Inner Pharisee

Yesterday, I got my teeth cleaned.

I love getting my teeth cleaned, but for weird reasons. Yes, sparkly teeth are nice, and yes, I'll confess to relishing the smooth post-polish feel. 

But why I really like getting my teeth cleaned has nothing to do my choppers.

One, I bask in my hygienist's compliments on my home care. No matter which dentist comes into the little cubicle to inspect her handiworks, she says, "You won't find anything of concern, doctor. Melissa is a model patient." The 10-year old in me grins like a fool.

Two, my hygienist and I are friends. Not the kind of friends who show up in the dark of life toting trays of Ferarro Rocher and a soft landing, but rather the superficial, "Gee I really like you, and how nice that we get to spend this hour together every six months" kind of friends.

We both like to run. Our hair cuts are identical. We love Jesus. Plenty to talk about between the gargling and suctioning.

Yesterday went a tad awry. As I was about to leave, Liz complimented me on my skin, so I told her I'd switched to a new regime with Rodan + Fields and had she heard of them? And why, yes, she had, and she was impressed with the company, especially how the consultants don't host in-home parties, and she was deeply concerned about the spray of bumps marching across her forehead, and did I think there was a product line that would help, but let's just be clear, her ex-sister-in-law sells this stuff, and she would never buy from her because she is a terrible person.

Thud.

In the face of discomfort, I did what I always do. Smile. Nod. Mutter something inane and inoffensive. Flee.

As I got into my car, I thought, "Houston, we have a problem."

(Side note: I think Houston would make a great name for, say, a turtle or even a small child. And then every time the little one acted up, the parent/caregiver/teacher could say, "Houston, we have a problem," and it would be hilarious. When my baby girl, who is no longer a baby girl, was little, I would occasionally adopt an ultra-manly pose and announce as seriously as I could, "I'm Batman." She would adopt the same ultra-manly pose and reply, "I'm Robyn." And we would fall over laughing.)

Back to my dental hygienist. So here's the thing. Would she clean my teeth if she knew, in fact, what a terrible person I am, too? If she could teleport into my soul and witness firsthand the bursts of jealousy, the impure fantasies, the righteous indignation that flares up with shocking speed and regularity? Heaven forbid she could peer into my past.

Lest anyone think I'm into self-flagellation and that I regularly don a hair shirt, I know full well that there is much good in me, too, that I reflect the full glory of the one who made me. But, dude, really? I'm also a freakin' mess.

I wonder, too, if my dental hygienist's ex-sister-in-law -- regardless all that she is and does -- observes my friend Liz, who isn't shy to share her faith, and thinks, "Uh. No. I don't want any part of that bucket of judgment, thank you very much."

Brennan Manning calls this terrifying temptation to judge, isolate, set ourselves apart, and get caught up in rule-following our Inner Pharisee. He writes, "The stakes are not small here" because when we adopt this attitude, "the basic dignity and genuine needs of human beings are irrelevant." For Jesus, the dignity and genuine needs of human beings are everything. The whole kit and caboodle. The full monty. The very reason He came and we go. 

So I sat in my car and thought about Liz and her ex-sister-in-law. For a little while, I shook my head and felt heavy and sad and even a little irritated. I daydreamed a conversation with her in which I gently said something like, "Your sister needs your love" without looking like a phony jerk.

And then I realized, of course, that I am a phony jerk. The Inner Pharisee won, even if only for a little while.

I smiled. I thought about how much I like Liz. And about how much God likes Liz and her ex-sister-in-law and me and Brennan Manning and Robyn and maybe even Batman. 

How shallow is the well of judgment and deep the ocean of love.

I gave my Inner Pharisee a little pat on the head and said, "I know why you come. You come because we are all walking fear bundles. We want safety and belonging. We want to know we will be okay. You tell us we can have security and worth if we follow the rules and tsk-tsk those who won't join our posse. Little Inner Pharisee -- for you are, indeed, terribly small -- I salute your efforts. Well, done, mister. But let's try something new."

"Let's go swimming."