Lessons I Learned at Elementary School

About a month and a half ago I transferred to three new schools, including Shimono Elementary School.

My first day at the school, I spent a few minutes loitering in the entryway looking at the children’s artwork that was hanging on the wall. The right side of the entry way housed a large mural titled “Rainbow of Dreams.” Each student had been given a small colored tile to write his or her dream on. These tiles were then made into a mosaic of a rainbow.

Some of the tiles were comprised of the cute illegible scribbles of the first graders, but the rest were short phrases expressing the students dreams. Some of these dreams were what I though to be “typical” elementary school student dreams; “I want to open a ramen shop,” “I want to be a hair stylist,” “I want to be a baseball player.” Intermingled among these dreams were tiles that spoke deeply of the old-fashioned Japanese country-side culture that seemed to be alive and well amongst the pupils in my school; “I want to live a normal life,” “I want to stay healthy,” and even, “I want to get married off early.” These tiles surprised me because many of them seemed more like wishes to avoid ill fortune than desires for good things. As I stood there reflecting on the cultural implications of these tiles in regards to my role as a teacher, my eyes ran across one tile that left me in shock.

神様になりたいです。
I want to be God.

My gut reaction was something along the lines of “BLASPHEMY! How dare he write that!?!”

However, as I have observed the way that I have lived my life since I read the rainbow, I have noticed that this elementary school boy has only put to words what I have made a lifestyle: “I want to be God.”

What does wanting to be God look like? Pride. Haughty, self-centered, nasty pride.

I want to be the best teacher. I want to be the most beautiful. I want to be the best Japanese speaker. “I'm a good teacher. I’m beautiful. I’m better at Japanese than so and so. I am better than them. I am more capable than her…” And you are going to know it. You are going to know it from the stories I tell, from the way I walk, from the way I act in the classroom.

Seeing the condition of my heart, as it really is, is enough to make me want to throw up.

Pride is nasty. It refuses to attribute glory where it is due, but instead hoards it for itself. It’s like the postman taking credit for the Christmas presents that he delivers, and asking for a thank you card for the presents. It’s absolutely absurd because the gratitude for the present is due the one who shopped for it, purchased it, wrapped it, and sent it. In the same way (although I am far from being the best teacher, or the most beautiful) any teaching ability or beauty I possess is something that has been given to me. Desire for the glory and appreciation to focus on me rather than being passed on to the Creator and Sustainer of all things is like the post man standing at the door long after he has delivered the presents, declaring that the children’s Christmas joy is do to his greatness and benevolence. It’s utter ludicrous.

I also find myself being relentlessly self-critical. I want to be God, but I am not…I want people to love me… so I try to earn it with my competencies and abilities, rather than being open to being loved in my failures and weaknesses. I put on my goddess-mask each morning and ask those around me to love me because I am great.

The problem is that I am not great. I am self-absorbed, and trying to take the glory that is due to the one true God, the creator and sustainer of the universe, for myself. He, and He alone, is the provider of every good thing, and the true lover of my soul, even on those days when I forget my goddess-mask on the bed stand.

It is natural for God to be the recipient of glory, and zealous for his own glory, because there is no one greater than him to give it to, because he is the originator of all things. And yet we find that God, the one being who need not be, is humble.

In Philippians 2:3-8 we are admonished to
“do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others. In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus:
Who, being in very nature God,
did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage;
rather, he made himself nothing
by taking the very nature of a servant,
being made in human likeness.
And being found in appearance as a man,
he humbled himself
by becoming obedient to death—
even death on a cross!

If the God of the universe humbled himself, became a servant, and shed his own blood in a shameful, painful, public execution, all for the sake of us rebels, how much more should I humbled myself before my God and before my neighbors!

What does wanting to be God look like? It looks like trying to be the savior of the world.

In my desire to “be God” I have also developed a bit of a “Messiah complex.” I really really love those around me, and want to demonstrate this love in whatever way I can. I have a burden for my friends, my family, my students, my coworkers, my nation (America and Japan), my church, Tohoku and just about everything else.

This “messiah complex” can be seen clearly in my schedule book. I have something on the schedule starting at 6am and going through 10pm almost everyday of the week (which is the reason why it has taken me a month and a half to write this blog). And in the midst of my attempts to love those around me to the best of my ability, I have often found myself in tears. “I couldn’t call my friend today who I know needs encouragement… I promised that person I would pray for them, but I haven’t had the time… I haven’t slept more than a few hours the last few nights, but if I cancel my plans tonight, who will love on my friend…?” Over the past month
I have been brutally aware of my own limitedness, and the needs of those around me.

How ridiculous it is for me to think that I am the one who can meet the needs of those around me! I’m living as if God did not exist and I was the savior. I am not the savior. There is a Savior, and his name is Jesus. He was in Japan long before I arrived, and he knew all of my friend’s names before he laid the foundation of the world. The love he has for those around me compared to the love I have for them is like comparing the ocean to a thimble-full of water.

I am not God. I cannot do everything. I cannot take care of all of the people around me. Even if I never slept another second, the world would still have needs that I cannot meet. Realizing this makes me feel like I am going to cry, which just shows how deep I’ve fallen into this particular form of idolatry, wanting to be God.

I think that Jesus, once again, models what this aspect of our lives should look like.

“Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed. Simon and his companions went to look for him, and when they found him, they exclaimed: ‘Everyone is looking for you!’” (Mark 1:35-37).

Although everyone is looking for Jesus, wanting to be healed and delivered from oppression, he runs off to be alone with God. If the Bible says anything, it says that God is the great lover, relentlessly pursuing each of his lost children. He will not forget a single one, nor neglect to see a single tear. The burden of the world is not on my shoulders, it is one the shoulders of the one named Jesus.

I am not God. And I do not want to be.