That Darn Ego

Posted by Jonathan Brink

January 16, 2008

This post is part of the January Synchroblog. This month’s topic is God’s ability to use the foolish to confound the wise. You can find more at the end of the post.

When I was six I got my first trophy for playing soccer. It was the strangest feeling at the time. The shiny little trophy had this interesting effect on my soul. It felt good in a way that was validating. As I grew, I was naturally gifted in quickness and learned to gain the applause of my fellow classmates. Before school, everyone would gather up on the black top and challenge each other to see who was the fastest kid in school that day. 9 times out of 10 I won the race. The applause became like a drug, reminding me that I had done something worthwhile. I must be good right? The problem was that by lunch time, people had somehow forgotten their applause. The parade of validations had gone home, thus the need to prove myself again the next day.

And then life had a strange way of doing the same thing. Everything I participated in, school, sports, church, quickly constantly reminded me that applause came from accomplishment. If I got good grades my parents were pleased with me. If I scored goals, my friends were pleased with me. If I memorized verses and showed up on Sunday, my youth pastor was pleased with me. Even work was a matter of accomplishment. The better I did, the more applause and money I gained.

But over time the search for applause grew exhausting. The fickle crowd was never pleased enough. The bar somehow kept increasing the older I got. And to be honest it took a heavy toll on my soul. I felt like a horse with a carrot hanging in front of my face just beyond my grasp. No matter how hard I tried it could never reach it.

In college I made the bold decision to simply stop trying. I was no longer going to be good for a crowd that refused to be pleased beyond lunch. The problem was that my ego refused to participate. It needed to be validated and would stop at nothing to get its way. And then I discovered drugs, which made me a really funny guy. Bam. New applause. Come on, people. You’re not making this easy.

But along the way God kept breaking into my life, calling me to hear His voice amidst the crowd. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t boisterous. In fact, I often had to strain to hear it. And when I listened He kept telling me that I was loved. At first I didn’t want to believe it. I kept thinking that by lunch time the voice would grow fickle and I would somehow need to perform for Him as well. But by lunch time the words hadn’t changed. In fact by dinner the voice had grown steadily louder and the longer I listened the more I heard it.

And then God invited me to let go of it all. His invitation to love invited me to actually believe that I was already loved, not from what I had done, but from who I was, His beloved child. At first it seemed quite unbelievable, even stupid. Everything, and I mean everything, had told me exactly the opposite. The world didn’t work that way, so I thought. Love, which I had always assumed was the applause, was supposed to be earned, wasn’t it?

And I remember that moment, the distinct sound of my heart saying it was time, letting go of the applause and exchanging it for my Father’s love. It seemed fresh and free, almost impossible to believe. I felt scandalous because it just couldn’t be that easy…could it. And every nerve ending and sinew in my body wanted to jump ship. I kept laughing like a three-year-old who had found a secret stash of Rocky Road ice cream, hoping no one would take it away.

But damn that ego. It kept creeping back in, constantly reminding me of the rush of the applause. The voices from the crowd were so eager and earnest to lure me back. And to be honest the first time I went back the sound of the crowd, sounded soooooooooo good, like your favorite song from high school you haven’t heard in a decade. The exquisite feeling of temporal pleasure. But a strange thing happened by lunch time. The exquisite sense of validation painfully faded away. And as it faded I could hear the faint sound of laughing, the enemy having sucked me back in.

And the temptation was to assume that I had somehow ruined grace, that I had somehow cut off the voice of my Father. In fact, this assumption led me to turn away from His voice, the prodigal child once again. And it was at this moment that my Father’s voice resounded loudly. “Nothing can change my love for you.” It was hard to hear that, to believe that. I had picked up the lie I had previously abandoned. Why would God love me? I wouldn’t.

And I realized at that moment that God is not like me. He’s God and He is love, desperately searching for His children and ready to forgive. That’s what He does. He’s also breaking into the enemy’s kingdom and offering us His grace. And He’s asking us if we want to participate.

That Darn Ego

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