The Art of Self-Examination

Haggai 1:7

God spoke to Haggai—it was perfect—succinct, brief, direct—“See how you fare.”

That simple act of self-examination is immediately conclusive about choices, decisions, or directions. When traveling, you can pretty well know how your choice of route is working—are you getting where you need to be? Businesses can immediately know how the public is warming to their products—is anyone buying? A student can immediately assess her study habits—are the grades indicative of a good practice? 

So God challenges us to use the same tools with our faith praxis. How’re you doing?

Now, as we move into the realm of human relationships, beliefs, and values, we enter a place that is nowhere clearly delineated. It is like a trip to, say, Murphy, NC. There are several choices for getting from here to there, and any number of backroads, byways, and highways offer themselves as a means to that end. They all look about the same on the map—squiggly lines, heading into the hill country. Some are more boldface, leading you to imagine an alpine freeway. So you choose that one, and, then, stuck behind a tractor pulling a 17% grade immediately lets you know that there might have been a better way to get there. Maybe those other squiggly lines were better. But on the map, it all looked fairly clear. So, where are those 17% grades in our dealings with others? How do we know they are there? And what about following God? Are the benefits immediately apparent? Are the “benefits” even easily demarcated as such? 

Things get muddy quickly.

What happened to God’s simple directness?

Walking with God is ambling through the wilderness. Often, walking with God is done under the cover of darkness—we walk without really knowing where we are going, without visible landmarks, and without much certainty about where the holes are. 

Keep walking.

The periodic self-checks are going to be different from the twenty questions your physician asks during your annual exam. There, the doctor has her set agenda—she knows what she is looking for—signs and indicators of illness, a breakdown of some sort, a change in life or ability—anything that might compromise the health of the patient, or be a warning about an impending compromise. But with faith practice, the questions are seeking something different. There is a bit of confusion about just what they are seeking, too. The leading motivation for the vast majority of decisions to enter a faith praxis is happiness—we want to be happy. We want to feel good about ourselves, our future, our loved ones, and that even mistakes can be turned to good. We define happiness as anything from well-being to being able to face life with a pleasant air most of the time. We look to God to make it sunny most of the time. But is that biblical? Herein comes a problem. Ecclesiastes is considered the pinnacle of biblical wisdom, but what is Qoholeth’s outlook throughout his rumination? All is vanity. “Happiness” is not the benefit of following God. Rather, the simple knowledge that there is something transcendent and transformative succeeding the realm we know and live in is the source, not of happiness, but of hope—that hope becomes the best end of faith. As we turn elsewhere, we discover that the NRSV Bible contains numerous psalms that proclaim “Happy are those who…” phrases. This is better. Well, the Hebrew is not really “happy,” but “blessed.” The people in the prayers are not so much happy as they are in the special presence of God. As we move into the New Testament, happiness is not really the point—Jesus stated it flatly—a cross awaits in the road of faith. Oops—not much happiness there. He goes on to declare that the most meaningful expressions of faith practice are those of self-emptying, self-denial, and self-sacrifice. Paul simply amplifies these lessons throughout his epistles. So, the Bible eliminates happiness as the end of faith.

Now what?

The truth of the matter is that faith is more about meaning than anything else—does life have meaning? do my words, deeds, and thoughts have meaning? can life have value? what brings worth to human existence? 

Here, the Bible becomes extraordinarily helpful and hopeful. Despite its seeming negativity about human existence (as many interpret its dismissal of happiness), the Bible is actually incredibly positive about who and what we are. We are the children of God, a little lower than the angels (Ps. 8), partners in the stewardship of all creation (Gen. 1-2), and capable of experiencing the fullness of God’s own being in our everyday existence. 

How?

Love.

Yes—that word—love—is where the power and dynamism of life before God blossoms into glory. God is love, declares the scripture. Christ is the embodiment of that love within human existence, declares the Gospel. We are within the confines of that love when we practice love with whomever we encounter along the way, declares the New Testament.  If we are within the confines of that love, then all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well, declares Julian of Norwich. 

And that is the best news any of us can hear.

Ever.

So now, maybe, we have a better idea of what it is we are looking for as we take up God’s challenge to examine ourselves. Is love the center of our existence? Does it inform our words? Does it guide our actions? Does it direct our thoughts? 

Those answers lead us where we need to be.

Go.