Out of all my regrets, my Lord of the Rings blunder is up there.
I’m 13 and in the basement of my friend Isaac’s house drinking cream soda as every 13-year-old does when he’s desperate for caffeine but past the mountain dew chugging stage of life. Isaac, whom I had befriended through middle school because we played on the same football team together, had just finished a long (depressingly long) marathon of the Lord of the Rings series that felt like a 36 hour display of people walking through cool CGI created landscapes, except that they all seem to have really long hair. The movies were over and it was time for an analysis, of course. Long story short, I wasn’t a fan. It wasn’t until later in my life did I realize my mistake, but I was in too deep. I gave The Lord of the Rings a backhand to the face in front of my beloved friend who risked his life daily to protect me from football players who hit puberty at age six.
I hated it. It was miserable. I spewed my critical analysis of the movie’s flaws to my friend who stared back at me with wide eyes. Isaac was mortified and confused. I clearly laid out to him that this was simply not my cup of tea. The action was too drawn out. Why would audiences relish in languages created by nerdy guys with an imagination far too strange? It was a poignant moment in life for me. Luckily, as angry as my friend was, it didn’t determine our friendship. However, it did make the morning chocolate chip waffle feast a tad awkward for his mother (who prepared it with love and smiles) when we wouldn’t speak to each other except to grumble. My critique, while potentially justified, was not received well.
The point is this: I missed out. I missed out on enjoying time with my friend because of my immediate desire to critique. My opinion was wanted, and that’s all it took for me to rip apart a movie series my friend so loved. Instead of relishing in his joy and remembering the laughter at the table over those waffles, all I remember is my own criticism of something that didn’t benefit the conversation. I thought I was saying something new and I wasn’t.
For students in the technological age of 2019, there’s a pre-disposed idea that with knowledge comes power. This power unfortunately comes with a danger that I fear I allow to take hold in my heart. The result is a feeling of sophistication. The thought becomes:
I know about this subject and am therefore capable of displaying my knowledge in even the most mundane conversation through my criticism of said subject.
Everyone’s opinions are begged for on social media through Snapchat, Instagram and Facebook, almost to the degree that we have become master “critiquers.” As soon as we swipe through the passcode on our phones, we have this idea that there is an audience that demands to know our thoughts, that this mystical audience values and cherishes our uneducated opinions on endless subjects. “Send it out! Tell us! We must know!” the world says with open arms and fake smiles. Update your status, put something on your Instagram story and, as always, engage in that prolonged conversation on Twitter.
Our technologically saturated American culture is selling us an audience that does not exist. Our critiques are often met with deaf ears and loud mouths. But the result of this is not simply a mess of arguments that lead to broken relationships, although that’s true. We become convinced that criticism is sophistication.
In the words of Winston Churchill,
“Criticism may not be agreeable, but it is necessary. It fulfills the same function as pain in the human body. It calls attention to an unhealthy state of things.”
Criticism can still be good. But I’m not talking about criticism that is meant to lift others up and challenge their way of life. I’m talking about a criticism that flows from self. This criticism is us tearing down people, churches, friends and relationships because it makes us feel like we know more than someone else or know what’s best for everyone around us. We feel sophisticated. We feel powerful. This kind of arrogance leads to a heart hardened toward people. A heart hardened toward people is not a heart at all.
Whether agreeable or not, criticism needs to happen. It’s how things get better and grow. But my fear for young adults is that their feeling of sophistication from being in a place to criticize and analyze is that the opportunity to serve and love is missed. It’s become apparent to me that we should not want to be remembered for what we critiqued. We should be remembered for how we loved.
I should have laughed and enjoyed Isaac more in his basement that day. The situation would have benefited more from love than critical analysis. Deciphering when to criticize and when to keep our mouths shut is all too difficult. I haven’t figured that out, and I don’t think anyone else has either. But in every situation, I think our minds ought to point toward love before criticism, despite this article being a critique of criticism itself. Regardless, at schools like Union where critical analysis is something taught, we must take hold of the love shown to us and reciprocate it into the world. I want Union to be remembered for the way its students loved and served the world around them.
I should serve the church more than I criticize it. I should love people more than I judge them. I can’t help but wonder what my life would look like if everything that flowed from my mouth and actions was from a place of love rather than pride. Maybe then, and just then, I would have enjoyed those waffles a bit more sincerely.
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“The real test of a saint is not one’s willingness to preach the gospel, but one’s willingness to do something like washing the disciples’ feet – that is, being willing to do those things that seem unimportant in human estimation but count as everything to God.”
– Oswald Chambers
Illustration by Tamara Friesen