Temptation # 8

Some people don't like to identify with a popular person because they are ashamed of something about that person: some feature or past behavior that has social or moral repercussions. Others feel that identifying closely with a public figure will cause them to lose their individuality. They may be seen as an extension of someone else and their own uniqueness is lost: they will be evaluated by their connection to that individual. Even the way they are approached often is in reference to the other.

That happened to me once in a most frustrating way. I took a job where a relative worked--a relative who was as different from me as night can be from day. He had a rather bawdy sense of humor and I was often approached by people who intruded into my sensibilities with vulgar language and dirty jokes: neither of which I appreciated but that my relative liked. Clearly, I was not seen as an individual in my own right because no one took the time to find out who I was on my own. I hated it. Who I was on the inside never seemed to be able to see the light of day. My relationship to this prized relative was what was valuable about me, not who I was as a person. I ended up feeling the shame of contagion: I didn't want to be associated with him in any way.

There are few feelings worse than shame. Webster defines shame as "a painful emotion caused by consciousness of guilt, shortcoming, or impropriety" or "the condition of humiliating disgrace or disrepute." (Webster, 1988). Jesus knew that shame of association would be a great temptation for His disciples. Jesus was viewed by some as a maverick teacher. By others, a wretched, poor, uneducated charlatan. The political machine of the day saw Him as some sort of criminal revolutionary who threatened the status quo. After Jesus' ascension the disciples became moving targets for the derision of others, often having their homes plundered and losing all their earthly goods for the sake of connection with Jesus.

If the disciples wanted to distance themselves from Jesus, shame would probably be the reason. Shame leads to distance, and distance from Jesus always leads to disaster. Pray that you enter not into temptation, Jesus instructed. Shame would interrupt the ties of loyalty and compromise the cohesiveness of the disciples who tried to carry on the Kingdom of God. In a word, shame destroys.

There is an ongoing debate in Gestalt therapy about the reality of shame. Some theorists believe that it is an emotion all its own, while others believe that shame is part of something larger: self-conscious emotions. Whatever the case, Gestaltists agree that when therapy clients reveal facts about themselves for which they feel shame, inevitably, they lose contact with the individual with whom they are speaking. They may jiggle their feet, or seem frozen in their seat. They may leave the room or begin to cry. But most often, they look down and away from the therapist--the person who they hope can help them. By looking away they shut themselves in a world of catastrophizing and begin to surmise that the therapist thinks the worst of them: I know she thinks I'm scum now. He'll think I'm a criminal now. I'm really sick and she's going to talk to me like I'm beyond hope. As anxiety rises, the tendency to maintain eye gaze diminishes until the client is in an isolated world all their own--a world that feels more hostile and less hopeful by the second. Soon, the only way to feel better seems to run from the person who is waiting. So one cuts and runs, or finds some excuse to wriggle away from the other, either by acting defensively or trying to hide. This is what shame does to a person.

I felt this way once with a therapist. I don't remember what personal flaw I had confessed to, but I found myself wishing that I could shrink into a piece of lint and disappear into the couch. I felt an odd shakiness in my chest and my shoulders become tense. I sat, waiting for the moment of truth when he would tell me how horrible I truly was.

"How are you feeling right now, now that you've told me this about yourself?"
"Hideous."
Long pause.
"What do you think I feel about you now?"
Uh-oh, there it is. He wants me to be the one who points out how disgusting I am so he doesn't have to tell me.
But as I took a few moments and thought about it, I couldn't imagine what he might think. "I don't know."
Long pause.
"Would you like to look at me and see what I think?"
Perish the thought: he'd see me even more or something if I looked at him.
"Not really."
Very long silence.
The longer I sat looking inward, the worse I was beginning to feel. It also seemed that he wasn't going to press me, only wait for me.

I looked. When I saw his face, I didn't know why I hadn't looked before. Shame cannot exist in that warm sort of kindly eye contact. He knew, he understood, he liked me still. He liked me very much. I felt regret over my revelation, but not shame.

It seems that when we feel shame about being Christians--being mocked for our focus on the value of people rather than on material possessions, or because we adhere to certain moral standards rather than being popular, or whatever it may be that causes us to feel chagrin--that what we need is to st0p and look right into the face of Jesus. Shame cannot exist there. It is that look of inexpressible love for us that makes us forget everything else and rush forward to wherever He calls, just to be near Him.

Turn your eyes upon Jesus

Look full in His wonderful face.

And the things of earth will grow strangely dim

In the light of His glory and grace.

(Helen Howarth Lemmel)