Shaun Groves
Brant‘s got me thinking about eating disorders.
My mom has been worried about my weight for as long as I can remember. It drove her to drive me to a few different doctors in hopes of being prescribed some magic pill or issued a cookbook of bulk-creating recipes capable of righting the wrong that is my stick figure body.
Dr. Brown moseyed into the room on his bowed legs ad asked in his gravelly Texas drawl, “What do you see when you look in the mirror, Shone?” (That’s how my name is pronounced in Texas.) I knew what he was getting at and quickly proved his theory wrong. “I see a head with very good hair on a very skinny body,” I answered. “O.K. then,” he smiled and turned to my mother, telling her he and his tests found nothing at all wrong with me. “This is just the way the good Lord made him, mamma,” he reassured.
I don’t have an eating disorder. I see my body the way everyone else does, the way it really is. And I eat well, especially if what’s on the plate is of Mexican decent and/or contains large quantities of guacamole, cheese, butter, chicken or fried onions. I like food. And once inside me I like it to stay there.
Not so when it comes to my spiritual appetite. It all starts when I look into the wrong mirror to get a sense of how I look. I compare myself to you, the rest of society, the nutjobs in the headlines, the me I once was. I’m stuffed, I think, a little too full of goodness even. I better take it easy. And then I go in one of two directions.
Spiritual bulimia. Certain I’ve arrived, that I know all I need to know, I keep imbibing spiritual food and drink regularly anyway – going to church once, twice, three times a week. Reading this book. Reading those twelve blogs. Working through this bible study. Attending that conference and that one and that one. Listening to those podcasts and that stack of CDs and those radio stations. Ingesting spiritual nourishment at a rate I can’t possibly digest and, to make matters worse, living a double life of pursuing God knowledge and pursuing life on my own terms and effectively purging my system of any nutrients that may be in all that good stuff I take in daily. Do I keep eating at this rate to appear more spiritual? As a replacement for true relationship with God and God’s people? To make myself feel smart and superior to you? All of the above at one point or another.
Then there’s the rest of my days spent as a spiritual anorexic. These phases of spiritual living are spent refusing to eat. I don’t want to look too smart, too spiritual, to no longer fit in society-at-large’s pants. Or, more often, I think I’m as fat as I need to be, I’m mature as I can get, I’ve got God and life figured out, so I push away from the table believing I’ve arrived at perfection. I stop attending church, stop learning, stop asking questions, stop wrestling, stop believing there’s anything I don’t know worth knowing.
Both disorders leave me nearly transparent spiritually. And, worse perhaps, believing I’m anything but.
But in my all too few spiritually healthy moments, I see myself the way the Mirror does and I feast, not only on books but on community and living and art and music and disappointment and questions and answers and mystery and outlines and everything else at the banquet table. It’s all prepared by the same hands right? And it’s dilicious. And I ingest at a rate I can digest, so as to not induce vomiting. And I eat regularly so it’s a healthy habit, a part of living like getting up every morning. And I don’t just eat alone. I’m told gently and not-so-gently by others at the table that I’m being a big pig or living a little thin. Time with them is like being asked “When you look in the mirror what do you see?” and being told by my mother “Have seconds.”
There’s debate from time to time about knowledge, hand wringing over whether we need to learn, and how much, and how, and if learning is complimentary to or in conflict with “childlike faith.” My experience as a bulimic and anorexic makes me think all this debate is often far too black and white: knowledge is good or it’s bad for Christians. It’s not so easy as that. Seems to me we can approach knowledge like we do food. We can eat well-balanced diets at a table packed with friends and then put those calories to good use living and loving and working and playing together. Or we can binge and purge and starve ourselves, become gluttonous or apathetic, and make matters worse by doing this alone where we’re less likely to notice our unhealth and get help. Or, as I’ve done, we can bounce from health to unhealth and back again, and again, and again.
No matter which phase I’m in thought, I can’t blame food. I blame the way I relate to it.
Brant says:
I plan to read and learn and listen my whole life, but I’m not going to mistake it for my calling as a follower of Christ. Jesus continually scandalized the learned by honoring the hearts of those who were theologically unsophisticated, but pure of heart.
