I recently watched a presentation by an author. Her recently published book had enjoyed wide distribution, phenomenal success. And her talk was mostly a lament that her best work was "behind" her. I will not name the book or the author, but the plot is biographical. It recounts her divorce, and a subsequent journey around the world to find fulfillment. She seeks fulfillment in food, philosophical spiritual enlightenment, and a temporary sexual encounter.
In the talk about her success, she finds herself in a quandary: nothing she ever does again will generate the acclaim of the book she wrote. She may enjoy writing, but no one will laud or buy her books as much as the one big hit she had. And this is very depressing to her.
Her proposed solution for this problem is to blame her success, or failure, on forces outside of herself. She speaks of the ancient Roman tradition of artists having a "genius," a spirit who attends creative people and inspires their great works, and can also abandon them capriciously. She said that, although she does not recommend adopting such beliefs, maintaining some sense that great works are partly to blame on cosmic forces beyond our control relieves us of the burden of depression when our attempts to perform (poetry, sculpting, writing, dancing, composing music, etc.) cannot duplicate previous success. She sees her problem in terms of how good she is or is not, and sees the solution as putting the blame for success or failure somewhere else.
My diagnosis of the problem is widely different from hers. I believe her real problem is that she has a swollen ego, in other words, pride. Rather than defend and accommodate this sore, swollen organ of the spirit, like someone shifting positions in a chair to avoid putting pressure on a painful boil, she should lance the thing and drain the infection out. Yes, it would be painful, but not as inconvenient or painful as carrying the encumbrance around with her everywhere, and shifting her beliefs into nonsense in the attempt to avoid bruising the useless sac of pus. Pride and truth are incompatible, and accommodating ego means making some departure from the truth.
Another insight I gleaned while listening to her speak was that, for all her efforts, her search around the world for happiness had not yielded anything lasting. She still felt uneasy, seemed devoid of foundation, as if her conclusions were experimental and tentative, rather than certain. Fame, wealth, power, and the pleasures of the flesh will lead to our destruction and misery if we make them the object of our efforts and searching.
Contrast this sad exercise in futility with a story of Abraham from the Midrash. He was a hundred years old, not feeling well at all, and sitting in his tent, surveying the desert. It was high noon, and extremely hot, a day "like the breath of hell." Abraham became worried that someone might be lost in the deadly heat, and sent his servant, Eliezer, to look for anyone in trouble. He came back and reported that no one was out there. Abraham said "I do not believe you," and went out himself to look for wayfarers. When he came back to his tent, the Lord was standing there. Abraham ran to meet Him, and bowed himself before the Lord. It was then that the Lord promised Abraham that Sarah would beget Isaac. To have a child was Sarah's and Abraham's fondest desire.
The author I mentioned above went out into the lush parts of the world to find satisfaction in self-absorption and indulgence of every appetite, and came away empty. Eccl. 2:10-11: "And whatsoever mine eyes desired I kept not from them, I withheld not my heart from any joy; for my heart rejoiced in all my labour: and this was my portion of all my labour. Then I looked on all the works that my hands had wrought, and on the labour that I had laboured to do: and, behold, all was vanity and vexation of spirit, and there was no profit under the sun." She fell for an old decoy.
Abraham went out into a hellish desert to look for his fellow men, and instead he found God, who granted him the thing he had longed for his whole adult life. Only God could provide it; Abraham was one hundred years old, and Sarah was ninety. He needed a miracle at this point in order to have a child, and the Lord provided one. The Lord has what each of us is actually looking for. We need to know how to look for it. Most great blessings tend to come in through the back door, not when we are looking for them, but when we are otherwise engaged, sometimes in unrelated, mundane tasks. I remember a time when I was cleaning my room, alone, when I was arrested by an intense impression from the Lord—that He loved me. It was a simple message, and I was not really doing anything of great import at the time. And the times when I have actually been engaged in serving others have yielded joy, the assurance that I was helping the Lord by helping His children.
When you love someone, seeing them in pain causes pain in you. The Lord loves all people, and aches for us when we are in pain. But the point of this life is to play by the rules, and those rules include a kind of separation from God. If someone is lost in the desert, they really can die of thirst, and the Lord lets it happen because those are the rules of this world we are playing by. Yes, God could intervene, but only He knows when it is not a violation of the rules to do so. But there is no rule against an Abraham going out to look for lost wanderers, and there is no rule against inspiring an Abraham to know where to look for them. The Lord takes it personally when we hurt or help others (Matt. 25:35-46). "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."
Three times the Lord asked Peter if he loved Him, and three times Peter responded affirmatively, and three times the Lord told Him: "Feed my sheep" (John 21:15-17). Lost sheep are the Lord's concern, and He is close to those who help Him search. He fills the longing of our hearts in the process.
