The Extra That Plagues Us

In our adult Sunday School group this week, the opening discussion question was to describe a trait in one of your parents or grandparents that you admire and wish to emulate. The answers to the question dominated the discussion for the rest of our meeting. Across fourteen group members, there were two commonalities.

One was just how "other-centric" the previous two generations have been. They not only had a heart for others, they also had a mind for them. They planned service. They sought service, looking for opportunities in the likeliest of places instead of waiting until a need arose to respond. They prayed for and spoke about their love for their neighbors, both known and unknown.

The other characteristic that prevailed was a certain stoicism among them. They did what needed to be done. They worked long, hard hours for their families at work that wasn't fun or easy. They sacrificed. They endured. And through it all, they didn't complain. They faced the tasks and duties in front of them and saw them for what they were: necessary obstacles that would only be removed if they removed them themselves. Talking about their displeasure or discomfort was futile, and therefore absent.

After hearing all that everyone had to say, and recognizing the unscripted connections across our parents and grandparents, we sat back and asked what had become of us.

The group was full of individuals I would describe as wise, loving, passionate Christians. And yet nearly all of us agreed that we lacked the characteristics described. We are too quick to be frustrated, too ready to voice our complaints, and more often than not too self-focused to anticipate others' needs before they occur. What happened? What was in our way? Or more accurately, what was causing us to put ourselves in our own way so much?

The easy answer is technology, and primarily Facebook. Social media asks us to advertise ourselves, to brand ourselves and make our pictures, our vacations, our political views, and our parenting techniques front and center for the world to see. It's difficult to think of others when the opportunities to scream, "Look at me! Look at me! Like me! Agree with me!" dominate our day.

But it's not Facebook's fault. Not Twitter or Instagram's either. Those common whipping posts are merely tools of the time, used or misused according to the inclinations of the user. Facebook can be used to learn about the needs and desires of others, to celebrate and support their lives (or the virtual ones they are willing to offer). Twitter can be used to widen a worldview, to stay informed and challenged and growing and connected. If we are using them improperly, it is our own sickly hearts to blame.

So what are the causes? I don't know for sure. Too much money, probably. Too much leisure. Too many activities. Too many channels. Too many things to do and not enough of them really worth doing. We have more of everything, and we seem to be less personally satisfied and less altruistic. That should probably tell us something.

But I also believe that the two qualities described in our predecessors go hand in hand. With one comes the other. Whatever the root causes, when we are self-focused, we have more to complain about. The more we complain, the more we see and talk about and worry about ourselves. And then we're too busy cleaning up our own messes to be of any use to others.

Therein lies the solution, perhaps. Choose one quality, and the other will follow. If I commit to complaining less and stoically facing the day regardless of random odious tasks, perhaps I will shut up enough to listen to others, recognize their needs, and realize the opportunity for service and real joy. Or if I commit to seeking my neighbor's good and planning for ways to serve those in need, I will have realized that I really have little that's worth complaining about.

The extra that plagues us with the temptation to chase empty living isn't going anywhere. If we seek to matter in our homes and in our work, and matter in a way that causes us to be remembered decades later in a gathering of friends, we must purposefully follow in the memorable steps of those before us. They certainly made mistakes that we will wish to avoid as well. My glasses aren't permanently rose-colored. But they got these two qualities right. And we would do well to take notice.