I appreciate the analogy, Shaun. It may be more wonderful than you think. Our whole culture is consumed with food, in unhealthy ways, and it’s exacting a brutal toll. We do everything from a knowledge basis, because it’s easy (elimnate carbs, no fat, no calories, no—just grapejuice) all to avoid actually doing something—exercise. That’s America—let’s by more books, find a good expert, try a new approach, but not exercise. Could that also be the American church? Is it okay to say that we’re out of balance, confusing the learning life with the following Christ? To some, no—not okay.
There is no conflict of knowledge with having a childlike faith. There IS a conflict of idolizing knowledge and having a childlike faith. There is a conflict in Jesus’ distillation of the commands to two, saying his teachings are “light”, and a pop church culture that continually reinforces, through its forms and priorities, that you just never quite know enough.
It’s telling to me: My original blog entry, which extols knowledge, actually, is read by some as, “Brant thinks knowledge is bad.” This is part of questioning the status quo—you simply must be crazy, somehow. You simply must be anti-knowledge, anti-church, anti-Gospel. Is there a box we can fit you in, miscreant?
Shaun Groves says:
Is it okay to say that we’re out of balance, confusing the learning life with the following Christ?
Yes, it is.
Is it also okay to say learning is a vital part of following Christ? Absolutely.
To follow Christ, as I understand it right now, is to imitate Him. One guy I read once said a follower imitates Christ by believing what Christ believed, loving what He loved and hating what He hated, AND living as He lived…which can’t be done as well unless we’re doing 1-3.
So much of the study and learning I do these days is done to peel back the layers of culture and church doctrine and mistakes and denominational barriers and modernity and post-modernity and language to get back to what it was Jesus believed, what He loved and hated and how He lived…ad what the heck He meant when used phrases and ideas we just don’t understand in our time and place.
I see knowledge getting – in all it’s forms: books, experience, conversation, art etc – as part of loving God and getting to God and getting God through me that impacts the way I love and hate and live.
Knowledge is not THE purpose of the Christian life but it makes possible my living of that purpose and, before that, my discovering of that purpose. Food is not the end game. Health is. But we don’t say eating is bad. I think you’d agree.
I’m in total agreement with your post, Brant. Because I’ve made the mistake of making knowledge the goal and not the servant of a greater purpose. I’m clarifying in my post, maybe not so well, that knowledge itself is not bad. It’s what we do with it, how we use it, whether we use it, and whether it’s all we have – THESE THINGS can be unhealthy.
Agreed?
Nancy Tyler says:
What we do with it and how we use it…it can be a real challenge to use the knowledge well and purely.
Completing the bulemia analogy…after the bulemic gorges, he or she’s got to vomit.
And one of the things that I’ve become more sensitive to lately is the practice of spiritual knowledge gorgers, puking their self-styled sophistication all over their “less enlightened” siblings in Christ in a superior, bile-laced spew. I hear it in churches. I see it online. I read it in books and magazines.
It’s really contributing to my belief that one of the greatest sins in the American church today is arrogance. I know it’s been one of my greatest sins…
keith says:
Reading all of this is making me hungry.
Brant says:
That’s undeniably true for me, too, Nancy.
Shaun, here’s what’s remarkable to me: When I say, “Perhaps the American church has largely equated learning with what we’re supposed to be doing.”—I continually get comments like, “But knowledge isn’t a bad thing, and …”
Of course. Yes. Not the point, but, yes.
Right. A hundred times, yes. Food is good, eating is good, knowledge is good, and no one is saying it’s bad. I’ve gotten non-stop response defending the goodness of knowledge, which is something I’ve not once challenged. Fascinating.
On possible problem: Perhaps, for some, learning is somehow equated with doing church, American style, and listening to preaching, American style. So when one wonders about current forms, it signals to others, “He’s downgrading knowledge itself.” Ironically, this may betray a lack of knowledge.
It’s about the heart, the heart, the heart, the heart. God is pleased with the pure of heart, and at NO point are we given a knowledge quiz. Women of ill-repute, pouring perfume on his feet—that’s what he wants. Even though knowledge is wonderful, demons have it, and they shudder. It’s about the heart. What you believe isn’t what you know, it’s what you actually DO.
