“What do you think she’s afraid of?” We were sitting at Mario’s Mexican Restaurant discussing a mutual acquaintance. It took time and reflection to answer the question. I looked at the person’s behavior and then identified the fear that prompts it. Naturally, then, I began to wonder, “What am I afraid of?” How do my fears influence my behavior?
And I’ve located my chief fear, or at least a principal one. I’m not thinking of rational, normal fears. I am afraid of jumping off a three-story building, as any sane person would be. No, I’m looking at the irrational fears, buried deep in our psyches, that hinder us from being who we might be.
I am afraid of being an intruder. I fear being in a place where I am unwanted, where I don’t belong. It took time to unearth the fear, but there it is. I had to watch my behavior and work backwards. If someone is afraid of making a mistake, they may micromanage details. Or if someone is afraid of being overlooked, of not being noticed, they will insert themselves into situations in ways that attract attention — they unconsciously bend the focus of things to themselves, like a child saying “look at me.” But if your fear is being an intruder, as mine is, you shrink back from encounters. You are reluctant to remain where there is a possibility, however slight, that you do not belong. If you are in the presence of other people, you may leave too soon so as not to overstay your welcome.
When I was born, my parents were married to other people. I am the product of an extra-marital affair. It was a complicated, messy thing, especially for its time in the early 1960s. So I entered the world literally as an intruder, with no settled place to belong. I wonder if this identity seeped into me in my earliest years — years they say are the most formative for us. Please forgive my attempt here to psychologize myself. But identifying the origin of fears helps drain them of their power and mystery.
This fear of being an intruder can hinder my work as a pastor. It deprives others of the benefit of my presence and perspective. The only way I can think of to counter it is to meditate on 2 Timothy 1:6-7. “I remind you to rekindle the gift of God that is within you through the laying on of my hands; for God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.”
Re: “So I entered the world literally as an intruder, with no settled place to belong.”
Yes. And this might give you a natural affinity for existentialism, like I have.
I imagine you were a child of passion. It is a good thing, passion and to be a child of passion, even though frightening.
Deprivation stirs passion. Keep them waiting.
Thanks for this… I’ve always been afraid of passion to. It’s a good thought to see yourself as a child of passion. Peace to you.
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Pastors are intruders. Pastors intrude into other persons’ lives at such intimate levels that intrusion may be the only word for it. Sometimes, as at weddings and deaths, pastors are clearly the outsiders: needed, even wanted, but only for a while and never a part of the family. In rare instances pastors are permitted to become full fledged members of the community in which they serve, but more often they at best beloved strangers who came from somewhere and will go somewhere but are not of this place. Your childhood experience and deep may have helped you prepare for the ordained life better than some others who are unprepared for that reality. Speaking only for myself, it’s sometimes hard to remember that I am to bear the light of Christ with me as I intrude into the lives of others, and allow the light of Christ to accompany those who intrude into mine.
CP
‘beloved stranger’… thanks, Steven. Interesting how you see the positive side of the matter. Peace to you.