The Great Equalizer

In the last post, I referred to human sinfulness – or our awareness of it – as “the equalizer.”  Karl Barth’s quote reveals how admitting our own sinfulness has a positive result:  it evens out the playing field of our lives by removing false notions of “greater and lesser” or “us and them.”  When we see ourselves as we really are – as sinners among sinners – we see one another eye to eye, without condescension.  We no longer stand on a higher place looking down on those around us.  The initial recognition of our failings is painful (Jesus likened it to removing a plank from our eye), and we are certainly free to continue deceiving ourselves, to keep our reserved spot on a pedestal removed from the “others” who we look down upon for a variety of reasons.  But when we allow an awareness of our sin to take root – not a self-hating and destructive awareness, but a frank and realistic one – we can move past the initial pain of humility and begin to enjoy its equalizing effects.  No longer on a pedestal alone, trying to maintain the farce of our own perfection, we join our friends, family, acquaintances, and even the strangers in our lives with an appreciation for their struggles and a hope that they will see and accept us as we are.

 

Awareness of our brokenness makes us brothers…but even more importantly, it primes us for the Greatest Equalizer of all, and that of course is love.  The one alone on the pedestal needs nothing, receives nothing.  He is too busy balancing in a precarious place, too full of himself to perceive a need for another.  But those who are aware of their own sin want an antidote, they long for a solution – and they are willing to look beyond themselves for the answer.  A sinner – and only a sinner – needs a savior. 

 

It is in our rightful place among our sinful brothers and sisters that we encounter this Savior.  He comes at times as one of them, to help us remove the plank from our eye.  He does this with love, and he does it to prepare us – in case he should need us to assist him in removing a speck from the eye of another.  The very process of salvation is a corporate affair, and in the end – planks and specks removed – we stand together before our God, willing victims of the Great Equalizer.

Taming My Wild Horse


One of the hardest and most wonderful things I did as a teenager was to help train my young horse, Callie.  I didn’t have a lot of “horse experience” – but in a situation where you are face-to-face with or riding on top of a half-ton animal with a mind of its own, you learn rather quickly.  In the years since, I have heard the term “wild horse” used as a metaphor for the untrained mind, especially in the context of prayer and meditation.  It is a helpful image – and particularly meaningful for those with some “horse experience.”

 

One of the first things you discover when a horse comes into your life is that there is a big difference between the dream of a horse and the reality of a horse.  Children dream only of the perfect horse – the one that delights in their presence, obeys their every command, and follows them adoringly around the meadow. In reality, one quickly discovers that this animal is an independent being with its own mind and personality, its own likes and dislikes, and its own instinctive appreciation for freedom.  Unless you happen to have a horse that naturally loves people, you face more of an ongoing challenge than a spontaneous friendship.

 

Then there are the challenges of training.  Books could be written about the training process and its analogies to corralling the mind.  I will only mention this:  When training Callie, my teacher and I learned a valuable lesson, and I’ve thought of it many times since in other contexts.  We tried weeks of typical training techniques, but Callie did not respond well; in fact, she seemed more ornery and less disciplined than ever.  Finally, we decided to try something different.  When Callie got stubborn, we simply stopped everything.  We stood still and quiet.  We did not get upset or frustrated.  We waited for the heart rate of horse and rider to return to normal, and then we simply continued our work.  Callie responded to this.  She relaxed.  She was no longer on edge.  She rebelled less and less.  The training continued slowly, but with fewer setbacks and more understanding.

 

Even when Callie was fully trained, we were not always in sync.  She still had her quirks.  She was frightened by harmless things like deer.  She refused to walk through wet mud, even if it was only an inch deep.  And she always moved at a brisk clip on the way home to the barn, but at a snails’ pace as we started out on our trail rides!  Callie always had her own mind – full of things like carrots, and pastures, and baby horses.  The things I asked her to think about – things like following directions or venturing far from the comforts of home – were not necessarily instinctive.

 

I wouldn’t say that Callie and I ever fell in love.  Even when she was fully trained and a bit mellowed out by mothering, she preferred the freedom of the pasture to trail rides with me.  But over the years we developed a familiarity and a working relationship.  I looked after her, and she tolerated me.  We went about our times together with contentment and relative peace.  And there were even moments of unity, when she took me places it seemed no one else had ever been, and in moments of stillness and silence, we enjoyed together the same breezes and views. 

 

The metaphor of the wild horse works.  It is like myself and my mind – and like yourself and yours.  You dream of an easy mind, one that is effortlessly guided along paths and does your bidding every time.  This mind does not exist.  In reality, there is an ongoing push and pull that takes place as you try to control the majestic half-ton beast.  Sometimes, the gentler you are, the better your results.  In standing still, you can move forward.  You will not ever have full mastery, because your mind would rather dream of open pastures and lazy afternoons, and maybe even baby horses.  Even after some training, your mind will retain its own quirks.  But you will get to know them, and you will accept them.  And together your trail rides will take you through dense forests and open fields, across sunsets and into dusks. There will be incredible moments when you will both be still and look upon the same things – in quiet, fully tame, witnessing the beauty that surrounds God’s searching creatures.


Lessons of the Trees #3: Trust

There is a passage in the book of the prophet Jeremiah that once you’ve read or heard it, you never forget.  It has that kind of imagery.  It is an image of a tree that grows near enough to a river that its roots grow and stretch toward the life-giving waters, receiving all the sustenance it needs to weather any drought and bear fruit in any season.  Jeremiah personifies the tree – it “does not fear” and “it is not anxious.” 

 

The tree is a metaphor for those who trust God.  Like the tree, they are well-placed.  They need only “send out their roots” to reap the benefits of the waters, which flow unceasingly from the One who refreshes the soul.  Reaching out for those waters – it stretches us – it is uncomfortable.  We are tentative at first.  But when we begin to feel the cooling effects of the river, we are soothed and encouraged.  Our roots reach ever farther, deeper into the soil where there is always plenty of water in reserve, farther toward the river where waters flow freely.

 

This is the nature of trust.  It is a slow growth which roots us deeply in the one we depend on.  At first we are unsure, but when we discover that our reaching out never leaves us dry or parched, then, when the drought comes and the heat pelts us, we can stand tall and stoic, our roots soaking up the life-saving waters.  We discover that we not only weather hostile conditions – but that in the end we may even flourish. 

 

The Cross of Jesus was one of these well-placed trees.  Here trust played out between a Father and Son, between human and divine, between a dying thing and the Author of all life.  Faced with drought and ruin, roots reached deeply into fertile soil and drank abundantly from the river of God.  And in the fertile conditions of trust, the dead wood of the Cross again sprouted green leaves, and bore the first-fruits of eternal life!


Blessed are those who trust in the Lord,
   whose trust is the Lord.
They shall be like a tree planted by water,
   sending out its roots by the stream.
It shall not fear when heat comes,
   and its leaves shall stay green;
in the year of drought it is not anxious,
   and it does not cease to bear fruit (Jer. 17:7-8).