Why Can't We Be Like Everybody Else?

As our family went through yet another trial this summer, we found ourselves longing for peace, order, stability and hope. One could argue that we brought it on ourselves, but there are decisions you make in the moment and then there are decisions that flow irreversibly from who you are at the core. We were weighed down by a burden we seemed ill-chosen to carry, our options increasingly constricted. We were growing weary. And as I lay awake one night, trying to make sense of the mess in which we found ourselves, an understandable but truly insidious thought crept into my mind.

Why can't we be like everybody else?

I remember the first time it hit me. It wasn't in high school, when I relished the thought of being different because of my Christian faith and was usually respected because of it. It wasn't in college - at no point did I desire to wake up hungover in the bed of a girl whose name I didn't know with no recollection of what I had done the night before. In fact, for most of my life, I was pretty sure that (on the whole) following Jesus made your life so much better. "Abundant," as He said.

But then I moved to Santa Barbara for graduate school.

The average home literally cost 10 times what it would in Kansas. Everything from gas to groceries was more expensive - and my roommate, Pat, and I were each trying to live on $22,500 a year. It was as if The Waltons had accidentally wandered onto the set of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. As friends and brothers in Christ, we always challenged each other, pushing each other to be better scientists, better men, and better disciples. I challenged him to start tithing, and when I pointed out that I was still making ends meet, he ran out of objections. Not long afterward, as we were sitting around our tiny house on a weekend, a fellow grad student called Pat from a ski resort in the Sierras. He had spent the day on the slopes and was now relaxing in a hot tub, but apparently his happiness would not be complete until he reminded us of what we were missing. Pat hung up, relayed their conversation, and then said with a tinge of bitterness, 'I guess you can do that sort of thing when you're not giving away 10% of your income.' I envied our friend, and for the first time I started to question if following Jesus really made your life better.

It's a thought that gnaws away at every disciple of Jesus, at least one time in his or her life.

During a time of corruption and political instability, the ancient nation of Israel faced the same temptation. They had been, for generations, a theocracy in the truest sense of the word. Periodically a great leader would arise and unite everyone in the face of grave danger, but upon that individual's death or downfall the nation reverted to a largely disorganized, decentralized state of being. The Israelites grew tired of this and wanted a permanent political order. Why not have a king?

The prophet Samuel responds to their demands with what amounts to a brilliant but concise attack on monarchy as a system of government. Not being well-versed in political theory, the Israelites respond - twice - like whining teenagers. The real reason they want a king?

"... that we might be like all the other nations!" (I Samuel 10:5 and 10:20).

In that one phrase, they forgot more history than Americans even have. They were not like other nations – they never were. God himself created them out of nothing but a childless elderly couple and a promise. They were dramatically delivered from slavery, miraculously passed through part of the ocean while an entire army was destroyed behind them, and after wandering the desert for 40 years they toppled multiple empires to take possession of their new homeland. God himself dwelt among them. He was their God and they were His people. They were not even remotely like any other nation. They had a story, and they had been redeemed.

That's why, prior to giving the Ten Commandments, God reminds them, "I am the Lord, who brought you out of Egypt." Thus, they were not to live like everybody else. It's why they were commanded to keep the Passover: so that they would not forget who they were. That was the real danger; everyone already knew that murder and adultery are wrong. When their nation began it's long descent into spiritual, moral and ultimately political chaos, the root cause was their failure to remember who they truly were in relation to God.


Other families (normally) haven't gone through 4 miscarriages and 2 failed adoptions. They haven't poured all of their time, energy and money - including money they don't even have - into merely becoming a family. They haven't spent 9 months walking with a woman in crisis, knowing that in the end she would choose to parent in poverty.

But they also haven't felt the embrace of Jesus, via His body, in their darkest hour. They haven't seen total strangers and anonymous donors fund over 80% of the cost of an adoption that became increasingly apparent as a dead-end (or perhaps a new beginning?). They may have enjoyed more of the "good life" as defined by our society, but they can't point to brothers and sisters around the globe with whom they have sacrificed and served. They don't have two beautiful Black children, each of them already redeemed in a very concrete way. Our family doesn't even look like other families - and that fills me with pride. Every portrait is a reminder, not just of what we look like, but of who we are.

Why can't we be like everybody else? Because we're not. We have a story, we have been redeemed, and our Redeemer has marked us forever.