the religion of Ought.

The child whose mother discovered him stealing candy from the store. The Varsity-captain teenage girl who got pregnant with her current boyfriend and cannot bear to tell her parents. The young man who panicked on the battlefield and gunned down an innocent civilian. The HIV-positive woman who digs through layers of street trash and filth in order to find a half-eaten sandwich because her community doesn’t want her to be around. The ex-Marine veteran who has been convicted of at least 5 counts of rape and aggravated assault who now faces his sentence. The devout husband whose wife of 30 years recently discovered his pornography collection. The wife whose husband just learned of her affair with another married man. The young woman in college who wakes up in someone else’s apartment in cold realization that she was date-raped. The young man sitting in the judicial affairs office because he accidentally killed his best friend while driving drunk last night.

“I shouldn’t have stolen. I ought not to have stolen.” ”I shouldn’t have slept with him. I should’ve waited.” ”I shouldn’t have harmed an innocent civilian.” ”I shouldn’t have committed those crimes. I ought to have obeyed the law.” ”I shouldn’t lie to my wife. I should have been honest with her.” ”I should’ve communicated with my husband. I shouldn’t have sought another man.” ”I  shouldn’t have hooked up with him. I ought to have gone home.” ”I shouldn’t have been driving. Now… he’s dead.”

The Religion of Ought:
Adherents: 6,709,993,152 (as of July 2008)
…in other words, everyone is a member.

You are a member if you keep secrets. You are a member if you ever utter the words “I should have…” or “I shouldn’t have…” You are a member if you ever think you OUGHT to have done or not done something. You are a member if guilt, regret, and shame resonates with decisions you have made in the past and are making right now. HERE’S THE CATCH: the members who are most involved in the religion of Ought don’t even realize that they are adherents. They are the ones who blatantly ignore the voices of should-have and shouldn’t-have. If that’s you, you are the religion of Ought’s biggest proponents!

Each time we make a choice, we have the opportunity to affirm or disengage our membership in the religion of Ought–or rather, the “should-have” mentality. But… as indicated above, everyone is haunted by shame in some way. Granted, our scenarios are uniquely ours; we all feel shame differently. The truth is, shame is ugly. Every time it rears its ugly head, we are reminded of our countless mistakes – decisions we wish we could take back, words we wish we never said. Shame is the entree on a plate of Failure. It is there to remind us that in some way, shape, or form, we have failed… if not someone else, we have failed ourselves.

I attended a research symposium gala over the summer in which the keynote speaker for the evening shared his experience as a medical missionary and public health educator in Uganda. Aged and seasoned with wisdom and experience, he recounted the social difficulties he encountered as a child growing up in the Boston slums: he and his brothers tied cardboard to their feet because their family did not have enough money for shoes. The speaker continued to tell us about his journey from adolescence to young adulthood, a time in his life where he abandoned all hope, aspiration, and faith — he was lost. During this moratorium, he felt the weight of failure pressing into him on all sides. It was useless, he’d think, to keep going… to keep living. Life was too harsh, too brutal; he had realized that everything and everyone would eventually disappoint.

It was deafeningly silent in the banquet hall at this point in the speaker’s address. Personally, I think it was because everyone could unilaterally agree with feelings of desperation, despondency, hopelessness, and defeat. We could all identify with the sound of failure; it is a well-known chorus to which everyone on Earth can sing.

Nevertheless, our venerated speaker continued. He spoke of a fork in the road–one path leading to death and the other, an upwards climb towards freedom. He rediscovered hope, and, after some time, he received his M.D. from Harvard University and married the love of his life. He used four words to encapsulate his decision to keep living. When spoken, these words reverberated all around the grand banquet hall:

“Let us fail forward.”

Failing forward. These two beautiful words sum up his entire address to the conference guests. All of those conference guests, including myself, are part of the religion of Ought. But by adhering to the mentality of “fail-forward,” we are taking one step away from the religion of Ought and one step closer to the religion of Grace.

Falling forward. A failure that encompasses a forwards direction leaves us with no options but to leave the religion of Ought and the “should-have” mentality. We are now accountable for our own destinies, our own paths… moreover, forward failing is almost always an uphill climb. Have you ever tripped UP the stairs? It’s more common to fall DOWN the stairs, but for those of you who have experienced the weirdness of tripping UP the stairs, you know what I mean. Even though you fell, you are still heading up the stairs.

I am so sick of the religion of Ought and its entrees of shame. The stairs I am trying to climb are sharp, jagged, long and endurance-trying. I am continuously bruised from the times I fall. But every time  I remember that I am falling and failing forwards, I have hope. Each step up is another step away from the bottom stair of shame.

Good riddance.

no doubting duty.

How are you sure this the right place? she asked, stepping timidly into the small building.  With a sweeping glance, I observed the light pink walls, Asian-themed sitting room complete with red pillows, various plants here and there and the cheery women behind the desk.  My eyes fell on the fancy coffeemaker and the generous basket of assorted creamers and teas sitting next to it.  The framed cover of Delaware Today featured a woman with a stethoscope around her neck – she was smiling at everyone from her spot on the wall.  I turned around and looked at her… Oh, we are most definitely at the right place.

I walked up to the front desk with her.  They handed her a packet of paperwork.  We found a place in the sitting room and began to complete the documents.  Nurses walked in and out of sight, clipboards in arms and smiles on their faces.  Norah Jones played softly in the background.  A nudge.  What does this one mean? she asked, pointing her finger at one of the many lines of questions in her packet.  They want to know what you believe in, I explained.  Tell them that you’re a Christian.  Oh, okay, she says.  The scribbles continue.  A little girl bounds into the sitting room, followed closely by her mother.  They both brought books.  Another nudge.  And this one?  What do they want? she asks again.  They want to know what kind of things have caused you anxiety and stress, I say.  Her brow furrows.  How do I even explain that?  I’ll just tell them, I’m not writing anymore, she says while getting up.

