authenticity

What's Real?

Abbie Smith — Mon, 28 Jun 2010 12:17:39 -0700

“Real isn't how you are made,” said the Skin Horse.
“It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”
“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.

“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don...'t mind being hurt.” “Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”
“It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.” –Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit

“I’m so broken!” Really? Maybe not.

MarkM — Tue, 25 Aug 2009 18:50:39 -0700

Charles Cockerell designed the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford to reflect the classical architecture of Rome. With massive Ionic columns, the building appears ready to withstand the fiercest tempest ever to spin off the grey North Sea.

In truth, the columns do nothing but add a classical façade to a building that is held up by a standard architectural design of stone and mortar. If the storm of the century did arrive in Oxford, the columns would go first, revealing a very strong and plain reality just behind the Ionic (and ironic) Greek surface.

Churches have been talking a lot about brokenness lately. “Authentic” as a fad. It can seem so healthy, as we come to terms with our humanity and the terrible weight that drags us down. But it also is addictive, as a gathering of the broken becomes a weepy, high school pity party. “I’m so broken” can become “I’m not responsible.”

Back to Cockerell. The ionic columns are only for show; they play no part in the actual design of the building. I wonder, in a similar sense, if that is a good analogy for brokenness and strength.

As humans, we are conditioned by many forces to develop façade strengths. Our egos, along with our peers, parents, and environment, force us to form what we think are our strong places. We are convinced smart phones have given us elegant minds and the internet, knowledge. In reality, we have facades, like the Ionic columns that adorn the Museum in Oxford.

What if brokenness were a process of God destroying the façade that was largely self-created? A difficult ripping and tearing, as what we have built and counted on is proven to be our own adornment, rather than God’s design. As our self-designed images fall way, we feel exposed, weak, and destroyed. Brokenness is a revealing process, critical in the pursuit of knowing truth and being set free. As our growth in God is a life-long process, so is this tearing down. But it is not an end, only a revealing.

As the stone dust settles and the columns we were proud of lie in a heap, brokenness feels permanent. But in reality, now that the façade has been removed, the truth is brilliantly plain. What remains are the strengths that God has designed. Behind the fake sandstone columns stood rows of rigid steel beams, crafted as part of a plan infinitely more resilient than anything we could build. God’s design, our strength, remains in the midst of the ruin that we had tried to pass off as real.

Only now can real progress be made. What had been tragic becomes heroic, as who we truly are emerges from the smoke and fire of what we persevered through. Some of the input we received was like work of shoddy bricklayers, not caring if the structure would fall. We need healing in the tearing down. Other contributions were used by God to strengthen and temper His steel, to be freshly acknowledged and joyfully celebrated as strength. Discernment, the awareness of both, shows us the difference.

God’s design of strength and beauty can now be reveled in. Vocational decisions are based on truth, not appeasement. Plans for marriage are made in reality, not on immature needs to add a new column to an already fractured façade. We can move out of our histories in strength.

My perception is that we have been really good at brokenness, not so good at strength. As a result, we develop an understanding of what was not real and receive healing, but don’t gain a deep enough appreciation of what is true about who we are and our related calling. The scriptures point toward more than “brokenness,” developing an understanding of who we truly are in the eyes of God. We can never forget that we come from dust, to which we are fast returning. Yet we are fearfully and wonderfully made.

I suspect that humans require a balanced approach, understanding our need to journey through broken places, receiving healing, understanding, and forgiveness, in order to see and embrace strength. We need an approach that creates an appreciation for what lies behind the façade, as preparation for a life-long progression of tearing down and revealing. It’s a desperate process, one that reveals God’s grace and our need for community. One that balances brokenness by revealing true, God-designed strength.

Mike Foster: Why I don't believe in Christian accountability, part 1

Guest Voices — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 15:33:55 -0700

Mike Foster is the co-author of "Deadly Viper Character Assassins" and blogs at DeadlyViper.org.

You can follow his nuggets on leadership, life and grace at Twitter.com/mikefoster.

