what we had all become.
My reflection on the night continues as I think about today’s gospel observation that ninety percent of us live life skin deep. The Gospel also reminds us (because it is nothing new) that Jesus offers more. He desires more for us than we often desire for ourselves. In fact, we do not ask for too much; we accept too little. What Jesus does for the one … he offers to them all. “Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?” The take home message is this: it was not a rebuke. It was (and is) an invitation.
One of the personal joys of ministry for me is being able to conduct pastoral services for family members. I have conducted marriage services for both daughters and next week I baptise my fourth grandchild – little Archie Frame Dobos – at the Duntroon chapel. They are happy but also confronting occasions because I realise that whereas once I was the principle love of my daughters’ lives, they now have husbands and children who have a special place in their lives. They are their next of kin … and I’m a little further down the line or less in the centre in special terms. Do they love me less and do they love their husbands and children more? Or is this the wrong question? If so, what is the right question? Is there a hierarchy of love and, if so, how does it function?
Hold these questions as we think about Jesus’ words from today’s gospel. “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division! From now on five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three; they will be divided: father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law.”
Do we love God more than we love family or friends? If so, there is a potential division in our families … a division that might make some people feeling diminished and others rejected. Or do we see this division as one of identity? If God is the origin and source of our being and we find our point in purpose in God, do we need to be in right relation with God in order to be the mother, father, sister, brother or friend that we they need and we want to be? In other words, once we know who we are and know that we are the focus of unconditional divine love, can we empty ourselves of every impediment to loving others and being ready to sacrifice everything for them?
Can I suggest that our identity is derived from, or imparted by, our various relationships; biological, natural, social and political. These include our relationships with family and friends, the natural environment, our work, our organisational affiliations, our beliefs, the things we possess. Some of these relationships are tangible and are associated with people, places, objects. We can talk about them in concrete terms and they give us a sense of meaning or a settled location in a community. These relationships provide us with a sense of belonging or they encourage or elicit certain behaviours. These relationships give our lives order and routine, objectives and rewards.
Some relationships are not as tangible but they are no less real; our spiritual commitments, beliefs and attitudes. Our lives are actually a vast network of relationships whether we are conscious of them or not. And regardless of whether we judge them as good or bad, healthy or unhealthy, taken together this complex of relationships makes you and me the persons we are. We are shared by our interactions with other people and with the organisations that people form.
Ultimately, however, only one of these relationships can finally be the most significant and decisive. This one relationship makes us uniquely who we are and not someone else. For example, if I decide that my relationship with my parents is the definitive one, then all my other relationships will be seen and lived out through the relationship I maintain with my parents. I will try to live their lives through mine. Their lives will become the lens through which I see and relate to others, the world, and myself. That one relationship will be decisive for who I am … how I see myself and what I will strive to be. It will become the criterion for determining and incorporating all other relationships that contribute to who I am as a person. For many people, pleasing their parents, attracting their praise and ‘earning’ their love matters most. As a general observation, the one relationship that ultimately determines our identity is the one to whom we will give our existence and probably our life.
Jesus’ relationship with the Father is what ultimately determined his identity and being. He freely chose that one relationship above all others. That did not mean that he rejected all others. Rather … all his other relationships were mediated through his relationship with the Father. Jesus’ choice brought about division with the religious leaders, the world, and all who would chose differently.
This is the choice set before us today. Who or what is the decisive relationship that shapes your identity and gives substance to your being? What relationship matters so much to you that you allow it to shape your life and give you identity? Maybe it is your children, your partner or your work. It could be parents, church, country, politics or God. I’ve met many people who struggled to answer the question … when it appears the principal relationship is the one they have with themselves: how they see themselves, their promotion, advancement, standing or reputation. They want to be someone, so how they relate to the person in the mirror is crucial … especially if they don’t like the person looking back or would rather be someone else – someone who was better looking or more popular. So they do whatever they can to enhance their self-image whether or not it is a distortion or a fantasy.
What is our principal or foundational relationship? It is a choice we make over and over, day after day, as we respond to existing relationships and enter new ones. It is a choice that always brings division as we tend to favour some people and their judgements over the opinions of others.
There is, then, something predictable about the Gospel reading for today … given what Luke has already told us about Jesus. “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!” This is not the Jesus we are used to contemplating and probably not the Jesus we want. Where is the water-walking, miracle-working, dying-for-me Jesus? What happened to sweet baby Jesus asleep on the hay … no crying he made? This fire bringing, family dividing Jesus makes us uncomfortable and he might even make us cringe.
After all, God knows we already have more than enough division on the planet. We do not need any more. We thought that knowing more about other people would make us more tolerant, understanding and empathetic. It has not. We are divided socially, racially, economically, politically, religiously not only in our own country but throughout the world. The nightly news is an evolving tale of division and the violence that it has provoked. There is division in marriages and families, in the workplace, in our schools. But this is not, however, the division that Jesus brings. The division that we see in news bulletins is not Jesus’ doing. We humans have caused those divisions by our choices of relationships that ultimately determine who we are and how we act. Russians choosing to despise Ukrainians; Sunnis Muslims deciding to hate Shi-ite Muslims; white’s committed to oppressing blacks. We have made bad choices. Getting our life, and our world, turned around means learning “how to interpret the present time” and choosing again.
For the Christian it means choosing God as the primary relationship that finally determines who we are and what we do. If we choose God as that one relationship then it means our parents, children, spouses, or friends do not determine who we are. It means that our jobs, our country, our politics, our possessions do not create our identity. God does. Those relationships do not necessarily have to end or their influence eradicated. Rather, they exist within the context of our underlying/foundational relationship with God. There will be new dynamics, new priorities, and new divisions. To choose God will bring about division – especially if we don’t do what others expect or demand of us. Jesus said it would be this way. The division about which he spoke does not kill, oppress nor separate. The division Jesus offers is about growth. He is directing us towards fullness of life and the acquisition of holiness.
Think for a moment: regardless of our age we are always in the process of growing up. Growing up is difficult and often painful work. Division is the way of life and growth. Look at the miracle of physical life and your body. Watch a child grow up. This, modern science has revealed, is a result of division at the cellular level. Growth and our physical bodies are a result of division. Go into a home where a teenager lives. On the surface you may see conflict between parent and child. At a deeper level it is about division. A young person is discovering his or her life and identity … apart from their parents. It may not be fun but it is absolutely necessary for life, the child’s and the parent’s.
Just as division offers physical and emotional growth, so it offers spiritual growth. Jesus is calling us to grow up … to become all that we can be … pointing to the division that makes that growth possible. For our part we must re-examine our relationships: both the priorities we have given them and the power they exert over us. Very often, we let others impose their priorities on us (and we go along) or we empower things that diminish and destroy and not enrich and enhance.
In the reading today we are being implored to make foundational our relationship with God, to the exclusion of all other people, places, or objects as the one relationship that finally gives us our truest, most authentic and timeless identity. We are known by God and we matter to God … God is reaching out to us and drawing us on … to a future that is beyond our imagination. This is the division that loses nothing and gains everything. This division does not marginalise or reject others. Instead, it offers wholeness and perfection. If I am assured of divine love and know that I exist in the mind of God, I can be your servant, I can offer you all that I have … and I am neither weakened nor watered down in doing so. It is the division that transforms our lives, makes sacred all our other relationships, and, I believe, has the potential to heal the world.