The Problem is Always Deeper

“…there is a way to know God that doesn’t lead to the pathologies of moralism and religiosity.” Timothy Keller from The Prodigal God

My friend, Reggie, just sent me a book by Timothy Keller, quoted above. It has exposed some of the ugliness of my heart. I hate when that happens! The reality is, I have been one of the detested Pharisees for much of my life. Of course, like others of my ilk, I tried to cover it up with appropriate platitudes, often using a verse from the Bible. Therein lies the ugliness. Though sin has no beauty regardless of how it is defined, the greatest sin may be the tendency, indeed the necessity, of the Great Cover-Up. How ironic that the first recorded sin in the Bible prompted the first religious act: Adam and Eve covering themselves in fig leaves as a way to deal with their shame. How easy it is to use religion as a way to cover-up a deeper problem.

The primary way to implement the Great C-U is to point out the flaws in the other. In scripture, the man did it first, followed by the woman. I have mastered that same trait by practicing the twin deceptions of what Keller calls moralism and religiosity. Though I have seen this in myself for the past twelve years or so, these demons seem to incessantly raise their insidiously clever notions. My attempt at cover-up has become more sophisticated with prolonged experience and more “biblical knowledge,” but alas, it is still a part of me.

In his book, Keller gives a brief summary of one of my favorite movies, Babette’s Feast. Adapted from Isak Dinesen’s book of the same name, the story explores the tendency of people to satisfy the need for a life of satisfaction and/or meaning in one of two basic ways: moral strictness or sensual pleasure. Dinesen had been influenced by Kierkegaard, who had earlier called these two ways the “ethical” and the “aesthetic.” The former is applauded in religious circles (regardless of the religion), and the latter is often seen with favor by those seeking unfettered human freedom. Of course, there are other variations on these themes, but these two seem basic to human experience.

In my mid-twenties, I chose the ethical/moral (synonymous in my thinking at that time to biblical) in hopes of achieving success in life. Though I was not exactly sure how to define “success,” the moral-religious way appeared to hold more promise. My upbringing, of which I am mostly grateful, had much to do with my choice. This choice was ratified in my own self-righteous thinking shortly thereafter by an encounter I had with a brilliant iconoclast while living in Tangier, Morocco. I met him in a rundown British hospital and tried my best to convert him to my belief system. During our discussion, he informed me that he came from a monied background and had graduated from Stanford. In his own words, “I’ve been everywhere and tried everything and there is little you can say that I don't already know.” He was not hindered in his life-long quest by lack of confidence, money, education, nor religious scruples. At one point he admitted that nothing had satisfied as he had hoped, including his religious experience during childhood, and that the only thing he had not tried was death. Therefore, suicide seemed to him a reasonable option. Later, he stated that he was dying of venereal disease as a result of his “in-depth” sexual experimentations. Admittedly, at that time I did not have the wisdom to feel empathetic toward him nor the depth of character to know how to love him well. Instead, I felt judgment. Silently I thought, “Maybe you’re getting what you deserve.” Outwardly, I tried to apply moral persuasion in order to show him the error of his ways. Need I say, it didn’t work…and needless to say, my own sense of moral superiority blinded me to his tragic pain. As an idealistic young man, it was more important for me to be right than helpful. It is appropriate to wonder whose sin was greater—his or mine. I know the answer. That incident happened exactly thirty-six years ago. To this day, I cannot recall it without deep remorse and embarrassment.

Unfortunately, at times I still see the same attitudes of spiritual smugness in myself. It has been easy for me to hurl insults at academia for its churlishness in promoting what I sometimes perceive as religious bigotry masquerading in robes of political correctness. Less often have I been aware of the spiritual bigotry in my own setting masquerading as evangelical or biblical correctness. Self-righteous moralism makes judgment and accusation so difficult to hide!

Keller's incisive book exposed a nerve in me that still, at times, feels raw; that is, the desire to live well, secure in who I am, secure in my understanding of God to this point, and free from blindspots. Therefore, this article is another confession of sorts. It seems confession is something that I have been doing my entire life. There is a difference now, however. At least I hope this is the case. I can no longer confess a problem as a way of trying to gain God's approval or impress others. That would not work anyway, and is of no help in dealing with the deep issues of the human heart. Rather, confession is a way of gaining awareness of the things I still need to work upon and the realization that I have not yet achieved true authenticity. It also puts me in touch with God's grace. Consequently, I offer no great solutions to clear up all personal problems. I know that if I deal with one problem, there is always another hiding in a deeper recess. I can, however, highly recommend Timothy Keller's book. He has better answers than I. Read The Prodigal God and try to enjoy the discomfort!