self-reflection

On Attending to All Controllable Variables

Gideon Yutzy1 Comment

The people we call authentic are often the ones capable of identifying their weaknesses and talking about them in an honest way. That’s good, in a way. In another way, the fact that humans are unpredictable and flawed doesn’t mean we cannot strive for character. Growing in character is, after all, of more benefit to us than anyone else, though the people who have to live with us probably aren’t going to complain.

When we speak about authentic politicians, we often mean they are authentic to their baser impulses such as fearmongering and name-calling. But couldn’t a politician also be authentic to their nobler impulses? Why are we more likely to call such a person boring, elitist, and, well, inauthentic.

At heart, nobody likes to live in constant dysfunction. At the end of the day, feeling dysregulated isn’t all that sexy. Going off on reactive outbursts might feel good in the moment, but what then? Who’s left to pick up the pieces? So I tweeted something off my chest – how am I now going to replenish myself with the nutrients that produce stable, flourishing humans?

In our inalienable right to pursue happiness, perhaps we also ought to look after the basics sometimes. Sleep. Exercise. Water. Regarding water, I remember a quote from a comedian: “Sometimes I panic and think I need a new religion, a new profession, and a new spouse, but then I realize I just need a tall glass of water.” Also, there was a stodgy preacher from the Midwest who once stumbled upon an excellent point. He said something along the lines of, “You can be as spiritual as you wish, but if you aren’t getting your rest and a proper diet, you aren’t going to be a good Christian.” In the many sermons I heard from him, that’s the only thing I remember.

We replace stress with rest, so we can speak gently to our spouse and children. We plan our day so we can have a robust medley of productivity and relaxation. We make the effort to stay in touch with friends and family even if we feel misunderstood or slighted by them. These are viable ways to live, and I’m just going to say it, authentic ways to live. Yes, being human means making mistakes, and members of our race are hard to live with. We will inexorably do things we regret and those around us abhor. But there is nothing inauthentic about learning to space out our failings. There is nothing inauthentic about being 0.01 percent less of an asshole this month than last month.

There is nothing inauthentic about attending to the variables within our control.

The Courage to Look into My Heart

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As is my custom, at the beginning of 2025 I chose a word to anchor me. At least one year in the past, I chose an inapplicable word and it fizzled out before February. This year I think I found one that’s going to teach me and form me well into spring and possibly beyond. And small wonder, it is one of Aristotle’s 4 cardinal virtues.

Courage.

I have observed that lacking courage often has to do with one of two fears: delving into relational conflict and trying new things. By some weird twist of fate, I have seldom lacked courage in either of those areas.

Instead, in my case, I am too timid to look squarely at my broken and unhealed parts; to accept them, embrace them, and even welcome them. Here’s what I tend to do. I prop myself up by emphasizing, exaggerating, and inventing faults in other people. In literary terms, that person or group then becomes my foil. (The contrasting traits of a foil are not always bad–it’s just that somehow in the foil I choose they usually are.)

But if you think about it, the ultimate act of cowardice is to shift the attention onto someone else so that we don’t have to deal with the junk in our own heart. And I choose the word heart with purpose; according to merriam-webster.com, the word courage originates from the early French word for heart. Today we still use “take heart” interchangeably with “take courage.”

As it turns out, my heart is actually not such terrible place to explore and live. Well, it’s hard at first because there do be dragons, and dragons have to be befriended, recast. But gradually it becomes somewhat doable, or at least it has been so far, 32 days in.

Anyway, back to foils. I’m not proud of this and it’s probably a testament to how uninspired I’ve become in my early midlife, but here is my dark confession: I have made the current US president my foil. That’s right, an individual relatively far removed from my reality who lives in another country. Granted, it’s easy to do because a lot of media outlets highlight his base tendencies by the day. And that’s not to say he doesn’t have base tendencies. I mean, good God, capitalizing on his inauguration to get rich from a cryptocurrency scam. Blaming “dei policies” only hours after a tragic plane crash, because even though he admits the lack of evidence, he can intuit it through “common sense.” But there I go again. And really, I promise to leave President Caligula and US politics out of this after one final observation: just because journalists criticize him to the point of nausea does not mean they are biased or self-aggrandizing. It is their job to hold someone as volatile and powerful as Trump accountable. The fact that demagogues claim to be for the working class does not excuse their theatrical cruelty and destructiveness.

Okay, that was cathartic, but now what? Well, this is where reality sinks in. The next thing is to find clarity about my baser tendencies, not Trump’s. Now I am no longer dealing with a distant world leader but the vagaries of my own heart. Now I need serious courage. Now I need to take heart.

Obviously the point of staring our personal demons in the face is not just to do something difficult for its own sake, but to learn how to do it objectively so that we can live in freedom; to do it regularly enough that it becomes a way of life. The point is for the dragons to reveal themselves. And as it turns out, they do, quite willingly. Already I see that I tend to stay more connected to my screens than with my kids. In my marriage, I tend to take more than I give. I profess faith in Christ without creating space in my daily rhythms for prayerful devotion and intercession.

