It's been a few years since I had played a real game of pick-up basketball, so I felt reluctant to step on the court with a bunch of gamers most of whom were about ten years younger than me. But what did I have to lose? Other than my ankle.
Yep, moments into my second game and feeling pretty decent about my rusty skills I awkwardly stepped on someone’s foot rolling my ankle with all my weight breaking two bones.
The next couple of days involved a lot of ice, Advil, and staring my limitations straight in the eyes. The chatter inside my head wasn’t pretty. The dark spiral started with, “Why were you attempting to play in the first place?” to “You can’t do ANYTHING without somehow screwing it up!”
The fact that this incident and slow recovery process is occurring in the middle of the Lenten season isn’t lost on me. I’ve found it difficult to slow down without having it handed forcibly to me. Not until I was ushered into this space did I begin to truly hear the barrage of voices most of which were unfriendly messages laced with fear and shame.
When all these voices barge in my house due to a broken ankle it makes me think maybe I’ve been putting off dealing with the reality of my limitations. Aren’t those to be set aside and saved for the stuff of a mid-life crisis?
In his book, Falling Upward, Richard Rohr says,
“I have prayed for years for one good humiliation a day, and then, I must watch my reaction to it. I have no other way of spotting both my denied shadow self and my idealized persona.”
I wonder what difference it would make if more leaders would pray this wild prayer?
As leaders, we run hard. And with all our focus, energy, and ambition there also seems to come an ignorance. There are important aspects to ourselves that we choose to ignore until they’re called out by other people or in this case by my own body.
I find it so damn easy to point out how delusional some leaders are at processing their own limitations. I get a good buzz out of picking apart people like Mark Driscoll until I break my ankle and find that I'm not so adept at facing and integrating my own insecurities and shadows as I think I am.
Seeing my shadows remind me that I am a humble collection of parts.
If I only know my strong, competent self and am never able to face and embrace my insecure self, I’m forced to live a lie. I go on pretending that I am strong and competent, not simply that I have competent parts. If I refuse to face my deceitful self I live an illusion regarding my own integrity. Or if I'm unwilling to acknowledge my prideful self, I live an illusion of false modesty.
Facing his humiliation and shadow is what allowed the Apostle Peter to be such a fitting foundation to the church. He lived and lead the young church while always holding his insecurities and weaknesses close. That memory of blending in to a violent crowd and denying Christ was near to his storyline in a way that would powerfully shape his leadership.
The Apostle Peter's humiliations developed into a real authority. Real authority is born out of a healthy response to all those humiliations we accumulate. Real authority is spotted in vulnerable people who clearly see and live with their limitations.
This is why I encourage everyone especially the put-together and successful to befriend the poor. I'm a little frightened to think of who I'd be without my friendships with mentally ill and chronically homeless people. I suppose these friendships can in some way serve as our welcomed humiliations. Vulnerable people help to expose me to the reality of my own very real limitations.
I try not to wish broken bones or catastrophic failure on anybody, but I do pray for their relationship and engagement with the poor.
Our limitations can expose our humble yet hope-filled humanity. It's hard to utter this prayer but I think I can (at least today) pray it honestly, "Thank you, Lord, for broken bones."
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