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In his devastatingly authentic essay “In Mirrors,” author Walter Wangerin notes that in mirrors of glass and silver, I see myself, but never the whole of myself. I see the me I want to see and ignore the rest. And yet, “mirrors that hide nothing hurt me. They reveal an ugliness I’d rather deny…but this is the hurt of precious renewal–and these are the mirrors of dangerous grace.”
Mirrors that hide nothing can be people. In Wangerin’s essay, his wife is such a mirror. “My sin appears in the suffering of her face. Her tears reflect with terrible accuracy my selfishness.” Our children can also be mirrors. We see our failures and sins lived out in their lives.
Seasons can also be mirrors that hide nothing. Times of suffering, seasons of illness and grieving, show us who we are in ways that are uncomfortable, but can be tremendously healing and transformational. And, if we allow it to be so, the season of Lent and the process of reflection can be a mirror that hides nothing, but one that brings restoration.
Why would we want to stand before such a mirror, in the nakedness of who we actually are, and take a good look? Wouldn’t it be so much more comfortable to go on living in the distractedness or numbing behavior that so often characterizes our lives? Why put ourselves in a position where we have to deal with these things we would prefer to avoid?
If you’ve ever had people working for you as I have, you’ve inevitably had to let them go at some point. And, you’ve probably had this scenario: you’ve met with them multiple times, trying to correct their behavior or the shortcomings in their work. You believe you’ve been infinitely patient, trying to help them see where they’re failing, and how they can improve. You may have even created a written action plan for them, detailing what they need to improve specifically, the support you’ll provide, check-in periods, and the timeframe for improvement. Alas, they don’t improve. Then, the time comes for you to have the crucial conversation with them, letting them know you’ll have to let them go and telling them why.
And they’re shocked. This is hitting them out of nowhere. From their perspective, they’ve been ambushed. Now you find yourself equally flabbergasted. Because you feel as if you’ve done everything, and they missed it all. What has happened here is a lack of self-awareness, of an inability or failure of this person to look in the mirror, to see what’s there, and to correct it. And it wasn’t so much the work behavior that needed to be corrected. It was whatever was inside them–sin, hurt, and brokenness–that caused them to keep doing the things they did or not doing the things they were supposed to do, and their inability to stop it, that got them fired.
It’s not just at work where this happens. Marriages blow up, relationships are tanked, economies crumble, ministries fail, children are damaged, and nations go to war, all because we didn’t bother to look in the mirror, see what’s really there, and surrender it to the Lord for healing. We lose out on the abundant life God promises when we live in the impurity of our sin, even though we are actually capable of living as Jesus lives if we’ll do the work of examining, repenting, and surrendering to the Holy Spirit for healing.
As I’ve said before, I don’t want to be, to quote C.S. Lewis, the child making mud pies behind my house, thinking that’s the best there is, when I could be having a holiday at the sea. I don’t want to live this life as I intend it, wallowing in all my petty inadequacies and infirmities, when I could live in the joy and victory Jesus promises, whatever my current circumstances. But, doing so does require me to be sanctified, to be continuously transformed, to look at myself in the mirror, see what’s there in all its fallenness, and offer it up to Jesus to be nailed to the cross. Over the centuries, the Church has created rhythms throughout the year, reminders for us to engage in these reflective practices from time to time, to foster our spiritual growth and intimacy with Jesus. Lent is one of these rhythms, these mirrors.
If I can steel myself, asking the Lord for courage, what kinds of things might I see in the mirror, if I dare to look?
What are the ways I’m trusting in myself, rather than in Jesus? I’m reading Job in my Wednesday morning Bible study, and I’m reminded of Job’s friends, who surround him to “comfort” and “encourage” him. One of his friends, Eliphaz, proclaims that God doesn’t discipline the innocent. He gives good things to good people and struggles with people who need chastening. If Job simply asks the Lord to reveal his sin and repent, surely Job will be restored and healed.
Eliphaz operates from a shallow, limited worldview, one detached from the reality that anyone who has actually lived life for any length of time has experienced. Just as the sun shines on the righteous and unrighteous both, so does the rain fall. Yet, Eliphaz creates a worldview that, in his mind, allows him to control God. If God rewards good deeds with good things and bad deeds with bad things, then I can control outcomes with my behavior. If that’s not true, then I’m not in control, and God is, and I’m not sure I trust God to be in control.
How many times do we operate as functional Eliphazes? Do we try to control life through our actions and behavior, and get wildly frustrated or angry when life doesn’t happen the way we want, intended, or planned, when in reality God never said it would? What are the areas in our lives that we’re trying to control, where we’re trusting in ourselves, that we need to release and surrender to the sovereign God who actually is in control, which is really, really good news?