These are the shadows in my heart, these are the dragons that need befriending, and as I face into the second month of the year, I know that focusing on courage was entirely apropos. To paraphrase Reinhold Niebuhr’s famous Serenity Prayer: God, grant me the courage to change what I can, and the wisdom to know it starts in my own heart.

We Live Our Lives Among Humans

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On Wednesday, while waiting for a red light at the intersection of John’s Hill and Ballytruckle on my way home from work, I, Gideon Yutzy, received a revelation.

And the Lord spake unto me and said…

You used to view everyone as less complicated.

Not only that, continued the epiphany, everyone viewed you as less complicated too. A little wistfully, I remembered a time when I experienced more intense chemistry in my relationships.

As my car sat poised to lurch off to four back-to-back parent-teacher meetings, I thought back to the general intoxication life brought me then. And small wonder: in those halcyon days of college dorms and Eurorail trips, my literal and metaphorical baggage could have fit neatly into the trunk of my Audi A4. Today it feels like I’m trying to keep it stuffed into an oversized Sprinter, an unwieldy testament to the life I’ve lived.

But returning to a more carefree time is not an option. Nostalgia and sentimentality alone will not sustain me until my journey’s end. While I miss the innocent bromances and romances of youth, the journey into adulthood is inescapable if we are to participate in all stages of human metamorphosis. It mirrors the struggle of giving birth—painful, inevitable and transformative.

One key component of the birthing process into adulthood is acquiring the ability to see goodness in people with egregious flaws; to tolerate them, to work with them, to celebrate them. If we are to recognize the image of God in the people around us, we will have to do it while they are still broken.

Otherwise, they will bury us with old bodies and juvenile souls. Then they will all trudge back to eat their potato salad and baked beans, quietly wondering who we might have become had we learnt to celebrate the broken but beautiful people around us.

(Ok, that was melodramatic.)

I realized then, as the light finally turned green, that somewhere along the line I had begun to intellectualize everything, to theorize the heck out of everything. And indeed, the theory behind becoming a more affirmative person is never-ending; do we focus first on affirming the goodness in others or in ourselves? Do we focus first on others or do we, as some therapists advocate, radically accept ourselves first so that we can truly acknowledge the good in others? Still another recent pop psychology book stresses the importance of being sincere in our affirmation. What if we cannot find a specific and authentic affirmation to give? What if our affirmation doesn’t resonate with them?

Though interesting and legitimate, the abstract theories are endlessly complex. Thankfully, the way affirmation works in practice is exceedingly simple. When you realize that someone in your life exhibits a praiseworthy quality, write it down in your notebook. Then when you see them, bless them with it (provided they are still demonstrating it when you see them, ha ha, tongue-in-cheek font).

“You have an exceptional ability to enter into other people’s experience.”

“You make your family your priority and day after day I see you giving them unconditional love.”

“I find it relaxing to work for someone as softspoken and friendly as you.”

I could–and I hope I will–say all of the above to real people in real time; with utmost authenticity despite any deep-seated flaws they may have. And regarding deep-seated flaws, let me just say this: to be human is to leave a complicated legacy. It is no accident that the pristine saint archetype has never taken hold in our imagination. Solzhenitsyn was right in saying that the line between good and evil runs not through political ideologies, nations, or labels, but right down the middle of every human heart. If we don’t celebrate broken people, then we don’t celebrate people. End of story.

In summary, giving half-baked or inauthentic affirmations may be a misdemeanor, but leaving affirmations unspoken is a high felony. This Christmas, let goodwill redound to all and let it be made manifest in abundant affirmations.

(I affirm you for reading to the end of this post.)

5 Things I Miss about Being Mennonite

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These mornings the air is cooler, the outdoor fragrances distinctly autumnal. In two weeks, the harvest moon will shine, and that same weekend we’ll celebrate our youngest daughter’s 6th birthday. An arcane but notable realization hits me: our daughter has spent half her life inside the Mennonite church and half outside.

Three years have passed—long enough for the dust to settle and to reflect on what was most beautiful and formative about being Mennonite. As I look back, several key features stand out. Here are five of them, in no particular order.

The singing: While I still sing in groups outside the Mennonite church, the four-part harmonies of Mennonite hymns were on another level. The theology of the hymns, also, was stately and transformative, especially when we sang from the Mennonite Hymnal, a hymnal that, in my view, remains unparalleled. The sheer number of songs my people know is astounding. I was reminded of this at a recent church gathering when “Pass Me Not, Oh Gentle Saviour” was suggested, only to find out no one had heard of it. Mennonite music, with its complex yet accessible harmonies, is a nourishing spiritual practice that fosters deep social cohesion. I miss it.

Immersion in Scripture: Having taught at a Mennonite school and later watching my two oldest daughters attend one, I have witnessed the unique Mennonite approach to Bible memorization. At this Christian version of a yeshiva, students as young as seven memorize entire chapters of the New Testament. They know that Jeremiah comes after Isaiah and that Psalm 119 is the lengthy psalm. Emerging from the Mennonite educational system, you internalize this kind of knowledge automatically.

