It is a stormy day in Colorado today. I look out across the foothills of the Rockies, towards the monumental Longs Peak, a snow capped mountain that rises 14,000 feet. And, in a phenomenon that I have only noticed in the Western USA, I can see bands of rain coming our way. Five or six minutes from there, we will be drenched. But for the moment, the rainfall is a still a mile away, but edging relentlessly towards us.
That was how I used to view disillusionment. As an idealist, but a realist too, I knew that the raincloud of disillusionment was out there. Sooner or later, it would overwhelm me, blotting out the sunshine of hope. Worst still, I knew that disillusionment usually distills into cynicism.
And through the years, I’ve tried to swat those clouds away.
I’ve been disillusioned with friends. People I thought would be lifelong companions in the journey marched or drifted away. Some people that I thought were at least positive acquaintances turned nasty when they reached a place of power.
Church has been a major source of disillusionment. Denominational leaders that I revered played political games, set colleagues up for downfall, and lied while all the time declaring that truth matters.
And I’ve been disillusioned with myself. I thought that, over forty years on from that day when I decided to follow Jesus, that I would understand more, pray more effectively, and generally be a much more mature human being now. No longer would I be ruffled by drivers who drive too fast (idiot…), drive too slow (get out of my way, now…) and be impervious with the minor irritations that everyday church life creates (if we sing that song one more time, I’m going to physically attack that worship leader….). At times, I have surprised myself with the things that I’ve said and done, and not in a positive way. I’m disappointed, disillusioned with me.
But just recently, I’ve realised that we should not fear disillusionment, but rather welcome it as a priceless gift. Put simply, disillusionment divests us of an illusion. The process itself is usually painful - often we cling to a mythical view of life, cherishing it and reluctant to part with it, because we prefer it to the reality, so abandoning it brings grief. But ultimately, disillusionment takes us by the hand and lead us, albeit reluctantly, to a place of reality rather than romanticism.
We were born into an illusionary world, one where we’re the centre of the universe. If you’re hungry, just yell. Someone will come running with food. In need of the toilet, there’s no need to look for one. Just poo, wherever you are, whenever you like. It works when you’re a month old. Don’t try it at 25. Maturity dispels illusion and gradually introduces us to the way the world really works. The illusion fades: we are not the centre of everything.
Jesus spent much of His time in a ministry of disillusionment, and not just among the Pharisees who were saddened because He refused to dance to their religious tune. But his disciples needed the ministry of disillusionment too. As good Jewish boys, they had a defined expectation of a Messiah figure. He would surely go to Jerusalem, kick out those oppressive Romans, and set up an earthly throne there, from which He would reign over a new theocratic Israel. That’s why James and John went to Jesus (hiding behind their mother, Salome) with a request for thrones at His side. They had their sights firmly set on political and social power in the limited time/space world that was Israel. But they needed to be disillusioned. And it was so difficult to prise that dream from their hearts and minds, so deeply embedded was it in Israel’s national psyche.
Some of them were taken to a place of disillusionment about themselves, too. Peter was living under the total illusion that he would never be unfaithful to Jesus, even if all his pals succumbed to pressure, he would stand firm. But Jesus shattered that illusion with news that included a rooster crowing three times.
When I allow disillusionment to enter my friendships, I’m no longer shattered when someone close to me fails to listen, or switches the conversation back on to themselves when I’m trying to pour out my heart.
Disillusionment is vital for a healthy marriage, because real life is just so unlike the movies. In those romantic comedies, nobody snores, drools on the pillow, or struggles unsuccessfully with flatulence in the middle of the night. And after a blissful night of love, they greet each other in the morning with a lengthy kiss in a make-believe world where morning breath (that could knock you off your feet at twenty yards) doesn’t exist. But over the years, the mythical notions of the honeymoon fade, but are replaced by something far more substantial - real love for a real person, rather than infatuation with what we hope a perfect person might be like.
And disillusionment is very important if we’re going to spend any length of time in a local church. When we join, we anticipate that the music will be to our liking, the sermon always relevant, and the people in our small group interesting, kind and supportive. And then we find that the place is littered with fragile, thoughtless, in-the-process human beings just like us. The illusion is shattered. Now we have a choice. Will we move on to the next church (usually justifying our move by saying that the Lord is telling us to go), or will we stick around, grit our teeth, and learn something about real commitment?
Setting out on a recent holiday, I packed disillusionment and took it along with me together with some lightweight novels and sun cream. It helped me no end, because I’ve tended to believe that everything will be perfect when I set time aside for a break. The sun will shine, the hotel will be exactly as portrayed in the brochure, and there will be no rouge tourists hogging the sun beds. When our vacation includes wider family or friends, everyone will get along together wonderfully, there will be no tension about what we do each day, every restaurant we visit will be to everyone’s liking and we will happily toast the sunset together at the end of yet another glorious day. But it’s an illusion. So when the junior members of our ‘happy’ band fight like cats, and it rains cats and dogs, and, as just happened yesterday, the place we chose to eat was nothing less than appalling, I’m not surprised. I’m not jaundiced or cynical - just realistic with my expectations.
Finally, I’m completely disillusioned with me - and it’s been a lifesaver. It’s not that I don’t have high expectations of myself - I do. I like to behave like a Christian, behave like a good husband, father and grandfather, and be faithful and attentive in my friendships. But my expectations are balanced by low expectations. When other leaders lash up their lives with scandalous moral choices, I no longer wrinkle my nose and insist that I could never walk the sinful path that they have trod. Rather, I embrace my capacity for sin, and manage vulnerability instead of insisting that I’m impervious to temptation. I don’t want to hear that rooster crowing.
And so I no longer fear disillusionment. Instead, I embrace it, lest I, a broken person, walk around a broken planet surrounded by broken people - with my eyes wide shut.
Disillusionment. It’s probably not appeared on your ‘most desired gift’ list. But perhaps it should.