Back
in college, some friends of mine who played on the baseball team had their own
little code. When sitting around the cafeteria table, one of them would toss
out a word or phrase, and the rest would laugh and nod in agreement. One of the
words they used that always got a particularly powerful response was “helmet.”
My curiosity got the better of me, so I asked what it meant. “When someone gets
defensive,” an insider explained to me, “you tell him ‘helmet’—as if he were
putting on a verbal helmet to defend himself.” The effect of that one little
word was astounding.
Over
the coming days and weeks, I listened more carefully to the team’s banter, and
I noticed that when someone called “helmet” one of two things happened: either
the individual being accused of defensiveness shrugged his shoulders and let it
go or, far more often, he bristled at the accusation and began to defend
himself more vigorously. Almost Abbott-and-Costello-like, one player would say,
“Helmet!” to which the other player would reply, “I’m not being defensive,”
which only solicited a further cry of “Helmet!” Try defending yourself for not
being defensive. It won’t work.
Defensiveness
is a trap that I know well. Sometimes the littlest things set me off, touching
a nerve that produces within me an ardent desire to clear my name. Each of us
has tender spots where a vulnerability lies close to the surface. Even the
slightest hint of doubt or questioning of that one issue immediately puts us on
the defensive: “No, I’m not an absent father!” “No, I’m not careless with
money!” “No, I’m not an alcoholic!”
In
his letter to the Ephesians, St. Paul famously encourages his readers to “put
on the whole armor of God,” including the “helmet of salvation” (6:11, 17). He
has in mind a different sort of defensiveness—one that starts not from within
us but as a gift of God. The vulnerability is still present, but, instead of
attempting to cover it by ourselves, we are encouraged to let God’s salvation
protect us from whatever might be attacking us. We are not asked to toughen our
skin but to let down our guard and allow God’s promise of salvation to be our
only defense.
This
time of year is stressful for many of us, and clergy-types are not immune from
that stress. When I am stretched thinnest, I find myself particularly prone to
defensiveness. A gentle reminder intended as a message of support is heard
instead as a criticism of my forgetfulness. A friendly, “How are you doing?” is
taken as a questioning, “What’s wrong with you?” A supportive offer to help out
is received as an indication that I can’t do it on my own. But my attempts to
cover up and compensate for my weaknesses only draw further attention to my
vulnerabilities. Instead, I need to learn to trust in God’s defense, which
promises to save me from all my failings.
What
is it that has the potential to set you off unnecessarily? What are the
“helmet” moments in your own life? Name them to yourself and to God. Bring
those weaknesses to the feet of our savior and trust that he will take them and
make them whole. Only in him is it possible for us to be saved. Ultimately,
there is no such thing as a fully sufficient self-defense. Our true hope is
found not within the illusion of our own strength but in the strength of him
who takes our weakness upon himself.
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