A Fly in the Ointment

Matthew 7:24-27; Proverbs 10:8; Ecclesiastes 10:1

Don’t you hate that moment at the picnic when you are hankering for a big scoop of potato salad and, reaching for the spoon, you catch sight of the fly traipsing back and forth across the potato creaminess like he’s running laps at the local fitness center. So much for potato salad. Well, Qoholeth, the scribe of Ecclesiastes, finds such moments all around us because of the fly in our attempts to live by the wisdom of God. The problem is that we are our own flies—we mess up, make mistakes, and multiply our miseries because even when we think we are doing the right thing, we get in our own way. And usually the issue boils down to the same thing again and again—we think, speak, and do from one perspective only—our own. Self-focus gets in the way, blinding us to everybody else—including God—and we are left to clean up messes that we cannot figure out because we dim even our own outlooks. 

There is a way to “fly proof” our walk in faith. Christ indicated it as he began his parable about the two homebuilders—listen to Christ—his teaching, his way—and we give ourselves insurance against the corrupting influences that rise within us.

To begin, though, we need not fall into self-abnegation because of our fallibility. Imperfection is part and parcel of being human. One of the most comforting dogmas that John Calvin developed—ironically—was total depravity. His assessment is total and thorough—there is no human being who is not frail, faulty, and fickle. It is just the way things are—in our God-given freedom to be and do what we choose with the actual power to make choices, we tend to begin with thoughts of no one but ourselves. We see this trait in even the tiniest human beings—a toddler will blow a gasket when mom or dad intervene to keep her from doing what she wants, even if what she wants is to ingest an entire box of crayons. Sadly, we stubbornly do the same thing again and again all through our lives—from speeding beside a line of cars to jump in front just as a lane closes, causing angst for everybody, to completely ignoring a physician’s counsel because we find it an inconvenient truth to deciding to call in sick right at a deadline because the NCAA basketball tournament is on TV for twelve hours that day. They all are motivated by self-exertion—what I want is more important than anything else. Now how is this comforting? Because it is universal. No one is exempt from falling into this trap—from toddlers to the oldest resident at the care home, from a good ol’ Georgian to the farthest flung Siberian—we all tend to look the world through the prism of self. So, no one is loftier than another, or in a position to condemn someone else, or holier than anyone else (“before you judge the speck in your neighbor’s eye, remove the log from your own” [Lk. 6:42]). We are all in this mess together, and we are all dependent upon God for help and healing. We are one, as old idealists sing, just not very ideally! If we are united by our depravity, then we can stop, seek God, and work together to get things right. That is great hope for us and our world. Our grounds for divisiveness and animosity toward each other are undercut—peace may well come.

But we have to remove the flies from the ointment.

That means intentionally slowing ourselves down and taking stock in who and what we are all the time. And, yes, that is hard work, exhausting work, and will make great demands on our time, effort, and abilities. The good news is, though, that we are not left to our own devices in the attempt—that is the first piece of Christ’s way and means—Christ promises to be present with anyone who commits to making the effort (“I am with you always to the end of the age” [Mt. 28:20]). That means we are never left to rely solely on our own resources. Again, Calvin helps us grasp what is going on as he argued vehemently in the dogma of “grace alone”—there is no hope of salvation or redemption apart from God’s intervention on our behalf—the essence of Jesus with us. More often than should be, this dogma is made into a vindictive punch—“you are worthless; get right or burn”—but that is to miss Calvin’s point entirely—as always, he is turning focus from ourselves to God wherein we find our hope, peace, and promise. It is not about hammering away at “miserable wretches” outside the Church, it is about seeing how deeply, profoundly, and universally God loves us—God will not abandon us to our foolishness, to our folly, and then scoff at our feeble attempts at rectifying things—the exact opposite is true—God will enter the depths of hell itself to find us, reclaim us, and lift us back into the fold of grace. To fully grasp this offered grace, we have to slow ourselves down enough to see it. That means breathing before stepping into the world, into action, and speaking. It means considering all of our options and trying to the best of our ability, to anticipate the potential consequences of what we say or do. So, if we are constantly in a hurry, stressed with scattered brains, and always with too much to do and too little time to do it, we need to consciously rearrange our lives—and, yes, it can be done. With God’s help, most anything can be done. And God’s help is always present, for God is always present. So, stop, breathe, take in the presence of God. God is here. Right here. Right now. God wants nothing more than for all of us to awaken to that glorious presence. 

In such a way, we make ourselves fly proof. Oh, they will show up, and a few will land right smack on the cheeseburger we are about to eat, but we will be able to deal with them, and we will be able to move beyond them. What happens is that we begin to see the real and true source of our mistakes, our errors, and where the messes come from, and as we do that, we can make adjustments, corrections, and recalibrations to get things in a better place. God is good and grace abounds. All shall be well.