Greetings,
I must be cawfull, vewy, vewy,cawful whenever I know that I know that I’m right. I’m not talking about theologically necessarily, but rather with the dreaded R word – relationships. When I put on those stretch pants and step into the ring of relationships like I am King of the world, watch out, because more times than not, like real wrestling, it’s fake.
I’ve been doing it since I was a kid- if you don’t know what you’re talking about then: say it loud, I’m black and I’m proud (even if your not black just say it with authority and passion and people will think you are). Now, maybe that’s ok if your dealing with acquaintances, but when your in the ring of relationships all the hubris is easily seen as fluff because while you may be able to spew it in front of the camera with the announcer before the match your relationship partner has seen you in the locker room. They know there’s more padding than muscle.
You know, I’ve been in the ring so long you’d figure by now I have it figured out, but no such luck. Something always sneaks up behind me that I’m not expecting, like a wrestler with a metal chair. In my teens, I thought life was going to be easy, marriage would be a piece of cake, and making money would be the icing on top. But that all turned south a long time ago and the sound of that metal chair against my head keeps bouncing around inside my skull.
Just when I think I’m starting to get things figured out again here comes a flying drop kick, or the claw or the Mysterio 619 that I just wasn’t prepared to defend against. I haven’t tapped out yet, but there are still a whole lot of rounds to go.
And every time that happens, regardless of who I am with in the ring, with I have a choice to make: Am I going to make a stand as the king of the world upon my rightness or am I going to humble myself before my opponent and my God?
See, I used to think that stepping into the ring was all about winning - at any cost- A good Christian proves his rightness by tearing his opponents to shreds, if not intellectually, then at least emotionally. But I have been changing in my later years, maybe it’s just age, the pile drivers don’t get any softer with age, you know, yet I am thinking that I may be uhh…maturing.
I still remember one of my first matches like it was yesterday and it was over thirty years ago. I walked nonchalantly into the ring like the rookie I was and baam there was a metal chair to the back of the head. Total shock, totally unexpected. And out of my mouth came a one word string of profanity that I have regretted the rest of my life. Then I huffed my way to my corner stool and read my bible. I was right- nothing else mattered.
Ecclesiastes chapter 9 verse 11 is one of my favorite, perhaps my favorite verse in all of scripture at this point in my life: I again saw under the sun that the race is not to the swift and the battle is not to the warriors, and neither is bread to the wise nor wealth to the discerning nor favor to men of ability; for time and chance overtake them all.
I wasn’t expecting the metal chair in my first match. It came out of nowhere. But my response to the chair upside my head revealed the condition of my own heart even though I couldn’t see it back then. It took a lot of time and chance overtaking me for a lot of years for me to begin to see my own heart for what it was (and is). I get overtaken all the time by that tag team of manager and buxom beauty who wander around the outside of the ropes. I don’t think they play fair either. Just when you’re fighting the good fight in the relationship ring the buxom beauty distracts the ref and the manger whacks you on the back of the head or pulls you to the mat by your spandex.
But that is just what I need to open my eyes to the truth because how I react to their presence in the midst of a match tells me how I’m doing overall. I must be a slow learner because I am only now beginning to understand these things.
I’m learning that when I am pulled to the mat or hit with a metal chair and I respond by gouging the eyes and pulling the hair of my opponent then I’ve already been disqualified from the match, and so even if I “win” the match, I lose.
I stepped into the ring this week as usual, unexpectedly, and to my chagrin the word irreconcilable slipped from my lips. More than once actually. Maybe in the same minute. I meant it when I said it –arrogant sob that I am. Old fears had resurrected. Old pain came too close to the surface and to be honest I attempted to tap out. I was standing in the ring looking at where I wanted to be but I couldn’t get there. It was one of those “can’t get there from here” situations that REM sings about. I saw it. I knew it to be true from where I was and so I said it was impossible. Then I Then I huffed my way to my corner stool and read Van Til.
Another verse that has come to my attention recently, which is becoming precious to me, is 1 Corinthians 2:12-13 Now we have received, not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit who is from God, so that we may know the things freely given to us by God, 13which things we also speak, not in words taught by human wisdom, but in those taught by the Spirit, joining Spiritual with Spiritual. I’m grateful for that last verse. I’m grateful that I am not being taught to wrestle by Brad but by the Spirit of God. I’m glad that it isn’t by my education that I learn but by the grace and power of the third Person of the Trinity joining himself with my Spirit.
I really can’t explain it much better than that. I gave up and went to bed.
I’m not sure what happened because I went to sleep in a huff but some time around 3 I woke up and in my heart I realized I wasn’t ‘here’ any more. By that I mean that I wasn’t in the “can’t get there from here” place any more. I was in a new ‘here’ and from this ‘here’ you could get ‘there’. I was reconciled.
Please understand that the facts did not change. Physically I can’t tell I’m at a different 'here' but inside I know it. I feel it. This was not mental gymnastics to try and manipulate my emotions. The facts remain the same but I have been – for lack of a better word – humbled. I remember thinking (whether in a dream or out I cannot say, God knows) about the phrase love does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
And somehow beyond my understanding I was in a new place. The huff fell off. Now there was still some residual huff on my high top wrestling shoes that I had to scrap off throughout the day. But something was and is truly different and I cannot explain it (though obviously I am trying).
As the day wore on I was made aware that being right doesn’t win matches. It doesn’t bring ‘there’ to’here’. Only God can bring repentance. I am not nor shall I ever be the repentance police. I can’t even make myself repent because repentance is a gift. It is a gift that I hope I continue to receive for the rest of my life on a minute by minute basis. But from our perspective repentance isn’t to be our goal. Our goal is to wrestle according to the rules with all our might. It is only when we do that that we win.
One of these days I will learn that I am not Vince McMahon (the owner of the WWE). I don’t determine the winner of the match before it begins. I don’t make the rules. I just wrestle.
May God give me the grace to wrestle to his glory every time I enter the ring.
Are you ready to Rummmble?
Grace and Peace,
Brad
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