"Illusions of Perfection"

Genesis 22: 1-14

June 26, 2011

Reverend Dr. David C. Brown
Pilgrim Congregational United Church of Christ
400 Glenwood Drive, Chattanooga, TN 37404

For months Americans have been transfixed by the tragic story of little Caylee Anthony. While few Americans doubt that Casey Anthony was involved in her child’s death, she must be presumed innocent until the verdict of her trial. What seems to fascinate us is the very real possibility that a mother would deliberately murder her own child. There is something uniquely revolting in the thought. Still, such crimes do happen from time to time. Parents do kill or attempt to kill their children.

Such moments remind us that despite all the pleasant myths, childhood can be a difficult, even painful, time for some of us. Thank God, childhood for most of us is purely wonderful. It’s a time of great love and acceptance with moments of wonder and joy. As a child we are led to believe that we are God’s special gift to the world and that there is nothing we cannot accomplish.

Then, at some unexpected moment, without warning, we stumble up against the first major obstacle in the path of life. It might be the death of a pet. It could be our rejection by a teacher or the deceit of a friend. It might simply be our own quiet realization that we will never be able to accomplish as much as some of our contemporaries. Whatever happens, it stuns us for a moment. It feels like tripping, falling, and skinning our knee. It is a moment of both hurt and humiliation. Though we promise ourselves to be more careful so that it doesn’t happen again, it does. Suddenly we realize that neither we nor the world are perfect.

The story which you heard read from Genesis a few moments ago is a stunning paradigm for this loss of innocence. Imagine Isaac’s thoughts as he reflected on what was happening to him there on the mountain of sacrifice. “This is not the way life is supposed to be. I should not have to be afraid of my father. How could my father be willing to sacrifice me? How could God demand such a sacrifice? I shouldn’t have had to go through any of this and then be troubled for the rest of my life by nightmares about this lunatic affair. This is not the way a child should be brought up.”

But that was the way life was for Isaac. His only option was to acknowledge that he had absolutely no control over his father, his God, or, perhaps, even his own behavior. In fact, Isaac’s only true choice was whether he would learn from what had happened to him. What were the lessons he needed to learn?

First, Isaac needed to learn that God does not always act the way we think God should. Is this a perfect world? Not if you and I were the architects! If I were God I would do away with childhood illness, senseless accidents, crippling poverty, murderous cruelty. In my world if people had to die, it would be at the end of ripe old age and in peaceful sleep. In my world, good would be rewarded and evil punished . . . right away! I would ensure there would be no wars, no persecutions, no holocausts, no inquisitions. I would be especially sure that no parent would ever sacrifice a child to religious folly.

O no, God is not perfect according to human logic. But only as we give up our childish notions of religion will we ever begin to comprehend the grandeur and the glory of the possibilities of human freedom and love that God has given us.

Isaac also needed to learn that his father, too, was not perfect. Abraham probably made all the mistakes that parents have made in every generation. He probably screamed at his son when he shouldn’t have. He probably wanted his son to do everything that he hadn’t been able to accomplish. Like all parents, I am sure he loved his son deeply but he didn’t always show that love fully or wisely.

He probably thought he did. If Isaac had ever confronted him about that day on Mt. Moriah Abraham might have said, “I did everything I could.  I did my best. At least, at the time, I thought I was doing the right thing.” Upon reflection, Abraham may have experienced deep remorse. What parent doesn’t? What parent has never reprimanded himself or herself for the harm we have done to our children, taking responsibility for the faults they may have, the bad habits they have developed, the failures they have suffered?

We remember the times we were angry and should have better controlled our feelings, our words, our actions. We were too strict when we should have been more lenient. There were moments when we should have set stricter boundaries and endured our children’s anger and recriminations. I have never met a parent who did not have such feelings of wanting to be a better, even a perfect, parent. And I have met few parents who did not carry around some of the same guilt I feel for being less than a perfect parent.

Every parent wants to do the right thing. We all want to be good role models for our children. But because we as parents love our children we are not cool, dispassionate caregivers. To love is to be filled with concern and concern brings anxiety and anxiety brings conflict. When we are conflicted, we cannot be neutral. We act out of passion and sometimes we may not do it just right, but, then, how could we know at the time?

I suspect that Isaac was like most children. He looked upon his father, Abraham, in the same way most children look upon God: all-knowing, all-powerful, all-loving. At that moment on Mt. Moriah, Isaac suddenly realized his father was fallible. That was a moment of wisdom. In a flash, Isaac realized that just as God is not perfect, neither was his father. Then again, neither were our parents, nor their parents before them. In fact, neither are we, nor will our children be. Whenever we figure that out, the enlightenment stings our eyes and tears may fall.