Jennifer? they call.  We look at one another quickly.  Her smile appears before mine does – she is much stronger than I.  I’ll be here, I say.  I watch them walk out of the sitting room.  Norah dissolves into Chopin’s Nocturne in C sharp minor, No.7.  And suddenly, I am alone with my thoughts.

I’m not afraid of the pain, she had said to me earlier that week; I can endure the pain.  My biggest fear is that he doesn’t know how to take care of me – and that he won’t.  I’m scared of being alone.  Her eyes suddenly focused on something very far away and she crossed her arms.  Suddenly, we are both transported back to that one day of summer a few years ago, when the burden became too much to bear.  Everything that she had shouldered came toppling down; every criticism that she had to deflect, every demand she had to fill.  The ambulance made it home quicker than I did that day; her heart rate had plummeted dangerously.  She called him while she was recovering in the hospital, weakened and scared; she did not know what was happening to her.  He was irritated, and wouldn’t come right away.  I’ll be there in a few hours, I have to finish some things at work.  She told me later that she was crushed; his work came first and that’s how it’s always been.  And that is her biggest fear – to be alone when she needed him the most.

As Chopin turned into Jardins sous la Pluie from Debussy’s Prelude Pour le Piano, I began to pray for strength.  Sometimes I hesitate to pray because I do not know what to say; life gets messier the more I get involved.  The words came – Lord I ask for strength, I ask for peace.  Make us brave.  We know that are in Your hands.  When I open my eyes, she’s standing by my side, that unwavering smile of strength on her face.  Well? I ask, unable to keep it down.

It’s not as bad as I thought it would be, she said.  Doctor is really nice, she is very good.  She was angry that I didn’t come earlier, the ultrasounds from a few months ago are outdated because they’ve gotten bigger, but how could I have come with everything going on?  My eyes expanded to the size of dinner plates – bigger?? I asked, raising my voice.  She shook her head and put her hand on her lower belly, towards her right hip bone.  They found the fibroid, it’s in a bad place.  They will need to take it out.  They found something else too.  Something else??? I asked, getting edgy.  They found a cyst, a really big one – she held her hand up and spread her thumb and index finger to show me – it’s too big.  They have to take that out too.  The whole thing?? I gulped.  She smiled again.  No, just the right one.  And the fibroids.  Only a few days recovery, not weeks and weeks, like I thought.  Only a few days, and I’ll be able to take care of myself after, no worries!  Oh, and these I do not understand, she said as she handed me a slip of paper with the surgical procedures scratched out by Doctor.  I read the note and digested the words on the paper.  Endometrial ablation, laparoscopic surgery, right oophorectomy.  I looked up at her.  God is so good to us, she remarks.  And with her coat in hand, she says, Let’s go home.

She calls me a few days later I moved in with Em.  They are scheduling me for the 4th, she says.  I know classes will start for you soon, and I don’t want to be–

“Mom,” I said, cutting her off before she could finish.  “I’m going to come home for you.”  There was silence on the other end; I knew that this time she would not protest.  “I’m going to come home and take care of you.  And Dad and Frank too.  Don’t worry, I’ll be there.   I’ll stay for as long as I can.”
“Okay,” she said softly.  “Okay, you come home… and take care of me.”

I stayed up watching Dust by Rob Bell with Ryan last night.  Rob talked about the duties of a rabbi’s disciples in the time of the Bible, and he related it to how Jesus picked the JV, the B-team, the Nobodies to be his disciples.  He said that the fact that Jesus chose his disciples proves that Jesus must have had faith in his disciples; Jesus must have believed that his disciples were capable of following in His footsteps.  He went on to say that as Christians, it’s not that we doubt what Jesus can do, but we doubt instead that we are capable of living out our lives the way Jesus lived, making the choices that he did and changing the world through things both big and small.  We forget that Jesus chose his disciples, his followers – he did not doubt that they (mere fishermen and tax collectors) were able to make the choices that he made.  As a matter of fact, Jesus believes in people so much, that he left the world to them with the charge: “go make more followers!”

Reflecting upon my own faith, I can recall many moments when I backed out of doing or saying something because I felt completely helpless.  I doubted my ability to make a difference, and I doubted my own humanity and capacity to love.  The thought of being accountable for someone I love frightens me, particularly since I have failed to do just that so many times in the past.  Doubt kills.  But Christ saves – if he believes in someone little like me so much to have commanded me to walk in his shoes and live likewise, then who am I to disbelieve that I’m capable of loving like He loves?

She wrote me an email this morning – her very first email.  In it, she says:
“I really enjoyed you being at home.  I can share so many things with you.  I thank God for giving me a sweet daughter who really cares about me and loves me.  Thank God for your strong faith and heart.  I learn so much from you.”

I guess she believes in me too.  Even though I feel incredibly small and can be plagued by doubt and fear of failure, Rob Bell is right – if Jesus had enough faith in us to begin with, we must be capable of doing something great with right motives.  In another week it’ll be her turn to receive, and it’ll be mine to give.  Sometimes I seriously doubt that I will be able to do it, to be held accountable to someone I love, but God doesn’t doubt it.  And to fill those shoes would be to do the duty of a disciple.

And that… is something that I wouldn’t miss for the world.