You Are Responsible for Your Story

“Child, I am telling you your story, not hers. I tell no one any story but his own.”

— Aslan in The Horse and His Boy

It's amazing how much information you can find out nowadays. You hear about some allegations being leveled against someone as unknown as a pastor (let's face it: even some of the most well-known pastors are only well-known because most Christians live in a bubble), and a couple of Google searches and Facebook posts later you've learned all that you need to know. Or at least, all that you can know by looking on the internet. Suddenly your mind is filled with information that you almost certainly don't need, and you are left to your own devices to sort it all out.

Let's call them "non-relational reflections". Or something of the sort. It's the type of thing you think about when you don't really know a person and all you have in front of you is data. At least, you think it's data. It may be gossip. Or it may be true. It's hard to say.

It got me thinking a little bit about responsibility, and what I'm supposed to do with all this "truth" I discovered online. And then it got me thinking about my own story; the one that I'm living right now. The one that I actually am responsible for.

I've been reading The Horse and His Boy with my boys, Michael & Anthony. Does that make me the horse? If it does, then I am a wild stallion. Or perhaps one of those Budweiser horses. But I digress.

As Aslan explains to the boy, Shasta, why things happened for him the way that they have, Shasta eventually begins asking questions about his traveling companion, Aravis. What was the meaning of her story? Aslan's response stuck with me: "Child, I am telling you your story, not hers. I tell no one any story but his own." Later, Aravis receives the same reprimand from the Lion when she asks about Shasta.

It stuck with me because of the regularity with which I can and do find out about what is going on in someone else's life; someone else's story. It starts with curiosity. Then I form opinions. Eventually I act as if what is happening in someone else's story–a person I don't know and have never met–is somehow my responsibility. Either my responsibility to call out their bad behavior; my responsibility to reprimand them or warn others about them; or my responsibility to simply know. Then it's my responsibility to let everyone else know what I think. Judging by all the information and opinions I found on the internet, I'm not the only one who has a problem.

The trouble is that it can lead to at least two really dangerous paths. The first path is that we start wishing that we had someone else's story. The second path is when we start criticizing someone for how they are living their story.

The first path–wishing we had someone else's story–is human nature. We already know that we're prone to coveting what someone else has. More often than I care to admit I find myself wanting what someone else has; I wish that what happened to them would happen to me: they get a new house, new car, new clothes, their church grows faster than the one I'm at, etc. 

The second path, however, is much more subtle: criticizing others for how they are living their story. The reason it's more subtle–and I think, more dangerous–is because we can couch it in a whole lot of nice sounding things like "brotherly concern", or treat it as if we're just trying to "protect the sheep from wolves", or "hold them accountable!" or whatever other spiritual jargon we want to throw at it.

No one says, "for your own good and the glory of God I think you should give me your house." There's no way to be spiritual about your covetousness. But it's easy to be spiritual about your criticism.

Here's the thing. Well, the two things. First of all, we're all going to have different stories and Jesus makes pretty clear that when he's talking to Peter at the end of the book of John that it's a really good idea for us to worry about the story God has for us and not the one he has for someone else. And secondly, and I think, as a result of the first, we need to be really careful about these "non-relational reflections" into or about other people's lives. 

Yes, we should hold people accountable–but it's supposed to happen in relationships. The proximity of our relationship has a major impact on the responsibility of our relationship. If you don't have a relationship with someone, no matter how much information you can Google about them, no matter how many blogs you read about them, it's almost always going to be best to keep the criticism to yourself. Better yet, stop reading it altogether. What good does it do? If you have no responsibility to correct this person in the midst of their story, and you aren't going to do anything with the information but sit there thinking about how screwed up that persons story is or how stupid they are, then just leave it be. Most of the time, the people we are quick to criticize are people that we don't know and therefore have no responsibility for.

So I'm left with the data in front of me and I have to sort it out and then I conclude with this: it doesn't matter. It's almost impossible to figure out what's true and what's not true, and at the end of the day, it's almost never even information that I need. I'm responsible for me, my family, how I live my life, the choices that I make, and how I lead the people that God has told me to lead. I hope to live my story well, and I hope you live yours well.

I guess at the end of the day I hope that the pastors I read about on the internet live their story well, too. I'm just going to stop worrying about it so much. I have enough responsibility already.

“When Peter saw him, he said to Jesus, “Lord, what about this man?” Jesus said to him, “If it is my will that he remain until I come, what is that to you? You follow me!””

— John 21:21-22

Building Relationships

I don't like fads. Most of the time, that means I was trying to be cool in sort of an uncool way, like when I didn't like the Dave Matthews Band in college because everyone else did. I didn't get the appeal. They were good and all, it's just that everyone else was obsessed so I figured it'd be more cool to be uncool. Lame. Whatever, I was in college. It was something to do.

I still don't like fads, but now it has more to do with fads in the Christian community and in church leadership and systems in particular. My rationale is different now than it used to be. It has nothing to do with being cool or uncool. It has more to do with missing the point.

In the mid-90's (and probably earlier but that's when I became aware of it) there was a push in the local church towards small groups. These small groups had all sorts of positive functions to them and they were supposed to supplement whatever was happening on Sunday morning in the church. They were "discipleship" focused. That was great. It was necessary. Something was missing, and "Small Groups" were the way we were going to address it.

Unfortunately, "small group" became equated with "bible study" and as a result it also became something that you could do without. Or at least, you could do it for a finite period of time. So you'd be a part of a small group for a year, maybe two years, and it would be great, but then you'd get away from it and the lasting impact was somewhat minimal.

Nowadays the term is "missional". We've discovered that–shockingly–most of us are terrible when it comes to openly sharing our faith or doing anything to advance the kingdom of God in deed. We might be aware that Jesus loves us; we just aren't really sure he loves anyone else. Or, we have faith, it just doesn't compel us to do anything. (That pesky book of James might cause us to question said faith, but I digress.) The corrective was to be missional, and form communities around the idea of being missional. That's great! But, I think it still it misses the point.

There's nothing wrong with "discipleship" and forming groups around the idea that we need help growing in our relationship with Jesus; "being sanctified". There's also nothing wrong with the idea that we need some help being missionaries and it's going to be easier if we have other people to do it with. Ultimately, though, I think that both discipleship and mission are bi-products of something else: Relationships.

We stink at growing in Christ because we stink at relationships. We have the resources we need, and we may even have the desire. But growth won't happen until we're in deep, meaningful, relationships with other believers. We experience Christ's love for us when we receive it from other believers; we experience what it means to love when we pour out that love on others. I think that the only safe place to grow in our relationship with Christ is in relationships with people where growth in Christ isn't necessary. They are going to love us anyway. Not surprisingly, that is the message of the Gospel.

The same thing goes for our mission. The more we fall in love with Jesus, the more that we will have a desire to spread the good news of His kingdom on earth, both in word and in deed.

That doesn't mean that we aren't intentional about some of the things we want to see happening in the context of those relationships. I just think we need to keep the most important thing the most important thing. We, our people, our church, need to be in deep, meaningful, and growing Christian relationships. Out of that will flow growth. Out of that will flow mission.

But it starts with relationships.