I called a fella that had
recently fell a hardwood tree. He shared
where he lived and we agreed on a time when he would be home so I could make a
visit to inspect the wood. The
conversation concluded with telling me that he had a German shepherd dog but
his bark was worse than his bite. I gave
it no thought until I walked on the porch and knocked on the screen door. Immediately there he was! All 100 pounds; not
using his ‘inside bark’ rather exerting the full capacity of his lungs. The intense gazes presented me with the opportunity
of putting my hand and foot on the screen door frame or the challenge of running
and jumping off the porch at age 72.
“His bark is worse than his bite?” For the person on this side of the screen
door, venturing with another attempt to knock was frightening. For all I knew, a
barking-mad, wild beast was coming thru that screen at the slightest movement
of the moment. He looked and sounded absolutely ferocious.
What my eyes and ears were
sensing, it was hard to believe that the owner took ample opportunity to
showcase his gentle, calm, and loving demeanor dog until he stood beside his
dog and commanded, “sit, still.” The owner opened the screen door inviting me enter
and calling to his wife that they had a visitor. “Roll over Freddy, and show
Bill you’re a good boy;” at which Freddy obeyed . “Sit a spell?” asked his wife, “Sweet tea?” “You show Mr. Bill how much you like visitors,”
as Freddy’s ears flattened with joy and his tail waged as he came closer. I sat
f-a-s-t. “Now lay down,” at which Freddy did, ‘at my feet,’ catching my eye,
with what I have to confess , was nothing but an affectionate, docile expression.
“Freddy is often
misunderstood,” his owner told me. His
size, his bark, the reputation of the breed, and past memories of fearful
encounters with large dogs had precluded this wonderful encounter. While I sit
here this morning, writing of the experience, I am still somewhat taken back emotionally
when a large canine looks my way and heads toward me. No matter how much
convincing I try to do for myself, I am a bit more than reluctant in accepting
that the breed is “really” friendly.
This is a trivial example of
being misunderstood—which has been is a painful fact of life. Being
misunderstood has never pleasant or easy, and has often felt like a personal
rejection. Being misunderstood has also stirred up feelings of self-righteous
anger. How could this person believe that about me? Don’t they know me better?
Why wouldn’t she give me the benefit of the doubt? The desire to justify myself
has risen up like a wave more than once. I am right, I am smart, my point is
valid….
As I think about my own
reaction to being misunderstood, I recognize how often it is rooted in pride.
Like the Hollywood image-makers who craft perfect personas, I desire to be
viewed in the best possible light—always. My fragile ego cannot hold up when I
am not seen as ‘perfect’ by others. In this way, misunderstanding offers me the
gift of being able to see the true nature of my shabbily built self-image; for
any misunderstanding of my super-human status demolishes its self-righteous
construction.
As a Christian, when I read
the gospels I find that Jesus mastered being misunderstood. He often asked
questions rather than giving answers. Or He answered those who questioned Him
with parables or enigmatic exhortations that left his followers (and those on
the outside) without even the smallest shred of understanding. I’m considering His
remarks in the gospel of St. John, chapter 6, as an example:
He says, “I am the living
bread which comes down out of heaven; if anyone eats of this bread he shall
live forever; and the bread also which I shall give for the life of the world
is my flesh. The Jews therefore began to argue with one another saying, ‘how
can this man give us his flesh to eat?’ Truly I say to you, unless you eat the
flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood you have no life in yourselves.”
The gospel goes on to tell the reader that as
a result of Jesus saying these things many of His followers withdrew and were
not walking with him any longer. But Jesus doesn’t go on the offensive and try
to explain what He was saying. He leaves the very hard things He has just said
to stand. Mysteriously, He allows Himself to be misunderstood. He leaves room
for those who heard these strange sayings to wonder; He leaves room for
wrestling, and even for many to walk away.
While there are many facets
of Jesus’ form, His willingness to be misunderstood is a facet I cannot ignore.
His conversations, His questions, His hard sayings all create an often uneasy
space for those who want to justify themselves. He does not have the need to be
understood, or to maintain a perfect persona. His was not a presence that
clamored for attention nor did he strive to protect His image.
Father, God, I thank You for
Your awareness of and I confess the many, many, things I do to create misunderstanding
that must be corrected and made right. I
also recognize, there will always be times when what I say or do—even with the
best of intentions—will be misunderstood. May You use these times, and grace in
allowing me the opportunity to allow room for misunderstanding, or give way to
my desire for self-protection, or worse, self-promotion. Convict me, in
remaining in that uneasy space, that a spiritual kind of art can be created. The
spiritual art of practicing a necessary discipline—like Jesus—to “have no
stately form or majesty,” nor craft an appearance to which “anyone would be
attracted.” Amen
