While watching a favorite series, there was a scene where a cowboy in an Alzheimer’s care unit was agitated because he believed his horse had been stolen. Of course, his friend tried to assure him that the horse was still at home on his ranch. He tried everything to convince him. He showed him pictures and even took the horse to the care unit so the owner could look out the window and see him. But the Alzheimer’s patient refused to look out the window.
So in a funny scene the friend decided to take the horse up the elevator to the old man’s room in the nursing home. Since this was a TV show, the patient saw his horse and was full of joy. But we all know that in real life, an Alzheimer’s patient might look at his horse and still say it wasn’t his. How often does truth stare me in the face and, like this Alzheimer’s patient, I refuse to see it?
As a child, I was warned endlessly about guarding what I let my eyes see. It was an important part of growing up to learn to turn my face away from things that could harm me. But what about the flip side?
What if I, like the Alzheimer’s patient, have become so good at not letting anything suspicious in that I close my eyes to truth? What if I have quit seeking truth, thinking that in my mighty wisdom I already know it all? My heart controls what I accept, and when my heart sees harm in all new thoughts, I shut them off.
What if I not only need to guard what I let in, but also learn to open myself to things I shut off long ago? Maybe it is just as dangerous not to seek out points of view that differ from my own. Maybe I need to look with eyes of compassion and openness from a different vantage point; not from my own small, extremely comfortable prison cell.
There is comfort in the things I have always accepted to be true. And sometimes comfort is conceited. It thinks it has the corner on truth. Comfort says, “My way or the highway.” Comfort is small and builds high, impenetrable walls.
Comfort is deceptive in that it thinks it knows everything. Comfort tells you that everyone who doesn’t think like you do is an enemy. Comfort believes no truth but its own version is correct. Comfort tells you that it cares for you and is looking out for you.
But comfort can be a liar.
Much like the man who couldn’t accept that his horse was not stolen, I can block out my own joy by clinging to the comfortable position of thinking I know it all and am in control.
Luke 11:5–13 (NIV)
Then Jesus said to them, “Suppose you have a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves of bread; a friend of mine on a journey has come to me, and I have no food to offer him.’ And suppose the one inside answers, ‘Don’t bother me. The door is already locked, and my children and I are in bed. I can’t get up and give you anything.’ I tell you, even though he will not get up and give you the bread because of friendship, yet because of your shameless audacity he will surely get up and give you as much as you need.
“So I say to you: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks the door will be opened. “Which of you fathers, if your son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead? Or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”
In these verses, Jesus describes a person who has the shameless audacity to ask, seek and knock even when it appears to be inappropriate. They aren’t shy about their quest for truth. It does not describe someone who is content to live in comfortable thinking. It describes a follower who is relentlessly looking for truth. It describes someone who doesn’t think they already know it all. And this person will be rewarded by the Father with the guidance of the Holy Spirit.
Maybe I should ask, seek, and knock everyday of my life. Maybe it is time to keep my eyes wide open.