Where do we feel shame? Shame is a lie that I tell myself about me, or someone else (including the devil) tells me about me, that I internalize and believe to my harm. What are the lies, maybe tied up in my family of origin, something an adult or someone I loved or admired said to me long ago, that I still believe about myself, and that has harmed me ever since? That I’ll never be good enough? That I’m not capable of being a good wife or husband, father or mother? Is God always mildly or seriously disappointed with me? Something else?
God wants to reveal those lies to you. Their power is in the darkness; in the recesses of your soul. Speaking them out loud causes them to begin to lose their power. Then, we speak the real truth over them, from God’s Word: “God is not displeased with me. This may be what I believe, but that’s a lie. He says in His Word that He is my Abba, beloved Father, and I am His child in whom He is well pleased, not because of anything I’ve done or not done, but because He chooses to love me.” As we repent of this shame, realizing Christ died for it and speaking words of life into it over and over, it loses its power over time.
Where are we not forgiving or feeling forgiven? Who or what have we not forgiven, and what sin are we still holding onto? Often, in our own feelings of self-righteousness, we operate under the lie that it’s necessary to hold onto or nurture the offense against us in order to remain “in the right.” In our minds, there’s some kind of cosmic scale of justice out there, and if we remain “in the right,” someday we’ll be justified as righteous. This is all silly and not the way life or justice works at all. The truth is that we’re all “black hats,” bad guys, corrupt and evil, and there’s only one “white hat,” and He’s Jesus. In Him, we’re made righteous, not by whether we’re somehow “in the right” in our own behavior.
All hanging onto and nurturing the offense does for us is toxic–it makes us angry, bitter people with health problems. Satan likes it when we’re that way, so he keeps reminding us of the offense. This is why Jesus says, ” Forgive seventy times seven”- not for 490 individual offenses, but to engage in forgiveness every time the memory of the offense resurfaces. Because it frees us.
And once we’re forgiven, by others or Jesus, we’re forgiven. To walk around wallowing in past sin because it was so bad, or we’re such bad people, is to essentially say that Jesus’s blood wasn’t good enough to wash away OUR sin. Which is sin. We have to turn that over to the Lord, too, confessing it, releasing it, and letting it go, so He can heal us.
What am I so anxious about and afraid of that it’s consuming me? Anxiety and fear are defining characteristics of modern society, and Christians certainly aren’t immune. Paul knows this and tells us to “be anxious for nothing” and “make your requests known to God,” who will “guard our hearts and minds”. Do we really spend as much time praying as we do worrying? Which takes up more of your mental real estate, prayer or anxiety? Prayer or fear? If, as 1 John 4 tells us, “perfect love casts out fear,” and if dwelling in the love of Jesus is perfect love, how much are we actually doing that to cast out our fear? People I know who are people of prayer and who spend time in silence and solitude, basking in the love of Jesus, are not anxious or fearful. They are bold and courageous. Where do we need to surrender our anxieties and fears to the Lord, transforming our thoughts and mindsets to incline them towards him and away from these distractions?
When I was 50 years old, my family gave me a day-long executive health examination at a clinic in Dallas as a birthday present. This process consisted of a proactive examination of my whole body– lung capacity testing, full dermatological scan, MRI of my chest cavity, stress test on the treadmill, interview with a nutritionist–the whole nine yards. I was competing in obstacle races (Spartan, Warrior Dashes) and triathlons at the time, and I was in pretty good shape. What I expected, and pridefully wanted, was for, at the end of that visit, the doctors to say, “Dr. Ferguson, you are in fantastic shape! You have the physical capabilities of a 30-year-old! We haven’t seen someone your age in this kind of condition!”
That didn’t happen. Instead, they told me I had some slight plaque buildup in one of my arteries that could be problematic over time without some diet changes, which they prescribed. They told me about a few skin issues that I needed to have looked at, in addition to several other things that could, over time, cause further illness or death. When I walked out of there, I was a little depressed, to be honest. I wanted a “fully clean bill of health.”
What I got instead was infinitely better– a roadmap to a healthier, longer life (certainly no guarantees). These doctors had shown me things in my life that, if left unaddressed, could ultimately kill me, and as much as it hurt my pride, I was grateful.
Lent is a great time of year to look in the mirror and take an executive health scan of our lives. What’s lurking around in there that needs to be rooted out and put to death, nailed to the cross? Now’s the time.
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