Then came the last and, perhaps, the most important lesson Isaac had to learn. He, too, was imperfect. After all, he had not put his own inner doubts into words to confront his father as they went to Mt. Moriah. What he did say suggests that he had more than a little inkling of what was about to happen. Why was he so passive?  Is self-doubt and recrimination only a product of the modern age or could Isaac have cursed himself for having been such a willing sacrifice? Isaac might well have wondered at his own timidity. Where were his guts, his sense of self-worth? Isn’t one of the fundamental rights of any teenager the right to let his parents know how upset he is by what they are doing to him?! How sad that some of us never exercised that right at the time we should have. I know I didn’t. I “went along” when I should have either been dragged along or gone my own way.

If we are to be mature, whole people we have to come sooner or later to accept that perfection is an illusion, in our own lives, in the lives of others, and in the life of the world. One of my favorite literary figures was the Eighteenth Century author and lexicographer, Dr. Samuel Johnson. Someone once reported to Dr. Johnson that a certain tizzy had finally come, as she put it, “to accept the universe.” “By God, Sir, she better,” rumbled Dr. Johnson. And, by God, Sir and Madam, so should we. We need to accept and forgive others, ourselves, even God for being imperfect. We need to allow ourselves and others to stumble, to start over again, to grow.

I’ll put in a religious “commercial” at this point. This is what the Christian Gospel is all about. If we think of ourselves as perfect people or if we expect perfection of others, we have given the lie to our Christian faith. In fact, we have committed the (so-called), “unpardonable sin” which is to believe that we have no sin at all. If we cherish that illusion of perfection for ourselves or others, we have isolated ourselves in a fantasy world of perpetual disappointment and judgmentalism. Thank God, most of us choose to live in Christian reality.

A wonderful psychotherapist wrote in his autobiography: “Several people love me. Many think highly of me. Were you to ask, they would tell you of my kindness, intelligence, generosity, empathy. And offer little by way of qualification other than that I am difficult to know.

Viewing myself, I see a different person, find no ground for love. Anxious, petty, self-centered, tormented, mean-spirited, weak. Too bad. I would have had it otherwise, would wish for the noble features others ascribe to me. But I know myself better than they, make reference to a range of thought and feeling, of motivation and behavior, unavailable to them. Even those closest to me can know but a fraction of what I know. I’ve really got the dirt on me.”

We all really do have the dirt on ourselves. That dirt we recognize so clearly on ourselves ought to be a clear sign that there is plenty of dirt in other lives as well. That recognized dirt simply means we need to forgive ourselves and others for sins and trespasses, for wrong-doing and  non-doing. What we do not need to forgive is the failure to be perfect. That was not part of the guarantee. We were not made that way or even, perhaps, intended by God to be that way.

There is a wonderful story by Rabbi Noah Ben Shea of Jacob the Baker. A young man, caught in an argument with himself came to see Jacob. “I want to believe in God but I don’t understand God,” he said “Neither do I,” said Jacob. “But, then God isn’t designed to fit into my mind. Each of us is from the hand of God. None of us is The Hand.”

 “Well, then,” said the young man,” “How can you have faith when you look at all the terrible things that have happened to innocent people?”

“Because there is great sadness in life does not mean God doesn’t exist. I choose hope over despair.”

“So you have no proof.”

“Most of us find what we are looking for,” said Jacob. He looked up and saw clouds circling inevitably toward rain.

“Walk with me for a while,” Jacob said to the young man, and they moved silently through the changing weather. Then, without explanation, Jacob stopped and told his companion to find a tree they could plant. “A tree?” asked the young man. “If we plant a tree here by the road, someone else will certainly come along and chop it down.”

“Very well,” said Jacob. “I will still plant the tree.”

“But what shall I do?” asked the young man.

“Oh you?” said Jacob, his mind acting as if it were already somewhere else. “You will find somebody to chop down the tree.”

Friends, our task as human beings, as Christian people is not to look for perfection in ourselves, in others, even God. It is one of life’s illusions that we must learn to abandon. Instead, we are called to plant trees of hope for a more decent and less shameful tomorrow. We can try to be a bit more kind to ourselves, to others, to our parents and children, to our clergy and churches, and all who are trying their best to be helpful to us within the limits of their human finitude. We can even try to be a little kinder to God for all that seems to go wrong in this imperfect world of ours which we call home.

We can all try to be more forgiving to those who fail us, not because they are imperfect, but because with their imperfection they have faltered and need encouragement to try again. The want to do better and so do we. That is why we come to this place week after week to hear the message of forgiveness and renewal. With God’s help and the support of one another maybe we can all do a little better the next time.

And that’s no illusion!