Hypocrite, Thy Name is Laura

There are few things that raise people’s hackles like a hypocrite.  Just mention the word and you can almost see their brain begin to pace over familiar territory, not unlike the angry, yowling cat who frequents our side porch.  And it’s because every. single. person. has a story about being hurt or judged by someone in the “H” category.  Honestly, it is why I typically avoid calling myself a Christian.  In many minds, the word “Christian” or “church” is synonymous with hypocrisy.  There is no excuse for it.  Unfortunately, these institutions comprised of broken, imperfect individuals have a reputation for isolating similar people who aren’t “good enough,” ones who haven’t crammed themselves into the small box of what is acceptable to that particular congregation.  It makes my blood boil to identify with that nonsense, so I don’t.  For the record, Jesus didn’t either.

We can pare this issue down to honesty.  If we were forthright about our struggles, it would leave no room for hypocrisy.  We would know each other too well.  It’s like when I offhandedly messaged a couple of my girl friends to say I would be up for a hike on our weekend away together.  And they were all, “Um, what??  Who is this talking?  Where’s Laura?”  My hatred of exercise and the great outdoors precedes me.  But this intimacy is exactly what I’m talking about.  If we came to that point of openness in our churches, we could easily tear off each other’s masks before we got too comfortable wearing them.

Me fake hiking (image by Jessica Grimes Photography).  In other pictures, Jess photoshopped a beard on me to add realism.

I pacify myself with this: I am WAY too blunt and honest about life to be a hypocrite.  Or at least that is what David is always telling me….minus the hypocrite part.  He’s more, “You don’t have to share everything with everyone all the time….and also stop drinking coffee before bedtime.”  So ha, just when I thought I was safe from the “H” word, it snuck up on me...at book club.

Right, I am afflicted with what my girlfriend Aliceana calls C.H.A.O.S. (Yep, this applies in more ways than just one), which stands for “Can’t have anybody over syndrome.”  It’s the “My house has to look perfect for company” trap that many of us fall into.  Which becomes even more trappy when your ancient house normally looks like it is inhabited by 2 Lego loving boys, an 108 pound dog, and a book hoarder (In this case, looks are NOT deceiving).  Hospitality is not my gift you guys.  I will bring food, support, aid, wine to YOU, but unexpectedly show up at my house and all bets are off.  Which made it sort of weird when I volunteered to host a meeting of my book club at our home.

I don’t know how normal people prepare to host an event at their house, but for us it closely resembles that intense teenage scramble to correct bedlam before parents get back (I am *not* speaking from personal experience, Mom.  Steven, on the other hand, probably could).  Not that our house needs professional help or anything, it’s just that the little things start screaming louder when company approaches.  Like the refrigerator door handle, which apparently had only been used immediately after we all shoved our hands into a muddy hole.  Or the front porch, which had petrified cat vomit on it.  Or our wooden floor, which holds enough Bronx hair to build Elijah a nest where he could comfortably sleep.  It is hard to trump my laziness in almost any situation, but the desire to impress others won hands down this time.  On the day of book club, I ended up watching a good friend’s daughter at our house for a couple hours.  I *may* have been complaining about having to do a buttload of chores in preparation for the evening, leading to this conversation:

LeeAnn: I was just thinking, “Laura’s house always looks so nice and clean when I come over.”

Me:  Oh yeah, THIS (gesturing widely to the room around me) is a lie.

And there you have it.  My craving to please and impress others is greater than my desire to be real.  Yuck.  Unfortunately, that’s not it.

Hypocrite, part 2.  Um, I have this blog.  It started as a vehicle to share about our adoption and to connect with others in similar situations.  Then it morphed into a pump, blowing hot air directly into my already inflated ego.  When people compliment my writing, I try to demurely respond with a “Thank you” or “You are too sweet for saying that.”  When really my insides look like a scary Pac-Man mouth yelling in all caps, “TELL ME MOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!”  I want the attention.  I say that this blog is for my daughter, for the adoption, for Jesus.  But really, it is for ME.  Is this getting ugly enough for you?

Jesus had a little chat with me about this.  It started when I read this conversation between himself and his brothers, as recorded by John:

“It was near the time of Tabernacles, a feast observed annually by the Jews.  His brothers said, ‘Why don’t you leave here and go up to the Feast so your disciples can get a good look at the works you do?  No one who intends to be publicly known does everything behind the scenes.  If you’re serious about what you are doing, come out in the open and show the world.’  His brothers were pushing him like this because they didn’t believe in him either….But later, after his family had gone up to the Feast, he also went.  But he kept out of the way, careful not to draw attention to himself.”  --John 7:2-5,10 MSG

Family life in Jesus’ home HAD to be awkward, especially since he was perfect in every way.  His brothers were OVER hearing about their famous big brother.  So here they are, sarcastically telling Jesus to show off.  “If you’re such a big deal Jesus, why don’t you go do your miracle routine right in the middle of the festival?  That will convince everyone that you’re GOD.”  Historically, deity doesn’t respond well to taunting.  But Jesus doesn’t lightning bolt his siblings like Zeus or I would have, instead he waits until later and quietly makes his way to the feast.  The insults just rolled off of him.  He was confident about where his priorities stood, so He didn’t feel the need to prove anything or defend his abilities.  Jesus was singularly concerned about people coming to know his Father, period.

And it wasn’t The Jesus Show at the feast either, although He did eventually do some teaching there.  He was always 100% clear about his motivation, about directing people’s focus to the heart of the matter:  “So Jesus told them, ‘I’m not teaching my own ideas, but those of God who sent me….Those who present their own ideas are looking for praise for themselves, but those who seek to honor the One who sent them are good and genuine.’ " --John 7:16,18 NLT

Boom goes the dynamite.  If any person was deserving of praise, it was Jesus.  I mean, He was a rockstar.  All the power and fame would certainly have gone to MY head (Hello, Bruce Almighty!), but He constantly funneled that praise back to where it belongs.  He didn’t give into the human desire to showboat; He was quiet when the world was screaming at him to be loud.  And the twisting in my hypocritical guts got a little tighter.

I was pondering all this while stressing about how many people were NOT reading my last blog about anxiety (Yes, I recognize the irony).  As I perseverated over the disappointing reader plateau, I received 3 heartfelt responses about the posting.  The clarity was instant, like heaven sounded a gong right next to my eardrum.  The point isn’t big numbers, Laura.  It never was.  It is about God giving you an ability and then allowing you to use it to reach others.  If my words can touch just one person, if they bring Jesus alive to you differently than ever before, that is true success.  I’m tired of the emptiness found in mere ratings, likes, or views; that is the mask I’m taking off today.  So Hi, my name is Laura and I’m a recovering hypocrite.  I never set out to be a liar, it just happened.  But Jesus got me turned around and reminded me of my end goal.  I want to be quiet, so He can be loud through me.