I am often struck by the amazing feats of idiocy that I am capable of achieving.
This game begins with me spending time with friends and enjoying myself immensely. Often this includes making a complete idiot of myself, much to everyone's enjoyment. But then I go home. "What did people think of me?" I wonder. "Did I really do that? They must think I'm an idiot.
"I wonder if they really liked having me around or if they were just being nice to me. What if I offended somebody and I didn't notice? What if I was being annoying and everyone was just too polite to say anything? Come to to think of it, I found myself pretty annoying. If I think I was annoying, what must everyone else have thought?"
At this point in the game it is very important not to start thinking too deeply. If this happens I might remember that God loves me. This in itself isn't too bad, because I can have a good whine to God about how horrible I am and how nobody else loves me. What I really must avoid is remembering that God asks me to trust him. If I stopped to think for a minute, I might remember that Christ told us to love one another regardless of whether they loved us back or not. I might realise that my thinking is completely wrong and that I'm not trusting God with my relationships.
If I play the game well, however, I will still be wondering next time I see my friends. I start asking questions to myself like "Why did my friend sit next to her and not next to me? Someone just yawned, does that mean they think I'm boring? Why doesn't anybody want any of my olive and marshmallow slice?"
Once again, it's very important not to start thinking too much. I might start thinking things like "Well, it's rather difficult for people to sit next to me when I'm next to the wall and the other seat is taken." or "Perhaps my friend is yawning because people often do that at 4:00am." Or worse, I could really blow the game out of the water by thinking "Perhaps people don't really spend 24 hours a day forming opinions about me."
If I don't think too hard though, I can snuggle up with my warm and fluffy self-pity. It's very huggable and cuddly. I huddle in my room and have a good sulk about how horribly lonely I am. I hold my self-pity tight and make myself a cosy little nest. Much easier to stay here than go out and face the big, bad world where people might not like me.
Soon enough though, I'm forced to interact with people. I may even get lonely enough to seek other people's company. But my behaviour has changed slightly. I begin to try to impress people. Surely, if people admire me then they'll have to like me.
But something isn't right. People seem uncomfortable around me. It must have been those things I said that weren't incredibly witty and clever. Mental note: 'Do not say anything that is not witty and clever.' Oh well, at least my self-pity is warm and cuddly…
The game can continue indefinitely. Of course one must be careful about not thinking too hard, but this is easily avoided. More dangerous is momentarily forgetting about impressing people, and getting caught enjoying myself.
This game begins with a well meaning pastor/minister/preacher-type person exhorting the congregation to "get involved in the life of the church."
"If you feel you have something that you can contribute," they say, "please let us know. We'd love to have you involved."
Hmmmm. Do I feel like I have something to contribute? That would be a bit arrogant of me wouldn't it? I mean, that would mean thinking that I'm good at something. No, no, no, I can't have people thinking I'm arrog…- I mean, I don't want to be proud because God brings down the haughty. I couldn't possibly be good enough to do, well, anything really.
Then a nasty little voice whispers to me. "It really doesn't take that much skill to hand out bulletins at the door does it?" But, but… (I cast about madly searching for a way out) but standing at the door requires that I be friendly and I'm an introvert. Introverts are no good at being friendly. Why, I might even scare people away. That wouldn't be serving God's kingdom now, would it?
If only I could play an instrument. Then I'd know that God had really given me a talent I can use for his glory. Yeah, I'd get on the music roster, and everyone would see me playing down the fron… I mean, I'd play my heart out for God, not caring who saw me or what people thought of me. I'd really be able to do something for God then.
The game can go on like this for some time. When it really gets interesting however, is when guilt shows up. "You're not really doing anything at all for God, are you," he whispers. "What sort of a christian are you? Everyone knows that your faith should be shown in your works. That guy James in the bible wrote a big spiel about it."
And so I hug my self-pity and sulk about how terribly un-gifted I am, and what a horrible christian I must be. I must be very careful not to think about how powerful God is though, or it might occur to me that God is big enough to use me in spite of my failings. I might also remember that if God wants me to do something, he'll surely grant me the abilities I need to do it. With skill and practice however, one can keep oneself from such thoughts and even begin to doubt whether God actually wants to use me for anything. And little by little, my self-pity grows even bigger than I am…
The game starts well. All good games do. It starts with my reading a verse of the bible; perhaps something like 1 John 2:4. The man who says 'I know him', but does not do what he commands is a liar, and the truth is not in him. Now, if I thought about this properly I should be challenged to make sure I do what Christ commands, and perhaps even be wary of teaching from those who don't do what he commands.
But I don't do either of these things. That would require self-examination and humility - two most horribly uncomfortable things. Why, I might actually have to take action on something. Oh no, it's much easier to direct my gaze upon my brother (or sister) in Christ. In particular that brother who I just don't seem to click with. It goes without saying that I love my brother in Christ most dearly. I know that it is my sacred duty to examine his life for error, that I might lift him up to the Lord in prayer.
At this point the game requires another player, so I find a friend who doesn't know my christian brother very well and I voice my concerns. "I'm concerned about our brother in Christ," I say. "My heart was troubled within me as I was meditating upon the word. I fear our dear brother may not be walking in the light."
Unfortunately, however, my friend stops to think (this is always a bad idea when playing games). "Hmmmm, I think you're right," says my friend (an excellent beginning), "Perhaps you should talk to our dear brother about it. He may be in need of a rebuke."
What?! This isn't playing the game. This isn't right at all. What my friend should have said is "Hmmmm, I think you're right. I've often wondered about our dear brother in Christ over there. In fact, I once heard…"
Wildly, I cast through my knowledge of scripture, searching for a way back into the game. I couldn't possibly talk to my dear brother about such a matter. Why, I'd run the risk of being wrong! Or worse, he might agree with me then ask me for help with his struggle. I'd end up having to spend time with this brother who makes me feel uncomfortable.
At last I see the way back in. "Would that be wise?" I say to my friend. "We must be careful not to judge. Only God knows all the circumstances involved here. And besides, we may be dealing with a spirit of rebellion. Did not Jesus say: 'Do not give dogs what is scared; do not throw your pearls to pigs. If you do, they may trample them under their feet, and then turn and tear you to pieces.' No, I feel that the most loving thing to do is to pray for our dear brother. We should pray that the Spirit would convict him and change his heart."
My friend agrees, obviously awed by my amazing knowlege of scripture and superior level of godly wisdom. The game continues until a dear brother or sister actually hears what I've said about them, and everybody feels hurt and ashamed.
I'm so very glad that other people don't play silly games like I do. Imagine, whole churches full of people playing games like me…