The seats fill. The houselights go down. A collective crunch and rustle filters amongst the rows. Last minute stragglers, sodas in hand, backlit by the Spider-Man preview, slip into D-3 and D-4. We toggle our seat backs toward recline and stretch sandaled feet onto the footrests. Previews roll along in the buildup for our feature presentation.
I turned forty-eight this week and one of my favorite ways to play is to settle in, preferably with popcorn and Pepsi, let the fanfare wrap around me, feel the velvety theater seat, and step into the story on the big screen. Movies delight me. My soul shows itself the slightest bit; invites anticipation, eagerness, suspense, whimsy, and wide-eyed wonder.
Movies move us.
Imagination meets animation. Literature breathed to life. “Show, don’t tell,” in technicolor frames.
We celebrated my-edging-toward-fifty over the weekend with epic blueberry muffins, epic pizza, and an epic movie.
The credits roll as the two hour and fifty-two minutes of Christopher Nolan’s newest film wrap up and the sun sinks on the horizon. As we descend toward the exit, I muse that an early seventh century B.C. epic work can span generation after generation and ignite the creative talents of a host of people some two thousand plus years later.
I’ve tucked two of Odysseus’ lines in my pockets; I’ll carry them home and examine them.
“Don’t look for the gods in the eyes of men,” he says, “You’ll be disappointed.”
I’m struck by how often in this experience of humanness, we look for someone who’s coming to save us. It’s easier to play the victim than it is to be our own hero.
We fawn. We fan. We flatter. We admire. We applaud. We excuse. We exalt. We entreat. We esteem. We platform. We pedestal. We perform. We beg. We beseech.
We’ll make allowances for empty promises as long as we think we see the merest glimmer of the gods.
“The clearest view of men is from below,” states Odysseus, his tattered beggar’s cloak trailing behind him. I nod in the darkness. Who are we when we don’t think anyone is watching? How do we treat people? Who do we esteem? Do we call out what is evil?
Odysseus’ words summarize what Jesus’ brother James would write eight hundred odd years later.
James 2:1-4 “Dear brothers, how can you claim that you belong to the Lord Jesus Christ, the Lord of glory, if you show favoritism to rich people and look down on poor people? If a man comes into your church dressed in expensive clothes and with valuable gold rings on his fingers, and at the same moment another man comes in who is poor and dressed in threadbare clothes, and you make a lot of fuss over the rich man and give him the best seat in the house and say to the poor man, “You can stand over there if you like or else sit on the floor”—well, judging a man by his wealth shows that you are guided by wrong motives.”
We assume anyone in beggar’s robes would never be coming to save us. No need to look for any glimmer. We assume the loudest person in the room must be who we’re looking for. The most confident. The most flashy. The most interesting.
If Odysseus glances up at us from the shadow of his beggar’s robes, I wonder what he might find? What is my identity? How do I envision myself? Am I the person I think I am, say I am, or do my actions toward a beggar show who I really am?
How we live is who we really are. We can take every personality assessment, diagnose a host of things about ourselves, create a concise and tidy synopsis, but our lived lives are the proof of who we are.
I received a handful of cards in the mail; another handful of texts on my screen warmly wishing me birthday joy and naming appreciation for who I am.
Here’s the thing. When people celebrate me, an instantaneous soundtrack starts to swell. “I’m not all that nice.” “You don’t really know me.” “Oh, wait a bit. Once I share who I am or what I am passionate about or where I disagree, you won’t want to be my friend after all.” “Most days I’m more disastrous than delightful.” “I know when you look in my eyes you will always be disappointed.”
Words of appreciation are the kindest of gifts and I am deeply grateful. I cannot seem to receive them though, without the deep bell tones underneath in notes of disbelief. Social anxiety and relationship anxiety often hover in my gut.
On my best days, I’m not quite sure what you might find when you raise your bowl up to me from inside the beggar’s cloak. When your eyes meet mine, what you will find is hesitancy, insecurity, self-focus, doubts, and questions.
For in my introspection, I know this truth about myself. I’m much better at pondering, musing, writing out questions about integrity and identity than I am at living it in real time.
In the last two years, I am slowly learning how to be my own friend. I’m starting to believe it is an unnamed spiritual practice.
No one is coming to save us. We have a responsibility to step up, befriend ourselves, name our agency. I hope for every human to have one or two people who will show up, will assist, will love them. Yet, this only carries us so far. They can not shoulder the entirety of the burden alone. We must show up for ourselves first. We get to be the one to go first. Be our own hero.
In the Gospels, Jesus asks questions often.
“What do you want me to do for you?”
“Do you want to get well?”
“Do you believe I am able to do this?”
“What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul?”
Jesus nudges introspection and invites named longings.
It’s difficult to befriend parts of ourselves we do not know or understand. Sitting with ourselves, journaling, meditating, reflecting, looking up at ourselves from below, connecting with those personality assessments, asking how other people experience us, and taking what we learn, sorting it into the good, the beautiful, and the ugly and allowing our full self to fully feel it all without condemning any of it and using what we learn to listen intently to the desires and dreads of our souls will equip us to ask the questions and seek the arrows pointing us in the direction toward growth, healing, and inner friendship of all that we are.
Who Am I? We do, indeed, contain multitudes.
Extrovert. Anxiety. Strengths and weaknesses. Artistic. Detailed. Messy. Questioner. Overthinker. Introvert. Friendly. Shy. Dyslexia. What makes us feel alive? Skeptical. ADHD. Stressed. What drains us? Settled. Depression. Compassionate. Soul filling. Selfish. Stuttering. Where do we find hope? Loud. Quiet. Angry. Relaxed. Frugal. Courteous. Neurotic. Perfectionism. Calm. Chaos. Sensitive. Indifferent. Tolerant. Analytical. Enthusiastic. What makes us laugh? Organizer. Doer. Indoorsy. Outdoorsy. Always looking ahead. Impulsive. Nervous. Tidy. Generous. Kind. Vision Caster. What if? Competitive. Worried. Neat. Quirky. Agreeable. People-pleaser. Conscientious. Thinker. Patient. Savvy. Steady. Brave. Humble. Driven. Neglectful. Loyal. Genuine.
Only a tip of the iceberg of the complexities we carry around in our day-to-day. As we do this hard work of opening our authentic selves up, we become less and less likely to look for the gods in the eyes of men. When I am my own friend it opens a way of generosity to drop more and more into a beggar’s bowl.
Odysseus isn’t the only one navigating treacherous waters, trilling temptations, and traps with no visible way through. Odysseus isn’t the only one on a journey toward home. And Odysseus shouldn’t be the only one asking questions about the consequences of his actions and admitting regret over hubris caused by some rash decisions.
We all carry a touch of Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde. This can’t be excluded from our wrestling or our befriending. But may the better parts of me flourish and shine. May they be there in benevolent humility when the beggar passes by and holds his bowl, up, up, up in beseechment and I find myself looking down into the face I find in the mirror everyday.
“Do you want to get well?”
No one is coming to save me.
Look not for the gods in the eyes of men.
Be your own hero. Moreso, be your own friend.
Know Thyself.
“To thine ownself be true.”
Celebrate life.
Let the credits roll.
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