Learning to Be Alive--May 20, 2020
“Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children, and living in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us in love, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.” (Ephesians 5:1-2)
There are two kinds of imitation in this life, really. There is a sort of false, slimy-feeling, deceptive kind of imitation, where someone or something pretends to be what they are not in order to fool you. And on the other hand, there is an honest, humble, learning kind of imitation, where someone is earnestly seeking to become something they are not yet, but which they will eventually be.
In the first category of imitation products go things like spray-cheese, cheap faux-wood-grain molded plastic trim in unnatural colors, and unconvincing cheap hairpieces and the like. These things are cleverly and clearly packaged to make you think they are something they will never be. Spray cheese is just not cheese. It's just not. Fool's gold ain't the 14K real McCoy, either. This kind of imitation can never be truthful, because it always carries with it a vibe that it has to hide some of the truth from you and mask itself as something else, rather than owning what it really is. And therefore, when you run into a product like that, you can’t help but feel somehow kind of icky (yes, I just said “icky,” but there’s no other good word for the repugnance it brings up, and the feeling of someone trying to fool you). You feel like you are being sold a line, and also a little insulted that someone thought you could be so easily duped.
There are times when each of us live in this state of denial, too, pretending to be things we are not and always coming across as door-to-door salesmen or robocall messages peddling a fake version of themselves. They always seem like they are trying to convince you of things about them—they project the appearance that they have it all together (“Just look at my new car, after all—that proves my life is going well!”) or that they have everything figured out by making themselves sound like the expert on everything. Maybe we all fall into this pattern from time to time. Maybe we are all in the camp of being fake people, imitation-spray-cheese-humans convincing others we are something other than we really are, from time to time. But you know what it’s like, don’t you, to run across someone who just doesn’t seem comfortable in their own skin because they seem to be spending as much energy and effort trying to put on someone else’s skin rather than learning to live in their own lives? And maybe this is just a personal quirk or peeve of mine, but nothing quite so poisons a relationship in my experience, of whatever sort from casual acquaintances to work colleagues to supposedly close friendships, like being lied to, and badly, at that. This kind of imitation is bad news all around. When we play that sort of imitation game, we are always going to lose--not just the game, but ourselves.
Well, guess which kind Paul intends for us? When he says, “Be imitators of God,” it isn’t with the sulfur-smelling deception of the serpent in Eden who says, “Eat this, and you will be like God.” He says it like an older brother telling us younger siblings about learning to be like our Father. He says it like someone who has tried walking around in Jesus’ big shoes and is learning how to wear them himself—and wants us to try it, too. He says it like someone who sees what we can become, and wants to let us be made into living reflections of Christ.
It’s not about fooling anybody or pretending to be something we are not in a deceptive, tricky way. It’s about learning to become who we are—children of God growing in to who we are meant to be.
“Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children, and living in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us in love, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.” (Ephesians 5:1-2)
There are two kinds of imitation in this life, really. There is a sort of false, slimy-feeling, deceptive kind of imitation, where someone or something pretends to be what they are not in order to fool you. And on the other hand, there is an honest, humble, learning kind of imitation, where someone is earnestly seeking to become something they are not yet, but which they will eventually be.
In the first category of imitation products go things like spray-cheese, cheap faux-wood-grain molded plastic trim in unnatural colors, and unconvincing cheap hairpieces and the like. These things are cleverly and clearly packaged to make you think they are something they will never be. Spray cheese is just not cheese. It's just not. Fool's gold ain't the 14K real McCoy, either. This kind of imitation can never be truthful, because it always carries with it a vibe that it has to hide some of the truth from you and mask itself as something else, rather than owning what it really is. And therefore, when you run into a product like that, you can’t help but feel somehow kind of icky (yes, I just said “icky,” but there’s no other good word for the repugnance it brings up, and the feeling of someone trying to fool you). You feel like you are being sold a line, and also a little insulted that someone thought you could be so easily duped.
