The only better than being a smart person, is seeming like a smart person. Think about it. Seeming smart comes with all the pomp of people nodding their heads in agreement to your every word. Being smart means that you have to read books full of syllables and vowels while lacking any real substance (i.e. pictures). When you seem smart, your ears will at some point be filled with the words, “Let’s hear what (your name here) has to say about this,” and you won’t have worry about being right, as some flowery verbal foliage will suffice; like, “Sometimes life is lived on railways and sometimes on dirt ways, either way it’s all about where you going.” Seeming smart definitely has its perks, and I would never want to replace the temporal matrix that allows me to sing every word on No Doubt’s 1994 hit album Tragic Kingdom with some useless statistical information or “facts” (gross!).
The best part about seeming smart is that it takes little to no discipline or effort, and by definition it only exists in the presence of others. As soon as the room clears, I’m like a tree falling in the forest, and no one is there to hear the noise I make. I am free to zonk out in front of the TV for hours on end or surf the waves of web life forever.
The gift of “smart seeming” I have wielded for years, and I use it like the modern comedy film uses the naked male buttock or a kick in the groin. It got me through high school without ever having to read one literary masterpiece or historical manuscript, while being loved by all the AP class teachers. It worked the same at the collegiate level, and fit perfectly into my philosophy minor where everything was made up anyway. The problem is, this township landfill I’ve been feeding for decades is now a full-on city dump, and I’m the only one who knows how much it stinks.
At this point in my life, I could very well put more effort into seeming intelligent than actually being intelligent. Of course, there is some possibility that I possess an iota of wisdom instead of smarts, but that seems highly unlikely considering gangly laze ball that I am. At 26 (and deemed “Preacher Brian” by some), I still struggle daily with the kind of discipline that should be basic to the Christian life; things like daily scripture readings and prayer time. Sure, I’m a nice person, that’s easy for me to admit, because I’m wired to serve others. But that might all be apart of the ploy to be liked by others; as if I’m trapped inside a sitcom called “Everybody Loves Brian.”
I say all this because I’m afraid of the Boogie Monster. Oh he’s real, and he lives under my bed. The problem is, I convince myself that he’s fake so that I don’t have to look under there and deal with him. I fear now his influence is more pervasive than I know, and this thought has caused a wealth of other fears to surface as well.
I fear garnering more acclaim here than in heaven. I fear being known by men and not by God. I fear collecting more coins than thorny crowns. I fear that Jesus sleeps on the pavement and I on a pillow. I fear my addiction of self-interest will never wane. I fear things are getting worse not better. I fear I am in the making-things-worse enterprise, and the pay is too good to give up.
I’d like to believe I’m not the only selfishly ignorant jerk who loves Jesus, but I probably am (at least this way hope lives on). We lazy “smart seemers” are lucky though, because considering amount of knowledge there is in the world to be had, so little is required by God for faithful service in the Kingdom. God does not tether Kingdom servitude to brain capacity, but does call us to wade deeper into the pool of His revelation.
Bishop Wright has said, “The Christian calling is to know the world with the knowledge that approximates to love [the world].” The Apostle Paul wrote that if we have the tongues of men and angels but have not love, then we are like clanging cymbals. As a drummer, I take offense to the reference, but if the love we have for Jesus does not draw us into deep intimacy only found in quality time, then it will not produce the kind of knowledge which draws us to love the world. We cannot “seem” to love Jesus by merely talking about him. We must spend time with Christ in order that we may be transformed into creatures resembling Christ, even when we fall alone in the forest.
Yeah...seriously. It is easy to make people think you're smart. But yeah, thank God that he can and does want intelligence and uses it often in his servants. But even more so, thank God that Paul could say, "I boast only in the cross."
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