You Can’t Force It
One of my most frustrating periods of adolescence was the fall that I learned to drive a manual transmission. These memories are as clear to me as if they happened yesterday. I am not sure why that is. Maybe because it required as much patience as both my stepdad and I could muster. And the process seemed to be some kind of gestation where eventually a good driver would be born. We lived far out in the country on a long and winding dirt road. I approached our sessions with a mix of profound anxiety and sheer bliss, knowing that somehow, someway and someday there would come a moment of transformation where suddenly everything would click and I would be driving. Not the driving that had previously occurred- this was that kind of driving that can tend to make a parent regret having had children in the first place. We would begin nearly every time with me disengaging the clutch too quickly and the car would lurch forward with a dramatic jerk, a dust cloud would emerge and the engine would shut off. Then I would drop my head, take a deep breath perhaps cry a bit and then the same cycle would begin again. Eventually, I would manage to gently let out my left foot and we would make our way down the road with the car moving more like some kind of cruel Disneyland ride. I am not sure how many months my stepdad and I lived through this process and I don’t remember the exact moment when the finesse required became clear to me. But I do remember that the harder I tried the more difficult the task became. I mean the more I tried to impose what I thought were the right methods, the more frustrated I became. My natural inclination was to push the gas harder or work the stick shift with more strength. If I forced the clutch out or in too quickly, if I forced my right foot to hit the gas before the clutch was properly in its place, if I forced myself to figure it out before my hand and eyes and feet were in sync, everything fell apart. My mom was in the habit of saying things like, remember not to force it. But like many people, I have found “forcing it” to be easier…at least at first. Forcing it is something most of us do quite well. It is so much quicker. It requires less patience.
Just out of curiosity, I googled, this phrase, “you can’t force it.” There were thousands of hits, but the first few were, you can't force enlightenment on others, you can't force social cohesion, you can't force kids to love Shakespeare, and you can't force good grammar. Clearly we are generally exceptional at “forcing it.”
The reasons are myriad. We want instant gratification and immediate results. We can assemble things faster without reading the directions, force all the parts so they fit close enough and then pray that it all works and there are no parts leftover. Forcing it is one of those things that can seem like a good idea in the moment but then later it is clear that it would have been better to take one step at a time and arrive in one piece.
One of my favorite activities in Boston is to find that “forcing it” kind of driver. You know what I am talking about, right? It is that driver that cuts people off and takes short cuts around the block and raises their fists and arms and fingers and at anyone who will notice. This kind of driver rarely gets ahead and so I usually bet on the fact that we will both arrive at the red light around the same time, which is nearly always the case. But I have found that the other driver is usually in a much angrier state. You can’t force it. Or I guess it is more appropriate to say, you can force it but do you want to?
I often have to resist the temptation to force things in matters of faith. I know I am not alone. We want clarity and certainty and security. We want answers and we want them now. We want answers about what God has in mind for us, where God wants us to go and do and be. And we are certainly not alone. The first followers of Jesus were the same way. They were “forcing it” all over the place. They wanted to understand who Jesus was and what he thought God might have in mind for them. And so they pushed and pushed and pushed. But Jesus rarely gave answers. He often responded with more questions and much of the time he responded to their questions with stories. Can you imagine how frustrating that must have been? God sends them someone to point them back to God and he answers their questions with stories. In the Gospel of Matthew today, we meet Jesus sitting by the sea with crowds of people beginning to gather around him. Maybe because he was tired of crowds by then or because he simply wanted to enjoy the sea, he gets into his boat and leaves the gathered group on the shore. And oddly enough while he sits in his boat and the crowd rests in their lawn chairs on the beach, Jesus begins to tell a long parable. You can picture the crowd rolling their eyes and grabbing the kids and muttering to themselves, “well there he goes again, we’re not going to get any answers today.” “A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seeds fell on the path, and the birds came and ate them up. Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil. But when the sun rose, they were scorched; and since they had no root, they withered away. Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty.” And by this time we can guess that the crowd was tuned out because Jesus shouts, “Let anyone with ears listen!”
And Jesus tries again. He wants the group gathered to slow down and listen. He wants them to be willing to let go of categories and answers and clear cut lines and to be open to what God has in mind. Jesus doesn’t give them the answers they were hoping for because answers usually mean that there is little space for faith to grow. It is in those moments of unknown and frustration- those moments where we want so badly to push through and force our own way but we don’t, that God is able to work in us. We can’t force our faith.
Last fall I planted my lily bulb in the front yard behind the maple tree that Alma Bracket gave me. Most of the time we see these white lilies at Easter. But they only bloom in the spring because they are forced to, under controlled greenhouse conditions. They really bloom naturally in the summer. Mine is just beginning to open its white petaled eyes. I have checked on it in the rain and snow and when the days began to lengthen. For some reason it seems to me to be the most beautiful Easter lily I have ever seen. It journeyed along on its own and found life on a schedule known only to God.
Perhaps Jesus was trying to tell the gathered crowd not to force it. Maybe he wanted to tell them that there are rarely answers in life, just stories and experiences and hope and evidence of God in it all. Maybe he wanted to tell them that we can continue to do it our way, but there is another way and it is God’s way. Maybe he wanted to tell them that seeds can be planted anywhere but if we wait for the right spot, really good stuff will grow. Beautiful hearts and patient souls will grow and grow and grow. Maybe he wanted to tell them, to tell us, that if we are able to get out of our own way and let God work, this is when we will find fullness of life. Let it be. Amen.