On Christian Living: Writing Only For The Faithful?

A few weeks ago I wondered aloud to anyone close enough to hear whether I was throwing my pearls beneath my own cloven feet. One of my concerns was that I had somehow forsaken the hope to which I had been called -- the "riches of [Christ's] glorious inheritance in the saints" -- in an effort to earn some other accolade. Specifically, I wondered whether I had been pulled off course by my many vanities, enamored of the idea that I needed to prove to the world that I, a serious and orthodox Christian, was nevertheless intelligent, properly worldly, and satisfactorily clever. Had I forsaken truth and the gospel of freedom merely to advertise that I wasn't a dimwit? Had I engaged in petty and popular polemics solely to impress? Were my many words simply cries for approval, approval from those outside the Christian Church? Did I publish here like a wild dog marks his territory, suggesting some sort of dominion, some sort of mastery to which the learned must show respect?

Even now, in these very words, I wonder: Why am I being so careful, so circumspect, as I type these words? Am I, even in confession's presumed transparency, still clouded by hopes that even in this well-expressed self-doubt, I will earn readers' applause? Is vanity still at work here? Am I still striving to impress those who stand decisively outside Christianity's creedal borders, those who have deemed Christians inferior and dumb?

Years ago I had a dear friend named Ben who would often wear, to the newspaper office where we both worked, a T-shirt listing the names of "Famous Unitarian-Universalists." It was an impressive set of names, though I could not refrain from always noting the shortness of that esteemed list. I also noted that had anyone decided to make a garment listing famous Catholics -- or, more broadly, famous orthodox Christians -- it would be much grander than a simple T-shirt. It would, in fact, be very much like a wedding gown, with a train as long as history.

But I had to admit to Ben that I was using fame differently, for most of the famous orthodox Christians of history are not really famous, at least not in the Henry David Thoreau/Albert Schweitzer-Unitarian-way some people are famous. Fame is not something Christians are called to attain, nor is the doing of good deeds cause for celebration. Good deeds are simply to be done. They are not something that is considered special. They are assumed.

However, it would be faulty to argue that there isn't a penchant for fame-grabbing and fame-naming in many Christian circles. Some of us recall how quickly the evangelical community proclaimed Bob Dylan's declaration of Christian faith in the early 1980's. Christians have their own list, though no Christian dare wear that list in public. Modesty and humility call us to self-restraint. But we literary-types who accept Christ know too well the names we can drop: T. S. Eliot, Graham Greene, J. R. R. Tolkien, C. S. Lewis, Dorothy Sayers, G. K. Chesterton, Fyodor Dostoevksy, Evelyn Waugh. Many of us aspire to be similarly listed.

Alas, have I given myself over to this idol, this idol of notoriety and fame? Have I meant to impress the world, without even thinking at all whether I am impressing the God I claim to adore? I have known my share of local notoriety as an award-winning news photographer and journalist; I have felt the pride in having people notice. But I wonder if in writing for a broader audience (here and elsewhere), and in taking on topics not usually within the scope of my interests, I am looking for the approval that sits in high places, the sort of places that serve as apparent gatekeepers of culture: The New Yorker, The New York Review of Books, and, sadly, Oprah.

Last week I almost reached the conclusion to forgo any writing that was not solely directed at a Christian audience. This not because I was suppressing my idolatry, but because I felt I was wasting my time writing to anyone else. How many folks, really, do we need commenting on Al Gore, Harry Reid, Charles Schumer, Sean Hannity and sundry other absurdities? Need I analyze George W. Bush's language when others are not only more qualified than I, they are more astute and even more passionate than I could ever be? Or IS this sort of stuff my passion?

But the theme of my many questions is the search for obedience. My musings need not solely circle around the idol of fame or approval, for there are many idols to which Christians give undue obeisance. There is, for certain, the idol of intelligence, of wits, to which I am particularly vulnerable; at its very worst, I fall servant to the idol that proves I am not as dumb (or mean) as those Christians over there. It is a nasty idol to serve. But how, really, do I obey God here? Simply by not tipping my head or genuflecting when my idols pass nearby? And is it at all beneficial to the Church, to the called faithful, that I spend anytime wrestling with matters where any victory will neither edify nor inform?

I wonder too much, perhaps. Yet I am reminded of the very lucid and simple exhortation given by St. Paul: Whatever you do, do it heartily unto the Lord.

Lord, how I try.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.