Every family has quirky habits, strange preferences or rituals that defy understanding but are rigidly followed. I’ve been told that my family has more than its fair share.
One of our strange habits is that when we are driving, we aren’t allowed to
turn around and retrace our path. It may require going to the same store in a different location, but you don’t retrace your path. It may mean changing your shopping list, but you don’t go backward.
It had an innocent inception. Kim would drive our small children around town, and they would repeatedly ask to go someplace she had just passed. In an effort to make progress in her daily routine, she established a rule: We don’t go back.
Now it is a “mom” rule, and there is no process for repealing those.
Most of us have rules like this. If you open the hood and take a look underneath at the motivation for these guidelines, you will find frustration with something relatively insignificant and a workaround to avoid it. Rather than simply accepting that kids are inconvenient, we put a rule into play. When I look over my life, I find a lot of these.
It seems harmless. Or is it?
Is there a cost of “blocking out” inconveniences or embracing my preferences over others? Do I avoid people when I avoid annoyances?
These behaviors send a clear signal to the person with me. They become well aware that our connection is secondary to my desire for a perfect sanctuary. I avoid sharing my time, feelings and experiences with people if I don’t get to do things like I want or if they are irritating.
That brings me to the title of this post. What if Jesus couldn’t read a map? What if he routinely sent us “right” when we should have turned “left”? Or what if he routinely forgot to tell us to make a turn because he was talking? Would I have been his disciple if he got on my nerves?
Maybe he wasn’t bad with directions, but he was human. That means that he would have snored loudly in a room he shared with other people, made funny noises when he chewed, told the same not-funny jokes, or smelled funny.
None of these idiosyncracies would disqualify his perfect love, sinless life, or redemption of my sins. Perfection in my sight isn’t the same as a perfect life.
It is easy to regard biblical characters with disbelief when they were offended by Jesus’s teaching or the way he acted. We already know who he really was. But would we have done the same thing?
Our culture calls it news when a leader’s acts “aren’t presidential”, an athlete offends people while trying to highlight injustice or a celebrity promotes a ridiculous position. Every day, we place perfection over perfect love. I regularly place my perfect satisfaction over perfect love.
If I am honest with myself, Jesus would have gotten on my nerves sometimes, and I would have had to decide how to deal with it. Even now, I have moments now when he gets on my nerves because he is silent when I want a voice, or still when I want action. And I get frustrated.
If I had been one of the twelve disciples, would I have stopped following Jesus if it meant eating fish and bread…again? Could I have heard the wisdom in his parable if he said “umm” too many times? Could I have embraced him when he was sweaty? Would I have looked past what I wanted him to be and accepted who he was?
I hope so. Otherwise, I would have missed the chance of my lifetime.
My brokenness causes me to let frustrations stand between me and others, even between me and Jesus. I may blame others, but really it is my issue. It may not seem like a big deal, but admitting it is important if I want to move forward in loving my neighbors.
Being irritated with someone isn’t the same as not loving them. However, with people that I don’t know well, irritations keep me from pursuing a relationship with them. After all, why try to make friends who get on your nerves?
Loving my neighbor as myself means looking past their annoying habits. Valuing people over my preferences means sacrificing things that I hold dear. It sounds easy, but it is hard.
Jesus loves me through every obnoxious habit and even when I am downright mean.
I want to love like that.
The truth is, my sanctuary gets lonely sometimes. When I avoid discomfort, I am left in an empty room. My preferences don’t make great company.
Eating out with people is nice, but inviting them into your home is special. I want to do that, even if they stay too long or never reciprocate. Changing my sacred sleep schedule should be worth it if I get a chance to make better friends.
Rearranging my budget is a small price to pay for a chance at a relationship that may last a lifetime. Being embarrassed because I am bad at something is a silly reason to avoid connection. Only volunteering to do “things I like” is too restrictive.
I want to learn to love better, even if it means turning the car around and retracing my path. I want to love Jesus, even if he can’t read a map.
I want to walk through a city full of people that I care about, and who care about me. I want to go to the movies with so many friends we can’t all sit together. I want to be invited when neighbors laugh and celebrate, or when they cry.
I guess that is the meaning of “the last will be first”. Friends first will mean me last.
Hopefully, 2019 will be the year I get this right.
If I get on your nerves, please forgive me. I hope you’ll give me a chance.
