What God Wants For Your Life

I said that Bernard’s metaphor of a reservoir conjures up images of a life with deep, living origins, a place to which others are drawn.

The difference between a canal and a reservoir is the nature of its source — or more to the point, the fact that it has a source.

The journey outward requires a journey inward.

Bernard is not talking about motivational categories here.  He is talking about insights into the Christian life that are as old as the Christian faith itself.

Jesus observed that the issue isn’t what is on the outside that makes the difference, but what is on the inside.  The interior life changes how we live, but the exterior changes are not the point.  We aren’t looking for a different result, we are looking for a different kind of life — one “hidden in Christ.”

Therein lies the attraction of reservoir-like lives.  In those who live out of a deep dependence upon God, we sense something extra-ordinary — born not of achievement, brilliance, or effort, but of a source beyond human resourcefulness.

I said that Bernard’s metaphor of a canal-like life suggests a fixed stream, without a living source, stagnant, and self-contained.

How does that happen in our lives?

Fear can strangle fresh vision and hope.  We can worry too much about shaping or mastering the future.  We can spend all our time safe-guarding what we have.

Scarcity — real or imagined — can lead to hoarding and we can strangle the natural sense of openness and generosity that accompanies the act of loving and giving to others.

Addiction can close our lives off to others.

There are also other physical and situational factors that can lead to stagnation.

But what is critical to note about most canal-like life is this: More often than not it is a choice to live like a canal.  Even in the face of true loss and grief, I have known people who were capable of choosing not to live that way.  They have convinced me it isn’t necessary or inevitable to be a canal.

Bernard of Clairvaux famously argued that Christians should be reservoirs, not canals.  The contrast is vivid and direct.

The one image suggests a fixed stream, without a living source, stagnant, and self-contained.  The other image conjures up images of a resource with deep, living origins, a place to which others are drawn.

I plan to reflect a bit on the spiritual implications of Bernard’s images, but for now, an invitation to ask yourself this:

In what ways is your life a canal?

In what ways is it a reservoir?

The more we become our best selves, the more we drop personas that we use to hide our true selves.  The more we are our true selves, the scarier life gets.  Why?  Because the personas — the projected selves we use are designed to protect ourselves — and as we shed them, we sense our vulnerability.

To some extent, personas are a necessary part of life.

Not everyone can be trusted with our true selves.  People who are scheming and manipulative can be counted on to take advantage of our vulnerability.

Other personas help us to identify ourselves to one another…the teacher, police officer, physician, nurse, and plumber (as well as hundreds of others) are known by their professional personas.  Those labels allow us to aid one another with confidence and reduces the time it takes to find the person trained to do certain kinds of work.

But there are times when personas can keep us from getting real. We hide behind them in order to insure that we are loved or respected.  The sad irony is that when we do we insure that we are never loved for who we are.

Then it’s time to get real and that is when becoming our best selves gets scary.

When it does, remember these things:

Getting real is the only way to give love and be loved.

The love we give and receive is grounded in God’s love.  It is not finally dependent on the love that other people have for us.

And on the other side of the scary stuff lies the freedom to live the life you were given to live.