It so happens that if we are pure of heart, we *will* seek to know God, and desire wisdom and knowledge. It’s all good—and terribly telling that this paragraph will upset people, and some will feel a need to defend knowledge. That’s fascinating to me.
Shaun Groves says:
Thanks for clarifying, Brant. I totally agree.
If your interested, maybe I can help you understand why so may have thought you were “downgrading knowledge itself.” Well, I can speak for myself, anyway.
The first time – of the fifty – I read your post, this part, for one, made me think you were exalting not-learning and the not-learned as being superior to learning and the learned:
And “Jesus Loves Me” is not childishness. It’s not ignorance. It is beautiful distillation. “Jesus is Lord” is packed with deep meaning, but—wonderfully—children and the illiterate grasp it better than many of the learned.
First, it’s not exactly true that the child or the illiterate aren’t learners as I THOUGHT upon first read you were implying. They are! Just of a different kind than grown up reader types like us My four year old learning that God is everywhere from an animated video is just as big for him as me learning from a Jewish commentary on the Sermon on the Mount that the “kingdom” has come, is coming and will come. Big aha’s for both of us.
And it’s not true either, or it’s an over-generalization, that the relatively uneducated and young “grasp” God better than the rest of us and are more about doing His work than the professor at some seminary as a result. My experience with the poor, uneducated, and young (and having been all of these) is that the wise and obedient are everywhere and so are the unwise and apathetic. A pastor and a DJ from a radio station and a homeless guy and my six year old and my enemies can all teach me quite a bit about God – regardless of whether they ARE or are NOT literate or children or smart or stupid relative to me or anybody else.
Don’t get me wrong, I fully get – I think – where you’re coming from NOW and TOTALLY agree. My life and it’s arrogance and mistakes prove you right. Knowledge can be worshiped before God and sadly become the central mission of the Christian’s life – of my life. BUT, my first reading had me thinking for a minute that you were downgrading knowledge of God and forgetting who Jesus was in the process.
Jesus was a rabbi (you go to school to be one of those, a lot of school, and memorize massive chunks of scripture and commentary) and not so young (middle aged in fact) and not illiterate (He spoke at least two languages that we know of and was fully versed in the teachings of hundreds of years worth of Jewish literature, rabbinic parables, history etc.). Jesus, as it turns out, was kinda smart and he got that way by learning. (We can debate whether Jesus was born fully knowing all that God the Father knows later, but I don’t think He did.)
I appreciate everything you’ve said. It’s definitely made me think about WHY I learn and what role learning has in my relationship with God and people and how it could and has steered me off course and into arrogance or apathy at times. Good tune up for me for sure. Thanks for that.
But I also think you weren’t as clear as you thought you were being in your post. If an army of people argues against something you don’t even think you said, it could be that you did in fact imply it at the very least. Their defensiveness doesn’t automatically mean there’s something wrong with THEIR way of thinking – could be, but not necessarily. It could mean you didn’t say what you meant to say as well as you think you said it. Could.
This is the daily curse of being me, btw. It’s good to know even the Brant confuses someone from time to time. Now if I could just catch the Nancy doing that too, I’d feel even better about myself. And, really, my goal each day is to feel better about myself.
Thanks for dialoging with us, with ME, until we/me understand you, Brant. It’s worth it.
I’m glad you’re around. You too, Nancy. You both teach me a great deal. And you talk pretty too. Group hug.
Brant says:
Agreed—I can confuse people with bad writing, which is often bad thinking.
In the example cited, I like what I wrote. I didn’t say children aren’t learners, or that they automatically understand things better than anyone who has an education.
Definitely, though; If an army of people argues against me, I always suspect I’m wrong. (Personal insight: When ONE person argues against me, I suspect I’m wrong…) But I may not be. And yep, children DO grasp it—the Kingdom—better than many of the learned. It’s true, according to Jesus.
Jesus told the learned to become like children. No, not because they’re ignorant, but because they had what ultimately matters to God, and hence ultimately *should* matter for the church: a humble willingness to submit to him as King. But this probably confused people and was controversial to say then, too, I suppose.
Group hug received warmly. You make me think, too, all the time. Thank you.