There are times when each of us live in this state of denial, too, pretending to be things we are not and always coming across as door-to-door salesmen or robocall messages peddling a fake version of themselves. They always seem like they are trying to convince you of things about them—they project the appearance that they have it all together (“Just look at my new car, after all—that proves my life is going well!”) or that they have everything figured out by making themselves sound like the expert on everything. Maybe we all fall into this pattern from time to time. Maybe we are all in the camp of being fake people, imitation-spray-cheese-humans convincing others we are something other than we really are, from time to time. But you know what it’s like, don’t you, to run across someone who just doesn’t seem comfortable in their own skin because they seem to be spending as much energy and effort trying to put on someone else’s skin rather than learning to live in their own lives? And maybe this is just a personal quirk or peeve of mine, but nothing quite so poisons a relationship in my experience, of whatever sort from casual acquaintances to work colleagues to supposedly close friendships, like being lied to, and badly, at that. This kind of imitation is bad news all around. When we play that sort of imitation game, we are always going to lose--not just the game, but ourselves.
But there is another kind of imitation that somehow rings true, if that makes sense. It’s the way young children learning new words parrot back what their parents say because they look up to them as examples of how to be human. It’s the way my son, even at eight years old, still takes my shoes, sitting there on the floor, and puts his own feet into them to try and walk around because he has seen that these are the kind of shoes grown-ups wear. It’s the way the young girl learning how to dance stands on her dad or her mom’s feet to learn where your steps are supposed to go in a waltz. It’s the way you catch yourself picking up mannerisms and habits from the friends and mentors you most deeply respect—not because you are insecure about how to handle yourself, but because they are just rubbing off on you.
These are forms of imitation that are really signs of becoming. They are moments in which we learn to be alive, which is the only way to really get through this life, since there isn't a manual with all the answers in the back.
When little kids dress up as grown-ups, it isn’t deceptive, like they think they are really fooling anybody into thinking they are police officers or doctors or superheroes. Rather, they are trying out the traits of bravery and strength and compassion that they have seen in grown-ups who wear those uniforms, in the hopes that they will become brave and strong and compassionate themselves as they mature. When you catch yourself saying something and then think to yourself, “I picked up that phrase from so-and-so…” it’s not a sign of being a liar who pretends to be someone else—it is a sign that your friend or colleague is affecting the kind of person you are becoming. This kind of imitation isn’t about trying to fool anybody, not any more than a seedling is trying to fool you by looking like a little version of the great sturdy oak it will one day be—it is about growing into maturity. This kind of imitation is good news.
Well, guess which kind Paul intends for us? When he says, “Be imitators of God,” it isn’t with the sulfur-smelling deception of the serpent in Eden who says, “Eat this, and you will be like God.” He says it like an older brother telling us younger siblings about learning to be like our Father. He says it like someone who has tried walking around in Jesus’ big shoes and is learning how to wear them himself—and wants us to try it, too. He says it like someone who sees what we can become, and wants to let us be made into living reflections of Christ.
It’s not about fooling anybody or pretending to be something we are not in a deceptive, tricky way. It’s about learning to become who we are—children of God growing in to who we are meant to be.
Our whole lives of faith are really the ongoing practice of people who are learning to be fully alive. We learn it by seeing what Jesus does, and by stepping in his footsteps. We see it in the lived examples of others who somehow just seem to "get it" and show us the face of Christ in their own lives. We step into the life that is already ours as a gift. That's the beauty of this kind of imitation--it's not trying to fool God, or persuade God that we're good enough to "get in" to heaven; it's growing into the grown-up shoes that are ours already to wear when we are ready for them. It's becoming more fully alive, like children maturing into adulthood by copying what they see in other adults. In other words, it is all a gift of grace.
And the key, Ephesians says, is love--if you want a guess for how to start learning to be more fully alive, spend your life doing good for others around you. That is to say, love them. Love others the way Jesus loved them--not with the fear that if you don't do enough you won't get a passing grade, but more with the sense that love is what we are growing into. So the question for today, and maybe every day after that, is something like, "How can I practice getting better at loving people today? Where are there places I struggle, or people I struggle to love, and how can I get more experience doing good to people who really rub me the wrong way, or who I have a hard time sympathizing with, or who can't do anything for me in return?" That's where we start today, because that's part of what it looks like to learn to be fully alive in Christ.
Let's get to it.
Lord Jesus, let us become more and more like you today in ways that are honest and real and true.
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