The Lord said to Moses, “Go up this mountain of the Abarim range, and see the land that I have given to the Israelites. When you have seen it, you also shall be gathered to your people, as your brother Aaron was”
God is telling Moses that after all his efforts, his facing Pharoah, the plagues, the crossing the Red Sea, the years in the wilderness, the appealing to God on behalf of the whiny Israelites – after all of that, he will die before he enters the promised land. That must have felt like a huge slap in the face, or failure. If anyone deserved to enter the promised land, I can imagine Moses felt like he did. I sure would. What an epic fail. And yet, he persisted.
This morning’s reflection is written by Archbishop Desmond Tutu and his daughter, a priest Mpho Tutu, in the wonderful book, Made for Goodness. In it, they reflect on failure as a blessing. Failure as the point when we can no longer rely on our illusion of self-made person, of self-reliance, of good fortune, of the right kind of prayers. We live in and build up a false construct of goodness, of why good things happen. And when that finally comes crumbling down, we realize we were not to be credited with all things good, and that we cannot fix things. As the Tutus write, “When pride in our skill or good fortune has taken hold of us, failure may knock us to our knees and bring us to our senses”. Yes. Yes. Yes.
No matter how efficient, smart, effective, or wise I am, I cannot solve my current dilemmas. My loved one will remail sick their whole life, and I cannot do anything about it. While I don’t feel like I did something to cause their illness, it is definitely humbling to realize I can’t do anything to fix them. I am, in fact brought to my knees.
Acknowledging that, however is a long way from facing failure with joy. I understand failure returns a bit of humility and acknowledgment that I, on my own, cannot put everything right. And I still don’t like failure. I don’t like that sense when it feels like my carefully constructed towers are toppling, and I reach out to stop them, but cannot.
This morning, I’m thinking about the towers I’m building, and anticipating the day when they topple. I’m wondering if there’s any way to stop the building, before the super-tall tower is brought low. I’m wondering about the things that are currently or about to topple, and how I can use that as an opportunity to create space for God to enter the equation.
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