Nancy Tyler says:
Now Shaun, you’re good enough, you’re smart enough and doggone it, people like you.
Group hug!
Wait…Brant put the accordion down first.
Shaun Groves says:
“Many” being the key word I missed. You didn’t say “all” of the learned and it was my fault for inserting it where you didn’t write it. Children may also grasp the “kingdom” better than other children and some illiterate and uneducated as well. The point is, it’s a generalization if you say “all” but you’ didn’t. You clearly wrote “many.” Again, I misread that the first time. Your blog should come with a warning sticker against skimming.
And there’s some debate about what Jesus meant by being like children. Of course it’s the learned doing the debating…interesting.
Steven says:
You know, the problem with me and spiritual “food” is that I don’t feel like I ever really graduated beyond baby food.
My heart desires to really immerse myself in scripture. At the same time, I am overcome with this laziness to do other things. And I honestly hate that about myself.
I listen to music and recite verses like I know what is going on when the truth is I am not exactly sure what makes me any better off than the screwed up person standing beside me.
I don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want to act like a Christian. Something I have been doing for far too long. I want to BE one.
Shaun Groves says:
What do you think the difference is between a “Christian” and what you are today, Steven?
“I am not exactly sure what makes me any better off than the screwed up person standing beside me.”
That could be humility couldn’t it? Not a bad trait to have. Wish I had more of it more of the time.
Thanks for the honesty, Steven.
Grovesfan says:
Steven sounds a lot like me. Most of the time I have no problem with my feeling “better” than others, etc. because I’ve never killed anyone, etc. “No big sins” here thank you very much! Other times, I enjoy a real pity party. “Woe is me” and all that good stuff. In reality, I’m neither. I’m no better or worse than anyone else. I’m just forgiven through grace. I have no problem doing Bible studies, small groups, etc. in the short term. Making the true, life-changing habits become a daily reality is another matter however. When the study or course is done, the Bible goes back on the shelf and the laziness sets in again. The REAL motivation goes away and it makes me wonder sometimes if I’m living a lie afterall. If I’ve missed the big picture, living a lie that will cost me eternity some day. I KNOW I’m a Christian in the definitive sense. I also know that I don’t LIVE the life I’m supossed to be living. Sold out for Christ. In His Word constantly and consistantly and learning because I can’t stand not to, and because I desire a deeper relationship with my maker, rather than to merely attend another class.
The craft of deception practiced so well by Satan on me doesn’t make it any easier to deal with this mixture of feeling, faith, fact and emotion either. Sucks being less than perfect and possessing so little meaningful knowledge. I’m getting better about realizing it. Now I just need to get better about changing it!
Beth
hollybird says:
Steven said:“I am not exactly sure what makes me any better off than the screwed up person standing beside me.”
I think that is right where we are supposed to be… a little unsure of who we are. Because, you know, I have come to grasp the truth that I will NEVER totally understand God. His ways are not mine and His thoughts are not mine. I can learn about Him, Experience Him, worship Him, but still I don’t attain being just like Him. The “food” i take in may be in gulps or in tiny nibbles, but I am called to keep taking in. That’s being real, allowing others to see when I know that I don’t have a clue of what I am or where God is or what in the world His purpose for me is! I think that God honors this kind of honesty and realness. I have felt it in my own life, even now.
Steven says:
You know. I guess where my problem with myself comes in is my lack of motivation. I was just sitting here thinking about it. There are times when honestly my heart wants to do something but I just can’t seem to motivate my body to do it.
I have to figure out how to break through that wall.
Perhaps the problem is I have felt the need to really get into the Bible and study it because I was taught it was the thing to do as a “good Christian.” Now I have this desire to get into the Bible because I want to understand it.
The same with God. I think I have reached the point where listening to others tell me what God wants for me just doesn’t appeal to me as much anymore. I think I have reached the point where I just want to go the source.
It’d be like me asking Brant or Brody about what Shaun is like as a person and to teach me about what maked Shaun the person he is without ever actually going to Shaun and asking him. Sure I would know all about Shaun. But would I know Shaun?
I am not sure if that illustration worked to convey the point I was trying to make…but ah well.