Students gain a solid foundation of biblical literacy that equips them to grapple with messier theological questions later in life, should they choose to do so.

Community rhythms and rituals: As parents of four daughters, my wife and I feel deep loss that our daughters will miss out on the simple joys within the Mennonite community—like going to Sunday school for the first time or noticing when a peer moves to the young adults’ section in church. These rituals and transitions may be small, but they are rare in today’s complex and fragmented world. They can be a source of security and comfort, especially for children.

The Mennonite Game: Let’s face it: there is also comfort in name-dropping relatives (or relatives of relatives) when meeting other Mennonites in unfamiliar settings, like at Bible school or in a foreign country. You do not stay strangers long when you meet someone who went to school with your first cousin or read a book written by your uncle.

Non-Partisanship: This one is weaker since Mennonites, especially those with authority and leadership, often lean politically right despite their official stance. Nonetheless, I value the stated position of separating church and government, and the general cynicism about partisan politics. It’s something I hope to carry with me for life.

I miss these aspects, and I count my life all the richer for having been shaped by them. In my next post, I’ll explore the five best things I’ve experienced since leaving the traditional Mennonite community.

How to Get Fired from Calvary Messenger

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Five years ago, I was dismissed from the Beachy Amish periodical, The Calvary Messenger. In noting that milestone, I have no desire to lick my wounds or make myself out to be a martyr; I am as flawed as the next person, may the record stand, kind stenographer. I guess I am only processing and looking back. Usually when I read something I wrote 5 years ago, I cringe in nearly every paragraph and want to make significant changes. Surprisingly, with the article that led to my removal, I don’t know what I would change. Here it is in its entirety:

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All That Is Certain

This article was originally published in the Calvary Messenger in May of 2019.

Sometimes I am surprised at how little I know.

I was instructed—zealously catechized, more like—in a Christian home. Besides that, we live in a time heralded as the Information Age. What went wrong? Do I just need to spend more time on Wikipedia?

Years ago, I heard a quip about child training that went something like this: “Before I was married, I had six theories about raising children. Now I have six children and no theories.”

As a father of four gloriously multifaceted daughters, I can identify. And, to tell the truth, I feel as if I have fewer and fewer theories about everything.

Theories about what is most important in life, for instance; theories about happiness; theories about myself; theories about God.

On such foundational points as these, it can feel at times as if I know almost nothing.

But then I consider the Book of Job. Wisdom is hidden from the eyes of all the living. Wisdom is not found in the land of the living.

What? No pat answers?

Or I consider the words of the Trappist monk Basil Pennington. “We don’t have all the answers. There are lots of questions. And it is good to live in the question.” A pat answer, the monk went on to say, does not leave any room for mystery. Our faith, though it is solid, is also full of questions—and therefore full of hope for further revelation.

And I begin to think that maybe, just maybe, my decreased certainty and increased age is perfectly normal and even healthy. “It is better to have a little faith dearly won,” said the Scottish evangelist Henry Drummond, “than perish on the splendid plenty of the richest creeds.”

Paul gave Timothy a list of foundational beliefs, a kind of creed, if you will. But notice how short that creed is. Notice that it contains only six statements: God was manifest in the flesh; justified in the Spirit; seen of angels; preached unto the Gentiles; believed on in the world; received up into glory (1 Timothy 3:16).

Why is it, then, that subsequent creeds grew steadily longer? The 4th century Apostle’s Creed is still limited to around 100 words, but the 1527 Schleitheim Confession of Faith has over 3,000. It is noteworthy that the 1632 Dordrecht Confession of Faith and the 1963 Mennonite Confession of Faith both have more than 5,000 words.

Perhaps as more and more distortions of Jesus’ gospel came along, the formal statements of faith also had to grow.

Perhaps. But could another explanation be that we have created an idol of certainty where God envisioned a shrine of mystery?

We say, correctly, that the Bible is our sacred text, our written revelation from God. Unfortunately, thanks to millennia of cumulative misinterpretation, many people assert as nonnegotiable a host of stances only vaguely supported by Scripture. In reality, there are many issues on which the Bible gives us clues but no hard, fast answers. Theories of atonement, eschatology, cosmology, and soteriology are all interesting and, I will be the first to say it, worthy of study. But are they worthy of our over-certainty and divisiveness?

Imagine a church that dedicates minimal energy agonizing over speculative issues. Imagine a church that instead pursues the things the New Testament wants us to guard jealously, such as practicing hospitality, sharing our possessions, forgiving those who mistreat us, praying for one another, and pursuing humility. Who wouldn’t want to join a church like that!

Isaiah 57:15 tells us the two places where God dwells: in the highest heaven, and in the contrite heart. Regarding doctrinal certitude there is not a mention.

In fact, to complete the journey of faith only three things are really needed: humility, embracing mystery, and gratitude. Humility causes us to acknowledge how little we do know. Embracing mystery makes us aware of how little we can know (as St. Augustine said, “If you understand, it is not God”). And finally, we are grateful that God has revealed what we need to know, more than enough to equip us for loving Him and our neighbors.