Motives and Minivans

We have a minivan. I hate to admit it and have never been happy about it. With apologies to minivan lovers and a confession of my unhealthy attraction to cars, I have to say that I see minivans as nothing more than boring and utilitarian boxes of transport for middle America. Please don't take offense - it's just a matter of personal preference. My disdain for minivans, however, doesn't really have any bearing on what I want to share; it's just I find it impossible to say that I own one without adding that disclaimer. I'm sure it's rooted in some deep insecurity I have regarding other people's opinion of me.

But enough of that tangent - here's the story: One day I was standing behind the minivan, and the rear door was up. My wife, not aware that I was standing close to the van, reached up and pulled down the door to shut it. Now understand, she didn't pull it down slowly and gently; she yanked that boy down hard. I know this for a fact because she yanked it right down on my head. After several minutes of pain and incoherence, I came around and realized what happened. And when I came to my senses, I certainly did not accuse her of doing it on purpose. To the contrary, I assumed it was purely an accident and she did not intend to cause serious brain damage or death. Why was that my assumption? Because she is my wife, I love her, and I choose to trust her heart.

Assumptions are a powerful force, and many of the divisive conflicts I witness in the church occur simply because we decide to assume the worst. Christians too often refuse to give other believers the benefit of the doubt. Instead, we choose to believe that they intended to hurt us, they deliberately ignored us, they willfully excluded us, they purposely lied to us, and so on. Our inability to see the motives and hearts of others does not seem to keep us from making serious judgments, judgments that refuse to consider the possibility of unintentional misunderstandings or miscommunication. Believing our perceptions are infallible, we stubbornly hold to our feelings and judgments as absolutely accurate and justified.

Now I know that there are times when people do intend to hurt and destroy. I realize that when there is a history of hurtful behavior that is not confessed or changed, even though it has been confronted, a relationship of trust cannot be established. But let's get honest about life in the church - our quarrels and divisions usually do not fit into that category. More often than not, a small and insignificant event is perceived wrongly, the worst is assumed, and rather than dealing with it in a spirit of love and reconciliation, we become a prisoner of our inaccurate judgment. And once that judgment takes root, we look at everything through the lens of our misperception, turning every word and action of that person into some intentional slight and deepening the divide we created.

Do I realize how completely proud, arrogant, and sinful it is to assume that my perception of a conversation or event is completely without error? I am a broken human being, who is in the process of being restored by the grace of God. As such, I still carry a boatload of issues, problems, and baggage. I am given to miscommunication, mistakes, and unintentional stupidity. I am not God, my perceptions are not infallible, and I cannot see the heart or motives of others. As one who desperately needs the people in my life to extend the benefit of the doubt and the willingness to assume the best, it is only right and just that I offer that same grace to others.

When the prophet Samuel set out to anoint a new king of Israel (I Samuel 16), God pointedly reminded him not to be swayed by the outward appearance of others. While in the context of the passage that statement refers directly to the physical stature of an individual, I believe it reveals a truth that translates more broadly. What appears to be so, as I perceive it, can be deceptive. God alone knows and sees the heart, and accordingly is the only One qualified to pass judgment.

More than ever, I am convinced that most of the personal conflicts within the church flow out of the arrogant assumption that our perception of what others say, feel, or do is without error. Refusing to allow for the possibility that our perception might be distorted, we are unwilling to grant others the benefit of the doubt and choose, instead, to act out in judgment. As we walk down that path, misperceptions continue to pile on, pushing us to the relational breaking point. But humility calls us to a different path, a path that confesses we are not God, a path that admits our inability to perceive all things clearly. It asks us to trust the heart of others, assuming the best of our brothers and sisters for the sake of love and unity. It reminds us to extend the grace to those around us that we so desperately need ourselves.

Even when they smack us in the head with the door of a minivan.