This past autumn, I took a fairly gratuitous road-trip to go visit the college where I graduated. I didn't really care much about going to the reunion or even seeing my college for that matter; I really just wanted to see some Arkansas fall foliage (we don't get much in Dallas), do some hiking and camping, and visit a friend. I needed a really good excuse to get me out of work on one of the busiest weekends of the year for the valet company that I work for, and a 15th college reunion seemed a little more saleable than telling them I wanted to go frolicking in the woods for a weekend. The trees were pretty, the lakes and streams cold, and visiting my old college roommate was enlightening (more on that later), but I got more out of the reunion than anything.
At most reunions, the basic format is you sign in, get your name tag with the year you graduated, eat sugary snacks, drink alcohol (punch if at a "Christian" college), and mix and mingle with your proud fellow alumni. At younger reunions there might be dancing; at older ones people may sit around and talk about who died. However, at every reunion I've ever been a part of, the crux of nearly every conversation you hear will be each and every person trying to convince their peers that they have done something worthy with their life - that they have been a success in whatever way their peer group defines success. At MIT, it may be what you've invented; at an Ivy League, what you've done in the political world; at SMU or any prep school, how much you've partied or who you've gotten to know; at Wofford they'll want to know how much money you've made. Yes, I know - these conversations happen everywhere, but at a college reunion they're at the forefront of every discussion because, in theory, college is the place that prepared us to "do life". Our lives scream out for relevance; supposedly, college has prepared us to make our lives relevant. Therefore, in our ongoing quest to validate ourselves amongst our fellow humans and peer groups, reunions - without intentionally trying to do so - create an environment where an overwhelming pressure exists to convince others that we've "done life" well. We have unknowingly created rooms full of people wearing clothes that no longer fit, fake hairpieces, and plastic smiles who spend intense, stressful hours walking around introducing old friends to their 2nd or 3rd wives or husbands, while trying to convince each other their lives have been successful - that their lives have meant something. As I sat there, I couldn't help but wonder if the truth of the situation was deeper than the obvious -- that, perhaps, everyone's real desire is to somehow convince our self that our own life has been a success; that we've done life well and that our life has had meaning. We seek this at reunions by trying to artificially manipulate respect and compliments out of our peers for so sort of self-validation; trying unsuccessfully to fill our heart's cry of "tell me my life has had worth... tell me my life has meant something."
None of this surprised me. I think I understand the human nature pretty well. In our fallen state -- separated from God because of sin -- humans (whether saved or unsaved) inherently know that there is something wrong, something not quite right with us -- and we run around trying to get others to confirm that we are indeed ok, to try to fill this void with some sort of confirmation from others that we are quite all right in our current state. We long for someone to speak some sort of validation into the life we've lived to make us feel like we were indeed worthy of living life. Donald Miller breaks this whole idea down in his book "Searching for God Knows What", which is probably the best psycho-analysis of the human nature that I've ever read. I think everyone ought to read it.
Usually, the whole re-union experience doesn't bother me much. Almost anyone that knows me (ok, probably everyone that knows me) will tell you I don't do the artificially-created social experiences well, but I usually try to suck it up and play the game as long as I can. However, I can only handle so many "party laughs" and superficial conversations before I cave in -- which usually manifests itself into me leaving the party (unsociable), me separating from the group to go off and be by myself (socially awkward), or me intentionally injecting something "real" into the conversation that makes everyone uncomfortable (extremely socially awkward). I figured I would get through this one though -- I'd done reunions before and came out just fine, and after all, these were my peeps. But this one bothered me.
You see, I went to a college that would proudly advertise itself as the most Christiany of colleges: an extremely conservative, Church-of-Christer, wifer-for-lifer institution where everyone votes Republican and flies the American flag in front of their house. A bit of an exaggeration, but you get the point. There are many other colleges just like it with many different denominational ties that all advertise they are preparing their students for "God's kingdom". I met many nice people that night, and almost all of them wanted to tell me about their careers or professions, their families, and where they were staying in town for the weekend - which is very important in a small town where the university runs a top-notch hotel. The beauty of these encounters was that for perhaps the first time in my life, I didn't succumb to my usual act of frustratingly forcing uncomfortable topics into artificial conversations to create a socially awkward situation. I didn't have to. I simply answered their questions.
alumni: "What do you do?"
me: "You mean for employment?"
alumni: "um.. yeah"
me: "I'm a valet - I park cars for a living." Awkward pause. (Loser)
alumni: "um... oh, did you bring your family with you?"
me: "I'm single, 37, and never been married, I don't have family to bring." Another awkward pause (Real Loser)
alumni: "Oh! Well, there's nothing wrong with that! Plenty of our friends waited until their 30s to get married! There's still hope!" (party laugh)
Usually, the line of questioning broke here to some even more superficial banter, so most unfortunately, people usually didn't get to #3:
alumni: "Where are you staying for the weekend?"
me: "I'm sleeping in the back of my pick-up out in the parking lot behind the gym. I got a topper on back with tinted windows, and picked up two layers of shag carpet padding by dumpster-diving at a carpet outlet place, so I'm living pretty large this weekend!"
All this sounds funny, but it made me sad. I was sad because I pondered if living a good Christian life, if "doing life well" in the average Christian's eyes, has reached the point where we're labeled a success as long as we've nailed down a good job, raised a healthy family, and maybe gotten involved in a local church. We've basically defined a successful life in the same way our society has because it's easy, comfortable, and can be done on our own -- outside of an active, daily, loving relationship with the God of the universe. We're "practicing our religion" like crazy, but seem to have very little intimacy with the One we claim to worship. We love to have Him as a happy little add-on to our comfortable lives, but keep Him at arm's length away, because we realize how terrifying it might be for Him to be our all-consuming passion. In two hours of re-unioning at a renown "Christian" college, I was not once asked about my relationship with God, how I desire to love and serve Him, what that looks like for my life, or how I was going about making His love known to others. When we eventually reunion with God, there will be a party and a great banquet, and we won't have to try to force comments out of Him to make us feel like our lives meant something or that we "did life well". He'll be pretty honest, I think. Hopefully, we'll all receive "Well done, My good and faithful servant. Enter into your Master's rest." Somebody tell me my life means something....
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