Being Human
The Latest Installment of The Walking Stick Journal
The Walking Stick Journal
Stepping Stones of Transformation
An Unfolding Manuscript
by
C. D. Baker
Chapter Nineteen: Being Human
We humans are made in the image of God; we are even united to him. Yet God also intended our earthly limitations through a purposeful design that even Jesus experienced.
How we relate to that design often defines the quality of our lives. Can we accept vulnerability? Are we ashamed of weakness? Do we strive to be superhuman? Do we recognize need? What of dependency?
Do we deny or do we embrace our humanity?
Do we even know what it means to be human?
The answers make a difference.
***
Summer-Fall 2022
I laugh out loud. What Bill says is so painfully true that I don’t know what else to do. “Well, you’re right...I really don’t know how to be human!”
Bill is also smiling. He folds his hands and then gets serious. “Unfortunately, you have a habit of rejecting your humanity. Actually, you cage it.”
I get that.
Bill crosses his ankles in front of himself, waiting.
Taking a long breath, I say, “If I were allowed to just be myself, it feels like I’d be rejected.”
“That’s a tragic comment.”
I wait.
“Did you ever wonder if God expects nothing from us beyond our humanness?”
His question intrigues me.
“God made you human and does not ask for more than that...or less.” He pauses. “I’m guessing you love it when your sons feel free to be who they are.”
“That’s true. I can see it in them. I hear it in their laughter.” I reflect for a moment. “But what does it mean to be human, anyway?”
Bill closes his eyes for a moment to think that through. “Your inner self has a strong sense of that. Trust what you’re feeling when worn out, or inadequate, or vulnerable. Also when you’re selfless and good, truthful and bold. That’s your humanness...”
“Well, my inner voice demands that I eliminate the limiting parts...”
“It’s demanding you to be something that you just cannot be.” Bill leans forward. “We’ve talked about that voice.”
“But it’s good to excel, to improve.” I click my pen. “Of course, guilt then comes into all of this. It feels like a sin to be less than perfect. After all, Jesus said...”
“We’re not talking about excelling. Or sin. We’re talking about you denying your true humanity...like expecting yourself to never fail, to not need help, or not need comfort...”
I grunt. “Like I’ve said before, I have no gauge for normal.”
Bill nods and draws a breath. “Isn’t Jesus the ultimate example of true humanity? He grew tired and frustrated in the midst of his strength and goodness. He experienced terrible dread as he anticipated the cross even with the knowledge of his resurrection.” His face tightens. “Do you think you are superior to Jesus?”
I feel my brows rise. What? “Of course not.”
“Are you sure?”
“Last week I was really nervous while waiting for blood test results. Ridiculous. So, no, I’m not better than Jesus.”
“I see. So why were you afraid?”
Sniffing a quick breath, I answered, “I had no control.”
“And you think you should have control.”
Here we go. “I guess so...” I hear my voice fall away.
“And so you think it was ridiculous to feel anxious about a blood test.”
I nod.
Bill sits back. “It’s not. Most people feel at least a little nervous, sometimes more. It’s human.”
“I hate the feeling.”
Bill scratches his jaw. “Like it or not, every human feels fear. But you deny yourself that part of your humanity.”
I shift in my seat.
“You try to eliminate the fear by trying to control the situation. You can’t. Instead, why not just share your fear with another...like Jesus did in his Gethsemane prayer.”
I wait.
“The answer to fear is comfort, not control. You—none of us—have control...but we are offered comfort.” Bill lets that settle.
I look at my notepad, unsure of what that looks like...or feels like.
“To be human includes needing others,” Bill says. “But someone told you that you were expected to be above that. You were supposed to be beyond vulnerability and even beyond need.”
He draws a deep breath. “I’ve said before that vulnerability is the human reality and it’s what helps us experience love. In the midst of it, we receive comfort from others and they from us.”
My chest feels suddenly tight and I blurt out, “Death is the ultimate vulnerability and I already feel ashamed of it. It will be my biggest failure...I have no control and it terrifies me.” Hearing myself say that troubles me. Some Christian I am.
Bill answers in a soft voice. “To be human is to die. There is no shame in it.” He uncrosses his ankles. “All of us fear death to some degree or another.” He pauses. “Give yourself some room to get used to all of this. Acknowledge that you struggle with fear and trust, and that there are very real reasons.”
I exhale.
“All this neurotic stuff sits in wait. That’s also part of our being human. We never eliminate all of those tendencies but we can begin to change them by first noticing them.”
For some reason I recall a moment on my rock. I had realized then that my reality is in the world of touch and grief and fear and laughter and loss and limitations. Maybe these are all things that help us experience our humanness. I’ve somehow tried to look past all of this as if I’m expected to exist outside of it all...
Bill summons my attention. “David, your humanity has been in place all along. It’s that abusive voice that’s been interfering.” He leans forward. “What if you turned toward a different voice?”
(Find earlier installments of The Walking Stick here)
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