The Elephant in Musth

I have taken a break from writing for the blog this summer. I couldn’t “do it all.” I hated that.

Something had to give if I was going to actually enjoy our children being home from school. I focused on other things: playing with our kids in our resurrected pool (yay!), our local parent-child Bible study, hosting friends and family in our new guest suite, enjoying an anniversary getaway with Sean in Newport, Rhode Island, a family weekend in New York City, participating in a United Adoration art retreat with our new friends at Imago Dei Anglican Church in Bangor, Maine, Dandelion mailings and correspondence, preparing for and then supporting Sean on his trip to Uganda with Bishop Williams and a small team from our Anglican Diocese in New England, and—when I had a moment to focus—painting small easy-to-clean-up paintings. As I write all this down, it sounds like a lot. Sounds like it should have been easy to own my limits, keep things in perspective, focus on my God-given priorities, trust God in the letting go. But perfectionism doesn’t care. My inner critic is an elephant in musth. (thank you, George Orwell, for your horrifying picture of sin in any form in, “Shooting an Elephant”!) Always driving me to “do more,” it still made me feel guilty for not doing enough, for failing our supporters. Sin is truly a slave-driver, a merciless taskmaster. My perfectionism will take the loveliest gift—a summer of swimming and connection and answers to prayer (even our supporters’ prayers!)—and ruin it. Anytime a sermon ends on “my to-do list for God” it feeds that perfectionism. God shrinks; I loom large; faith faints; worry and urgency leap up from the couch.

“Who will save me from this body of death?” cried St. Paul (Romans 7:24)! It is my cry too. Who will save me from the voice that turns every gift into a thousand pounds on my shoulders of something I need to do (or stop doing)?! Instead, I need to hear what Jesus has done. I needed to hear it yesterday. I need to hear it today. I will need to hear it when I am on my last breath. I need to hear his voice above all the others. I repeat this to myself everyday because it is so hard to believe: “My sheep know my voice; I call them by name and lead them out” (John 10:3). Jesus knows us, he knows we can’t be perfect, he knows our trauma, he knows our ways to cope, he knows our genetic disposition, he knows our accusers, our failures, he knows… that’s why he came for us.

“Likewise, my brothers and sisters, you also have died to the Law in the body of Christ, so that you may belong to another, to him who has been raised from the dead, in order that you may bear fruit for God” (Romans 7:4). Tell your taskmasters and your accusers that you belong to Jesus. And he doesn’t condemn you. All is forgiven. The redeemed you only hears his voice and believes his promises because he has put his Spirit in you. Your taskmasters can scream all they want. His still, small, steady voice overpowers them all.

Jesus’ Word of grace surpasses his word of Law. Jesus actually is the king of perfectionism: “Be perfect as my heavenly Father is perfect” (Matthew 5:48). He alone is perfect because he is also God. He said that to us to stop us from trying to be God! He said that to drive us to him, to our Savior, to put to death our efforts to “do it all,” to “be perfect,” to have no limitations or weaknesses or sin. With that word, he uncovers our place of need. And at once, he meets it with his grace. George Herbert once wrote, “[God’s word] is the well that washes what it shows” (“The H. Scriptures. I.,” The Temple, 1633). It shows us our sin in order to wash it away. This death and resurrection is the only thing that quiets my mind. The fruit that came from this place of weakness is God’s fruit - from him, by him, for him. It always blesses me and my neighbor. It is always far, far better than anything I think I should be doing.

In desperation, I reached out for help from some close friends about the guilt I felt over not writing for the blog (thank God for friends with whom I can be a mess!). I felt so much joy doing these other things without it over the summer. Yet guilt kept sticking like watermelon juice on the floor. One friend encouraged me that I was making fodder for the blog through my torture over “not” doing it. Another remembered the woman (Mary of Bethany?) who washed Jesus’ feet with her expensive perfume in Mark 14. What a stupid waste! Her critics and judges and taskmasters said. You could have “done so much more” with that money! She hadn’t “done it all” or “pleased people;” instead she did something only faith can do in her: she thanked Jesus for what he had done. “She has done a beautiful thing to me,” Jesus defended her. “She has done what she could,” Jesus said, “She has anointed my body beforehand for burial… and whenever the Gospel is proclaimed, what she has done will be told in memory of her” (Mark 14:3-9). The Spirit will always give birth to worship. It will always bring life. It will glorify Jesus for his death and resurrection in our place. It attacks our efforts and the perfectionistic taskmasters that try to replace the grace of Jesus. It puts them to death on the cross and loves us in our weakness. Now we have a word of grace others need too. Perfectionism knows nothing of this kind of fruit. It cannot love you in your limitations, lift the burden from your shoulders, and make your boast in your weakness because of the grace you’ve found. It cannot offer hope to another sufferer. Jesus alone does. I hated owning my limits this summer. I’m so glad Jesus didn’t.

“I will make your overseers peace and your taskmasters righteousness” (Isaiah 60: 17).