Coping with Human Role Models

People naturally look to others for cues on fashion, speech, opinions, and whole life full of choices. Whatever decision we have to make, it seems easier when someone else has made it before us. We learn from these people. They teach us how to live life. Many of us come to respect and admire these models.

Christians often struggle with viewing their leaders as superhuman, almost beyond sin. The plain fact is that whoever your role model is, regardless of his position or intelligence, he still struggles with indwelling sin.

We’ve all had to deal with the trauma unleashed when one of these models fails. We’ve all felt hurt, deceived, or angry. If a leader falls that we didn’t particularly favor, maybe we even feel validated.

Christian leaders seem to fall the hardest. Their job is to preach and teach against sin, yet they inevitably give way to temptation. When that sin finally becomes public, particularly when it’s hidden or has been improperly dealt with, the world around them seems to implode. Their ministry is questioned, their accomplishments, even their religion. The problems in personal life casts a shadow across every context they live in.

Then the media digs in. Journalists spread the news, and the blogging aftermath lasts for weeks. Everyone has an opinion, everyone has a soapbox. The leader typically becomes either a martyr or a criminal. When the shine wears off the story, however, the man is soon forgotten.

Suzanne Hadley, writing for the Boundless Line, touches on the same topic. Her article highlighted an unusual thought that is too often absent from coverage of public failure. It’s an evidence of grace, thinking in this direction. Humanly speaking, this thought is not default.

Her mind does not tear into the villain, she looks instead toward herself:

. . . probably it hurts the most because it makes you more keenly aware of your own sin and propensity to fail. You think, If that person failed, what is the hope for me?

This attitude is nothing but the dramatic work of God. I’ve been the devastated pupil, I’ve been hurt by failure. I can attest, this thought was not controlling my mind.

If this perspective is so divine, so unnatural, what can we do about it? If this is how we’re programmed, what’s the point in complaining about it?

Suzanne points it out precisely:

The hope is Jesus Christ and the victory He promises. Living under Christ’s control and not becoming entangled in sin is possible. Still, in this world, we all experience moments of failure—some more devastating than others.

and,

It [hope] comes in the form of the truth God tells us about our sinful tendencies and the grace He offers through the all-sufficient sacrifice of His Son.

This thought, the Gospel, should be ruling our minds, dictating our thoughts, our speech, our actions. When we are aware of our own depravity and God’s view of it, we’ll be less tempted to condemn and more amazed by His grace at work in our lives.

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