We had invaded territory belonging to
lions and leopards and cape buffaloes. The land belonged to them and we had to
play by their rules.
In the middle of nowhere in Kenya, Dave
and I and about forty other newcomers had just begun our six-week stay in part two of our orientation course, preparing to live and work in Africa. All of us
trainees had pitched our tents and a couple of the guys had dug a hole in the
ground for our latrine.
The sun would soon set—it always sets
around 6 p.m. on the equator—and we had to hurry to get oriented and settled because
it wasn’t safe for us to walk around after dark. The animals reigned over a
vast swath of earth after nightfall.
The orientation staff handed out
plastic containers about the size and shape of a coffee can. “This is your loo,”
Jenny said, “your chamber pot. Use it in your tent during the night and, in the
morning, empty it and clean it.”
The ramifications of being confined to
our tents at night rubbed us the wrong way. Using a chamber pot?!? You’ve gotta
be kidding!
We understood the rationale, and even
agreed with it—who wants to tangle with a lion or leopard?—but we were taken
aback when confronted with our need to change our way of doing things.
Dave and I didn’t have a vehicle. None
of the other trainees had a vehicle, either. Only the directors of our
orientation, Brian and Jenny, had one, a Toyota Land Cruiser. But the place
didn’t have any roads and Dave and I couldn’t have found our way back to
civilization even if we did have a car. Life felt a bit out of control.
We Americans are accustomed to having
control over much of our lives, day by day, hour by hour. We’ve lived lives
with abundant personal freedoms, making our own plans, and expecting to have
fun. As a result, when we have constrictions imposed upon us, it’s a shock. We protest
anything that interferes with the control we’ve always wielded.
That’s why, during our current coronavirus
pandemic, we chafe under our restricted movements. We mutter and complain about
following rules imposed upon us. Staying home is an irritation. We grumble
about missing birthday parties and Easter church services. We’re annoyed that
beaches and parks are closed. And some of us are really grumpy about missing
basketball and baseball seasons.
And, just like during our orientation
course, we understand the rationale, and even agree with it—who wants to come
down with the coronavirus?—but we’ve suddenly had to adjust our way of doing
things and to re-shape our expectations. We’ve had to give up control and
surrender it to something bigger than ourselves.
We experience that in our spiritual lives,
too. We’re trained, by both our culture and our churches, that our lives are
our own and we get to make plans, set the rules, choose the fun and when to
have it. Yes, even our churches too often give us the message that we humans
are in control, the masters of our own fate.
But wait. God’s best for us doesn’t
look like that. The Bible says that all things—that includes you and I—were created
through Him and for Him (Colossians 1:16).
And both the Old and New Testaments
teach us that our primary focus, the most important commandment given to us, is
this: “Love the Lord your God with all
your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength”
(Deuteronomy 6:5, Mark 12:30).
That means we give God priority. We
give Him control. He calls the shots. We surrender to Someone bigger than
ourselves.
Henri Nouwen wrote about “an enormously
radical attitude toward life.”
He said such a life “is trusting that
something will happen to us that is far beyond our own imaginings.
“It is giving up control over our
future and letting God define our life. . . .
“The spiritual life is a life in which
we wait, actively present in the moment, expecting that new things will happen
to us, new things that are far beyond our own imagination or prediction.
“That, indeed, is a very radical stance
toward life in a world preoccupied with control.” (The Path of Waiting, Henri
Nouwen)
Yes, our world, and our individual and
collective lives are preoccupied with control.
Looking back now, I recognize that in being
confined to our tent at night in the wilds of Kenya, and in having neither a
vehicle nor roads, God was offering us a lesson, a learning opportunity: Experiencing
new circumstances in which we must give up control can teach us how, on a
deeper level, to give up appropriate control to God.
And I see now that in the restrictions
placed upon us during the coronavirus pandemic, God is offering us another learning
opportunity: Experiencing this unfamiliar stay-at-home lifestyle and letting go
of many things we used to control can teach us how, on a deeper level, to give
up appropriate control to God.
That’s what Nouwen meant when he wrote of
“a very radical stance toward life
in a world preoccupied with control.”
That’s what he meant about
“giving up control over our future
and letting God define our life.”
God offers us ways to practice
surrendering to something bigger than
ourselves—
surrendering to Him.
Each lesson we learn offers us
opportunities
to give more and more control to Him,
trusting Him and loving Him with all our
hearts,
souls, minds, and strength.
(Mark 12:30)
