Thoughts from a Hotel Elevator

The elevator doors closed and we started the slow climb to the fourth floor.  When’s the last time somebody bothered to point that out?  I thought to myself.  I thanked him.  He got off on the third floor . . . and like a lemming, I instinctively followed him out the door.  Only when the elevator doors closed behind me did I realize that I was on the wrong floor.  I turned,  pushed the button, and waited for the car to return.

After a few minutes, the doors slid open to reveal a family also on their way to the fourth floor.  I nodded hello, walked to the back of the car, turned around, and waited quietly for the rest of my upward journey.  “Be careful!” exclaimed one of the family members, “you don’t want to lean against those back doors. Sometimes, they open!”  I turned to see that there was, in fact, a second door in the elevator.  I had not been leaning against it, but I thanked her anyway. 

And so it went for the rest of the day: people issuing friendly warnings about this and that. I haven’t been in a city like this since I was a kid, I thought to myself. Everybody seems so . . . concerned.

Sometimes, it’s nice that people watch out for each other. But I must admit, after the fourth or fifth safety admonition that day, I grew weary of it. I am an adult, after all, and somehow I have managed to successfully navigate the first four and a half decades of my life. I have even cheated death more than once.  I do not require constant supervision.

Which brings me to some of the church people I’m sure you’ve met: always on the lookout for everybody else.  The occasional warning is welcome, particularly when it pertains to something of which you were genuinely unaware.  But nobody wants to be around the person who is forever pointing out this “danger” and that. 

“You’re not going to eat that, are you???”

“You know who actually wrote that hymn, don’t you? His theology was bad, and I don’t think you ought to be singing it.”

“You don’t let your kids watch those videos, do you?”

“How can you put a wreath on your door at Christmas time? You know that’s from the pagans, don’t you?”

“You have a cold? You eat ______________ (fill in the blank), don’t you?  Don’t worry. I have a special powder/liquid/nutrient bar that will make you as good as new. And if you really like it, you can become a distributor.” 

Nothing is quite as unwelcome as unsolicited advice. People–and some Christians in particular–fail to remember that you have to earn the right to get personal with other people. It reminds me of the rather humorous picture the wise man paints in Proverbs 21:

Better to dwell in a corner of a housetop, than in a house shared with a contentious woman.  (Proverbs 21:9)

It’s a Bible verse perfectly tailored to the introverts among us, who would rather be alone in an uncomfortable place than live with the pressure of people in a comfortable spot.  Fortunately, I happen to live with one of the world’s most gracious women, and I strive (not always successfully) to be equally gracious so that she doesn’t feel like moving up to the roof. 

Imagine how wonderful church potlucks would be if we all imagined the people we interact with escaping to the roof of the church to get away from our “advice.”  Imagine if we took to heart the advice that Jesus dispensed: “Or how can you say to your brother, 'Let me remove the speck from your eye'; and look, a plank is in your own eye?” (Matthew 7:4)

Imagine if we all just made more of an effort to be nice.  Imagine if we gave people the space to work out their own interaction with God, the space to live according to the dictates of their own consciences?  Then, when it came time to share something genuinely important–say, the gospel–we might find a much more willing audience.