MARKERS OF INTEGRITY

Whoever walks in integrity walks securely. —Proverbs 10:9

I grew up with a simple view of integrity. It involved a kind of Boy Scout, well-scrubbed notion of doing the right thing and not telling a lie. It was a start.

Integrity is much more than not telling a lie—it's not lying to myself. It's more than telling the truth—it's being true to who I am. To be a person of integrity is to strive to be true to the person I was created to be. It is to strive to be that person consistently across the whole of my life—in my spiritual life, in my marriage, in my family, in my vocation, in picking up the laundry, in buying the groceries, in playing a round of golf. It is to be who God formed me to be at my finest and most authentic.

If you know who you are, you'll know what to do.

Integrity involves wholeness and authenticity. It is living a life consistent with who I am within. It is living a life that requires my thoughts, my feelings, and my actions to be congruent, to be the union of who I am within—what I believe, who I understand myself to be, and how I live my life. Integrity gives rise to the clichés of "getting it together" and "having it all together." This understanding of integrity is in the same spirit as Mahatma Gandhi's words, "Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony."

Integrity involves taking the personality that is mine from birth and integrating the values, virtues, and wisdom with which I identify and have come to claim. It always involves character, referred to in my dictionary as "moral excellence." I love that.

Integrity is a word with universal appeal. It is used in a variety of professions and arenas—yet always with that same understanding of wholeness and fidelity to principle.

At the other extreme of the idea of integrity is a word Jesus used so scathingly: hypocrisy. It comes from the Greek word hupokrites, once used to refer to actors—those who are pretending to be what they are not—those who are divided from their true selves.

Integrity means "whole, complete." Hypocrisy means "divided, acting." Hypocrisy is pretending to be something in my heart and soul that I am not.

Here's what's spooky: the actor often doesn't know he's acting. No, we don't, do we? The actor may be living out his social role, doing it the way it's always been done, the way he was taught—never engaging in his own discernment, never hearing his soul's voice, the call of God, the yearning of his own integrity.

He may be living a fine, upstanding life, making a significant contribution to his community, but the renewing vitality that comes from tapping into the wellspring of his soul is absent. He has a winsome smile, a hearty handshake, but as an actor living out a role, albeit unaware, much of his life's potential is left on the table. I won't quite say that the unexamined life is not worth living, but I will say the unexamined life is lessened and diminished in worth.

I have always loved how the church I attend encourages each of us to stay alive spiritually and theologically. We are challenged to think for ourselves. This church does not slam a theological stance down our throats. It encourages us to think, to discern, and to discover who God is in each of our lives. I suppose it might be easier if someone were to tell me who God is in my life, but it would have so much less meaning—and, without the struggle of discernment, less integrity.

One way of developing discernment at our church is a program called the DISCIPLE Bible study. This excellent study does not tell us who God is for us, but it helps us discover God in a way that is profoundly personal and meaningful.

I shall always remember the phone call received by an assistant pastor teaching DISCIPLE. The call was from a minister of another denomination asking about the study and requesting some materials on it. The pastor was glad to send them. A few days later the minister phoned again. He was extremely complimentary about the quality of the study, saying that the materials were beautifully presented and that the questions in each section were so clear and on point. There was only one problem, he said: "You forgot to send me the answer book."

The answer book to many of life's most vital questions can be found only on the journey to the depth of one's own heart and soul.

I think of the parable of the younger son who left his father and his home with his inheritance (see Luke 15:11-32). It's as familiar as parables get. Perhaps it's familiar not just because we've heard it so often, but because we've lived it so often.

With fresh eyes, let's look at him, this "prodigal son" as he often is called, and let's agree not to be too tough on him. He simply wanted to experience life. Did he intend to crash and burn? Of course not. Just like the rest of us, he was a kid trying to grow up—experiencing life, trying things out, discovering who he was. And in so doing, he made some mistakes; some were serious mistakes. He went for what felt good, what he thought would make him happy.

In trying to discover who he was, he became disconnected from what he was. Through a brilliant use of irony and humor, to show how truly disconnected this fine Jewish boy had become, Jesus puts him in a field feeding pigs—hardly a rung on his intended vocational career ladder.

I've certainly been there. Fortunately, no pigs were involved. I began with the best of intentions, launching into some new venture only to discover that it wasn't me. It may have been a fine path for someone else, but not for me. I didn't fit. I didn't belong. It didn't have integrity—for me.

So there this young man in the parable sat, perhaps on a fence, overlooking a field of pigs, staring down at a handful of corn he was about to throw—about as lost a soul as you will ever find, about as disconnected from himself as anyone you will ever see. And there, Jesus said, he "came to himself" (verse 17). Suddenly it wasn't corn the young man was seeing; it was a mirror. He looked into his heart of hearts and remembered who he was.

He came to himself. He went from being divided to being connected. It was a moment of integrity. He got up, dropped the corn on the ground, and walked straight into the life he had been created to live.

If you know who you are, you'll know what to do.

This younger son is going to have to share some room on that fence with each of us from time to time. Sometimes we get lost. Sometimes badly. We forget who God created us to be. Sometimes not so badly. It just feels like we have...