When I look back over the soon-to-be forty-four years of my life, it sometimes feels like I’ve spent most of it running.
A lot of the time I’ve been running after things. I’ve spent a lot of time and energy running after things which, on the face of it, seem good, wholesome and even laudable: things like friendship, love, respect and truth. I’ve also run hard after qualifications, recognition, popularity, career success and financial security.
Most of these things aren’t bad in and of themselves; the trouble is, each of them can easily become an end in itself. So the quest for friendship can easily morph into an unhealthy dependency on others for validation; the search for love is easily misdirected into lust; even those who seek after something as noble as truth can end up building themselves into a prison of legalism and self-righteousness. And money, status, popularity and success can quickly become idols that are always just out of reach.
I say all this with some confidence, because I’ve tried running after most of these things. And, in the end, they’ve left me exhausted and disillusioned.
And so I look back and I ask myself what all the running has been for. And I wonder whether, perhaps, I haven’t been running towards things so much as running away from something.
Maybe, in running after qualifications and career success, I’ve been trying desperately to stay one step ahead of failure.
Perhaps, in running after respect and recognition, I’ve been running away from the fear of not measuring up.
The world – and sometimes even the church – bombards us with so many messages about what and how we should be. As a result, in our innermost being, in those secret places in our hearts, we’re filled with doubt and insecurity about whether we have what it takes, whether we’ll be as good as everyone else; whether, in the final analysis, we are enough.
And so we run.
I’ve come to the conclusion that what I’ve mainly been running from all these years is myself. Instead of accepting that this is who I am, this is who I was made to be, in all my weakness and imperfection, I’ve run and run and run and tried to attain something, some status or worth or value that would mean it’s all okay, I’m good enough because I’m the best, there’ll never be any risk of failure or disapproval.
To run this way is, of course, to run away from reality and towards a fantasy. It is to reject risk, uncertainty and vulnerability and to strive after an image of unassailable perfection.
Ultimately, to run this way is to reject life and choose death.
Here’s what I’m realising today: when I run away from myself, when I refuse to be still long enough to look at myself in the mirror and say “Here I am, this is me”, I’m refusing the truth. I’m reminded of Jesus’ words: “You shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free”. To refuse the truth is to refuse freedom.
There comes a point when each of us has to say: no more. No more running. No more striving. No more stretching and straining after idealised notions of invulnerability.
And I have a feeling that when we finally reach that point, when we lower our arms, step off the treadmill and allow ourselves to sink into an exhausted heap, we find that this is where the Father is waiting for us. Waiting with open arms to meet us in the truth of who we are.
And these are his words to us: “You are my beloved child, in whom I am well pleased”.
I’m tired. No more running. Father, here I am.
[ Image: Billy Wilson ]
