Have you ever observed a skilled craftsman practice his trade? Someone like a woodworker who is highly experienced in his craft has worked for years as an apprentice and a journeyman to earn the title “master.”
Recently, as I sat in traffic on my commute home from work, I watched several drivers zipping down the shoulder to get ahead of other drivers as a red light turned green. Those of us who were patient and law-abiding had to wait a bit longer while these renegades incorporated themselves into the traffic ahead.
In addition to making me annoyed, that got me thinking. Why shouldn’t I do that too? What does it matter? I would arrive home a few minutes earlier and what are these poor saps going to do about it? Crash into me?
I continued that thread, answering my own questions. I don’t do the “right thing” behind the wheel because it’s the law and I’m afraid I’ll get a ticket, or because I’m a goody two-shoes, or even because I necessarily care what other drivers think about my actions. I do the right thing because as a driver I want to be the best I can be–even if it means driving a little slower, waiting a little longer, or showing a little more courtesy. This sounds a little lame, but bear with me here: when it comes to the “craft” of driving, I want to be a master.
As I pondered these things, I recalled something I read in the book Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality:
…I realized I was not alone in my surroundings. I’m not talking about ghosts or angels or anything; I’m talking about other people. As silly as it sounds, I realized … that other people had feelings and fears and that my interactions with them actually meant something, that I could make them happy or sad in the way that I associated with them. Not only could I make them happy or sad, but I was responsible for the way I interacted with them. I suddenly felt responsible. I was supposed to make them happy. I was not supposed to make them sad. (p. 9)
Donald Miller has neatly defined narcissism for us. At best, narcissism sees other people as means to an egocentric end. At worst, other people are simply obstacles to be overcome in achieving that end. It describes, I think, a great deal about the human condition. It explains why people do things the way they do: drive, serve, vote, worship, talk, consume goods, … on and on. Our human nature, left unchecked, demands that we look out for number one above all else, even if the result casts away the opportunity to make a positive impact on people. When we heed the tyranny of our ego, we become slaves to ourselves. Our knowledge of the elegant and gracious craft of humanity grows dim.
Moments later, I had broken free of the grinding traffic and cruised along the winding country roads that lead home. I continued to flesh out my new notion of the “craft of humanity.” What would a “master” in the craft of humanity look like? Naturally, my mind settled on the one I call “Master.” Jesus set the example for us as humans. He wandered the hills of Palestine, a perfect example of humanity, the likes of which Earth had not seen for thousands of years.
I am his apprentice, striving to match his example, taking instruction from him as he guides my hand at the chisel and the plane. Together we’re working on my life: shaping, cutting away, transforming the flaws into unique characteristics that exhibit the craftsmanship that only Jesus posesses for changing lives. He is, after all, the master carpenter.
So in the intervening time since this interior discourse, I’ve made an effort to follow Jesus’s example and be intentional in my relationships and impact people in a positive way. Even if it means simply waving another driver in front of me, it gives me an opportunity to humble myself and consider the needs, wants, and feelings of others. The result is sometimes surprising: people smile, wave, and even return the favor.
