Vice Vs. Us
We’re sitting in a room with bad carpet and cold air telling our secrets to one another. In the beginning it feels unsafe like a raft without any lifejackets or oars. My turn hasn’t come yet, my telling hasn’t been told; and so all I want is for it to be lunch time so we can call it a day. Unfortunately the world doesn’t revolve around me so I carry on as told.
I’m at a conference and there must be forty of us- all behaving as if this is how people really live- behaving as though vulnerability and confession are the standards for daytime conversation. It’s as if we’ve all got liquid courage without the liquid part. Mostly I’m uncomfortable and want to leave, don’t want the eyes to be on me, don’t want to peel the layers of pretense back. But there’s a sprouting part of me that likes the idea of a world without pretense. There’s a growing part of me that resonates with the notion of a world that let’s us come as we are.
In these moments I’m reminded of Jesus and how he lived.
I’m reminded that maybe that’s what the Gospel is getting at.
Maybe it’s getting at a life for the misfits, the mess-ups, the failures.
Maybe it’s getting at a way of life that undoes all of our terrible doing.
But that’s another story for another day.
Anyways, I’m sitting in a room in Texas listening to the darkest parts of someone else’s heart. I feel like I should be wearing earmuffs or be sitting behind a wall like a priest. But there’s no buffer, there’s only about four feet of separation from he and I. I’m listening to the pain that comes as he names his masks, disrobes his pride. I’m listening and all I can do is love this man. Right now, on this very day, my response is love and acceptance and freedom from judgement. The ironic thing is, is that all of this comes by pretty easily for me. Too easily. Perhaps it’s so easy because it’s how we’ve been supposed to be living all along. But you’d think that staring at his vices would turn me away, would make me think less of him. The lie is, is that our vulnerability will leave us alone. In fact, the opposite is true. I’m drawn to him because I’m human. I’m human and I want what he wants, what you want: honesty. I want to know that I’m not alone on this turbulent journey called life.
You see, lately I’ve been messy with my life and that’s why I’m in Texas listening to secrets and doing all sorts of things that make me uncomfortable and itchy in my own skin. But I haven’t been too messy. No, none of us can ever get too messy. None of us are beyond repair.
And so there’s a man sitting across from me and he’s sharing about his struggles. Namely, alcohol. The demon of the multitudes. He’s wondering why so many people can keep it under control but he can’t seem to. He’s wondering why just a few often turns into a few too many. A month earlier he shared a story about John Coltrane’s inspired album, “A Love Supreme”. This month he shares the reality that he’s an alcoholic. He says it stings to say out loud, to say that word.
Alcoholic.
Alcohol.
Alcoholism.
It stings like a shot in the arm, like the cleaning of a wound. Maybe that’s the point though, perhaps our wounds can’t get clean unless we rush the gaping holes under fresh water, unless we fix them up with good medicine.
And so, I’m wondering what good medicine looks like. What I do know is that you don’t have to fly to Texas and sit in a room with bad carpet to know what I know. All you have to know is that secrecy will be the death of you, it’ll strangle the very life inside you. And so, you have to come clean with those you trust about the dark corners of your heart. No matter how big or small your vices might seem, they need to make there way to the light. They need to not be hidden.
Good medicine looks like laying it all out on the line, even if you’re the pioneer in a village of fakes. The reality is, is that we’ve got to start somewhere if we want to get anywhere. And if you’re like me, you just want to get better. The man that shared about his struggle with alcohol just wants to get better. Chances are, he will. And so will you, no matter what your world looks like: addiction, isolation, brokenness, failure, self-hate. You’ve just got to begin the journey of confessing your vices and trusting that you’ll be loved no matter what. Because that’s what we’re all so scared of, isn’t it? We’re scared that if we’re known, we’re done.
Benched.
Disqualified.
Out of the game.
But that isn’t the world I’m ready to live in. That isn’t the world I’m ready to build. The world I’m building says it’s okay to be a mess because you’re going to be accepted regardless. The world I’m building says we’re all screw-ups in our own fancy way- but we can move beyond ourselves- we can make strides towards unmasked living. It says secrecy is over and honest living is the better option. It says you won’t be alone unless you fail to let others see you as you really are.
