It’s really the only way to live…for anyone going on the Race, and anyone planning to live the race of life, well.
Getting naked—being vulnerable—is hard. Whether it’s in the “big” things that you don’t like to share with anyone, or in the day to day things we struggle with—it’s hard. But, being vulnerable, being real, admitting those things to which your brain is shouting at you “No! No! No!” and you feel like your body is squirming uncontrollably…well, that brings about real healing, often both in your life and others’ lives.
That vulnerability, that rawness, that honesty is a catalyst, a tipping point, a release for and into new freedom.
We don’t do it enough. Don’t get me wrong: use discretion, be discerning and wise about who you share with and what you share about. But, sometimes I think we use “discernment” as a means to avoid the uncomfortable. And, usually when we avoid the hard conversations—when we take the path of least resistance—we fall into considerably more uncomfortable situations and consequences in our lives. Vulnerability usually means sharing with those you absolutely do not want to share with, and it inherently requires you to share more than you want to.
Vulnerability requires you sharing with those you know and don’t, and especially when it’s uncomfortable.
Last Sunday morning a few of us went to a church nearby in Jeffreys Bay, South Africa. It is a beautiful church, with kind people and great music, and they gave us a very warm welcome. Yet, I felt totally out of place. On one hand I felt very comfortable in the plush individual seats, with the sweet aroma of free coffee wafting my way; then I realized I don’t even like coffee, and I would much rather have swarms of African, Asian, or Latin American children squeezing in next to me and on me, with the pastor expecting one of us to come up and give a word.
It took me less than five minutes entering the church to enter into a serious case of judgment that I battled for about half the service. I couldn’t take the clean-ness, the bright-ness, the smooth transitions, the perfect temperature, the professionalism. I was being suffocated by it, and by my judgment. Although I have already been intentional about anticipating re-entry into the US and processing what I’ve learned, the new season I’m about to enter into struck me square in the face before even hitting home soil.
I don’t want to enter the US with that kind of judgment. I want to enter into a radical mode of humility, service, and vulnerability. Later that night, at this same church’s evening service, I knew what I had to do: after the service, I walked up to one of the elders of the church, introduced myself, and apologized for the judgmental spirit I had brought into that place of worship. I don’t share this to pat myself on the back, but to rejoice that there was a change in my spirit and that I am thinking in this way. The elder was a little taken aback, but entering into that place of vulnerability was a launching pad for a candid conversation.
Be transparent. It throws people off. It is our often mistakes and the things we are not proud of, and not our successes, that bring us together and is the stuff of community and humanity.
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Many of the problems in the world are a crisis of leadership and communication, but even more-so, a crisis of leadership and communication with regards to men…
Yes, we need men who are strong, and responsible, and productive, but I’m convinced we really need men who are vulnerable. This requires courage, and it will form assertive and decisive men. We need men who are vulnerable both in leadership and in the way they communicate with each other, within their families, and amidst their communities.
“Courage is not simply one of the virtues but the form of every virtue at its testing point.” – C.S. Lewis