Why I Don't Believe in Christian Accountability, Part 1

I am deeply committed to all of us living a life of radical integrity and grace. Through Deadly Viper I get the chance to work with leaders on personal sustainability and living a life with no regrets. And though I champion the ideas of transparency, authenticity, and brutal honesty, I don't believe in Christian accountability.

The whole concept makes me cringe and I don't think I'm alone in this assessment. It's horribly broken, ineffective, and doing a lot of people a disservice. In many ways Christian accountability is facilitating a pathway to our lives being chopped up by character assassins.

So here are a few reasons why I don't believe in Christian accountability and why a new discussion needs to happen around maintaining our integrity.

1. Lack of Grace:
The primary reason Christian accountability doesn't work is because we are more interested in justice and fixing a problem. I've seen too many times great men and women get chewed up by this process. When we fail, what we need most is grace and a second chance, not a lecture.

We have all probably experienced or seen a harsh response to our struggles or failures. But there is a big problem when we respond with justice and not grace. You see human beings are wired up for self protection and survival. When we others being hurt, rejected, or punished for their sin, we correctly conclude that it is better to hide, conceal, and fake it in the future. It basically comes down to this: I don't want to get hurt, so I'm not telling. When we lack grace, accountability breaks down.

2. Bad Environments:
Let me be frank. If I were having an illicit affair with a woman I'm not going to confess it to 4 guys at a Denny's breakfast. And yet, too often Christian accountability is carried out in these types of environments. We meet in small groups in a weekly environment with a few of our friends. Ultimately there is a lid on how transparent these conversations can be and too often we believe that if we are meeting weekly then we are "accountable."

My best conversations about my brokenness and struggles have come in non typical environments. Places where I am completely relaxed, at ease, and feel removed from my daily life.

I have seen leaders every year go away for a week and meet with a coach or therapist and have this time be very effective. They dump a ton of junk; begin working strategies in their life, and start dealing with significant character issues. To be frank, I would rather have us have one week of brutal honesty then 52 weeks of semi honesty at Dennys.

My point is simple. Find an environment that is going to allow you to open up and examine your current process.

3. The Results:
Unfortunately, the results speak for themselves. If Christian accountability was a company it would need a serious bailout. It simply inadequate and the results are sub par at best.

The breaking down of our marriages, financial impropriety, ego maniac and narcissistic behavior, sexual misconduct, and the bending of every rule we come across are simply signs of a failed system. Last week I read a post from a pastor who had received emails from 33 other pastors who confessed to him of being involved in an affair.

4. We Game The System:
If I wanted to I could spend the next decade of my life convincing you how wonderful I am and how I have it all together. (Luckily, I have no desire to do that) It bothers me that I'm clever enough to package Mike Foster in such a way that I could make you all believe what a swell guy I am and how I have it all together.

The problem with Christian accountability is that you and I can game the system. I know how to beat it and if you stick around the church long enough you will figure it out too. And that's a problem. We're the alcoholic that knows where the hidden key to the liquor cabinet is.

Gaming the system is not hard. We know the right words. We know the right things to talk about. We know how to frame things up to effectively keep everyone off course on who we truly are. I can do it and so can you. And that's a big problem.

So that's why I'm not a fan of Christian accountability and truly believe it is busted. But please don't lose hope. In part two, I have something I want to offer up as a replacement to this flawed system of maintaining our integrity.

I'm Not Authentic

Stan Jantz — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 14:51:30 -0700

Everybody wants to be authentic these days. Not me. I'm not authentic, and I'm not even trying to be authentic. It's not that I want to be fake and phony. I just know I'm not authentic, because I know as hard as I try to be authentic, I just can't do it, and neither can you. Here's why.

To be truly authentic, you have to be a true original. By definition, something that's authentic has a "claimed and verifiable origin or authorship." An authentic Rembrandt sketch is one-of-a-kind. It's not a copy. it's the first one. Even if you take "authentic" to mean something other than "original," you're still faced with something that's "fully trustworthy." Sorry. I'm trustworthy most of the time, but fully? Not a chance.

