Level of “Real-ness” in Struggles and Joy

           We had just two days of intense workout for Principles of Body Composition, a popular boot camp of a class at my undergraduate. For many of us out-of-shape students (myself certainly included), it was a sweat-breaking, muscle-fatiguing, even nauseating experience. During class, our professor sat down and opened up the floor, anxious to hear, emotionally and physically, how people were feeling. I remember sitting sorely and categorizing the responses.

          One fellow out-of-shape raised his hand and just said, “It hurts. It really hurts.” He went on to talk about how, due to fatigue and soreness, it was a painful ordeal over the past 48 hours to climb in/out of bed, etc., and the diet was strict. There was never a mention of hope or resolve.

          One of the class’s few in-shape (and quite already-athletic) members raised his hand and smiled at the professor, saying, “It feels good to go in that gym and kick butt.”

          But there was one reply that pointed me out. Smiling, he said, “This morning I saw James walk up the front stairs to Schell Hall. I was far away, but I could tell it was a torturous task. I was cheering him on, thinking to myself, ‘We’re all in this together. We can do this.’”

          Now, if you were in my class, which reply would most inspire you to venture further into this challenging adventure of physical refining and lifestyle discipline?

          This came to mind, because as the Church, in the post-secular world, orients more ministerial philosophy around sincere community and more personal discipleship/evangelism happens in cyberspace, a somewhat strange question comes up in the mind of pastors and bloggers: How “real” should I be?

          How vulnerable should I be in my writing? How much should I let me people know about my doubts and struggles, if at all? 

          It’s a good question.

          Sidenote: I do want to point out that it’s more of a modern question, meant more for bigger churches and the blogosphere, where such life privatization is actually available. In smaller churches and close communities like ones I’ve served in, each life (struggles, joys, everything) was naturally, not voluntarily, an open book. All things pent-up eventually, and sometimes, unfortunately, found their way to the surface. It was also through that tight and seeming secret-free community that many lives were refined.

          The truth is, for good and bad reasons, being “real” gets an audience. I’ll give the bad news first.

          Why “being real” is bad: A soliloquy without a glimmer of hope or joy in the hands of a loving Sovereign God isn’t inspiration. It’s commiseration, and it can easily turn into a contest of who’s gone through the most and/or who’s sinned the most, counteracting the very relational and selfless effort that discipleship is meant to be. The Christian is called to a lifelong process of conquering their own sin, temptation and doubt, yet I’ve seen “real” blogs and books that don’t put any light at the end of the tunnel, and whose doubts and struggles may make their leadership and example questionable.

          Why “being real” is good: We serve a mission-field marred by the “prosperity gospel,” who’s seen the rise and scandalous fall of wealthy pastors with plastic smiles that drilled the idea of a direct correlation between faith and wealth. We just can’t tout the Christian lifestyle to involve material, relational or physical prosperity when it’s quite the opposite. This is why some Christians think that some pastors and bloggers that are only positive and happy in their communication are unhealthfully isolating themselves from real local problems or their own, when some people are desperately looking for an imitate-able example of how a Christian leader handles real problems.

          So, I guess it’s a balance. 

          Looking back to my Principles of Body Composition class, it wasn’t the despairing and fatigued classmate who inspired me to finish the course. Nor was it the un-phased jock. It was the friend who acknowledged the struggles of the class, but emphasized perseverance and community toward the common goal.

          Sounds really familiar.