The Sauntering Pilgrim

“No one rises to low expectations.” That’s what Joe Brady said during the January 29 press conference when he was presented as the new head coach of the Buffalo Bills. He was talking about his expectations of himself in his new job. But he got me thinking about our expectations of ourselves in matters of faith. Do we expect to rise to new life in the future, maybe even after death, because our expectations of ourselves in this life are too low?

Last week, Pastor Jeff referred to some questions people ask of us. “When we’re young,” he wrote, “people ask us, ‘What do you want to be?’ When we are older and in the working world, people ask us, ‘What do you do?’ When we are retired, people ask us, ‘What did you do?’ Seldom do people ask us, ‘What are you?’” He was right. Seldom do people ask us the question we most need to hear and respond to, “Who are you, really?”

Jesus must have asked that question of himself. After he was baptized and received the Spirit of God, he was tested in a wilderness of choices to see what he was made of and whether he was ready to fulfill his calling. It was testing in which he had to answer a key question, “Who am I, and who am I going to be?” (Matt. 4:1-11).

Later, he would ask his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” And when they told him, he pressed further, “But who do you say that I am?” (Matt. 16:13-15). It was a critical moment in his life, when he was coming to terms with his identity, his calling, and the fate that awaited him. I believe in that moment he was answering at a deeper level the question he must have asked himself many times before, “Who am I, really? And to what level of life and self do I expect to rise?”

Then, just before he made up his mind to go to Jerusalem (Luke 9:51), where he knew death awaited him not as a possibility but as a real prospect, Jesus went up a mountain with his closest disciples for the most intimate communion with God, and he was transfigured, his appearance changed (Luke 9:29). I like the German word better – verklärung – which means something like a revealing or clarifying. In that moment, it became clear to those closest to him, and maybe even to himself, who he really was and who he would be.

But we can’t leave the Transfiguration there. If we’re going to be disciples of Jesus and rise to the abundant life he offered (John 10:10), the experience that clarified Jesus’ true identity must at some point be our experience as well. We must answer the clarifying question, “Who am I, really?” And we must answer it authentically.

There can be no faking of our answer, nor can we answer it before its time, although we will have clues about it. We cannot control the movement of the Spirit that has the answer, just as no sailor can control the movement of the wind. But we can learn to set our sails to catch the wind of the Spirit when it blows, to catch clues about the answer when they appear, and we can steer our little boat accordingly.

The question of who we are and how we will express our genuine, honest-to-God, gracefully eccentric selves, is a question we encounter in every choice we make where spirituality and lived experience meet, and that is categorically every choice we make. If we listen to the question with the ear of our heart, it won’t give us any single answer, but it will bring us to a doorway beyond which there are other questions and other doors in a journey that will continue as long as we live.

I’ve come to many such doors in my life, and I’ve found many pathways to other doors, and somewhere along the way, I discovered that the keys to these many doors started to look very much alike. And those keys are written in a code that must be broken before unlocking one door and going on to the next – a code with three elements.

The first of these elements is radical self-honesty, to see ourselves without distortion or evasion. Breaking this part of the code involves not exaggerating our strength but acknowledging our weaknesses; not minimizing our wounds, which are often windows through which the Spirit travels; not pretending to be smaller or larger than we are, which is what true humility is about; and not seeking our identity in the expectations of others. It’s the first part of the code to break because we can’t rise to the full expression of our true selves if we’re not willing to see our true selves as we are.

The second part of the code to break is learning to take what St. Paul calls our “everyday, ordinary life – [our] sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life” (Rom. 12:1 The Message) and make certain it aligns with our innermost values. We must strive to make every commitment and action align with our deepest convictions; speak and live from our center rather than from fear or to please others; and make choices that reflect what we actually believe. This is where authenticity stops being an idea and becomes a way of being.

Finally, we must let ourselves be seen. Be willing to bring our inner truth into the world by embracing vulnerability, freely expressing our creativity in whatever shape it takes no matter who likes it or dislikes it, establishing and maintaining healthy boundaries, engaging in honest and open communication, and showing up for our commitments even when it feels inconvenient or risky. Our authentic self isn’t complete until it’s expressed. It’s not merely who we are; it’s who we allow ourselves to be in a relationship, in community, in the world. It’s our inner life’s expectation of us, which bids us rise.

There’s a lot more to our transfiguration, to our true selves being clearly revealed, but this is the outline, the framework that supports our rising to become finally, as St. Paul wrote, “efficient and graceful in response to God’s Son, fully mature adults, fully developed within and without, fully alive like Christ (Eph. 4:13 The Message). That’s what the Lenten journey that we are about to begin is all about, and it leads to a new Easter.