Can you see why I'm not authentic? Even if you don't know me, you know I'm not a true original. And whether you know me or not, you know I'm not completely trustworthy, because nobody is. What I really am--and this is on a good day--is a good copy of a true original. I'm a reflection of something or someone else. The question is, what or who am I copying?

I'm studying the life of the apostle Paul right now, and I can tell you that Paul was a guy who was all about copying or imitating. "Imitate me," he wrote in a letter. Seems pretty bold until you read the rest of Paul's sentence: "just as I imitate Christ" (1 Corinthians 11:1). What Paul was saying is, "copy me, just as I copy Christ." I like that. I'm not authentic and it's impossible for me to be authentic, but I can imitate or copy a true original--really, the true original--and get as close to authentic as I'll ever be.

In fact, I can aspire to be an authentic copy. I say "aspire" because the word "authentic" in front of copy means that the process is faithful and painstaking. Anyone can be a sloppy copy. Being an authentic copy takes effort and pain. And faith.

A Well-Scrubbed Version of ME

Mike Howerton — Tue, 17 Mar 2009 16:32:07 -0700

In today’s world, technology offers us a unique view of one another. I’ve recently been wrestling with this. I am a follower of Jesus Christ. I seek to live my life consistent with the beliefs that I hold from Scripture. There are times when I live incredibly empowered by God’s Spirit. There are times that I stumble and fail. I try to keep short accounts with my wife, short accounts with my brothers, and short accounts with Jesus.

None of this is really where the rub is, hopefully none of this should land as a surprise. Here’s where I’ve been wrestling lately. On my Blog, on my Facebook pages, in my messages, I’ve been offering the “well scrubbed version of me.” So, while I believe that today’s technology offers a clearer view of KNOWING one another from a distance than has ever been possible before, I also recognize the potential for hypocrisy that exists. That’s why I’m calling it out. And because confession is good for the soul.

Here are a few ways that I scrub myself: PHOTOS.
The photos I post are typically selected from whole rolls of less exciting photos, and rolls and rolls of photos that picture me in an combination of unflattering, confused, and rather typical expressions. I try to scrub the boring out, so that a viewer might think, “It must be an amazing adventure to be a part of that clan!” It is and adventure, but not nearly as exciting as pics might suggest. I also choose to post pics of myself that make me look confident, strong, or handsome (Theses pics are more of a challenge to find).

I share a ton of family STORIES.
Those are typically the stories that make my kids sound like theologians, my wife sound like a patient genius, and that make me sound like a great dad, a great husband, and an all around great guy. They are all true. But what is also true are the stories where my kids fight like kids, where my wife is tired and short, and where I live closer to dolt-ness than to great-ness. I scrub the counter-balance, and so opinion is naturally prone to tip towards a too-favorable view.

Even my FAILURES are scrubbed. For example, I might share a time when Jodie was looking for help cleaning the house in preparation for the arrival of guests, while I was upstairs playing Galaga (yes, we have the old arcade version of Galaga, and yes, I am the MAN at it)…and I pretended that I couldn’t hear her calling. And that “confession” might actually make me sound more holy…like, oh look, even Mike gets a bit selfish sometimes. But I’ve scrubbed out the other times during the same weekend that I was already acting selfishly, and how frustrated that must make my wife, and how selfishness is something that I consistently battle to my great chagrin. (This paragraph is intentionally hypothetical, but I’m hoping you get the point. A small, safe confession scrubs me too clean.)

Here’s the last truth: I’m not changing the tactic of scrubbing. I truly don’t think Blogs or Status Updates are the best place to do deep soul-work, nor the best places for gut-level confession. I don’t suggest that to you, nor will I walk that road. But I do want you to be aware of the scrub.
Just knowing brings us closer to Jesus. And I guess the challenge is, for me and you both, to live more and more like the scrubbed versions of ourselves…

The truth shall set you free.
I’d love to hear how YOU scrub…