There is a mental exercise that I used a few times when interviewing candidates for analytic jobs. The question went something like this:
Imagine that you work for a foundation. The head of the foundation calls you into her office one day and gives you this special assignment. "A billionaire recluse has decided to donate a very valuable piece of art to our foundation. You're to fly to his private island this afternoon. You get to choose one piece from his valuable collection, just for us. Make sure it's a good one."
Given that your background is in business and not art, you're a little concerned. But like a good soldier, you salute and head out on your mission. When you arrive at the island, the recluse mogul greets you with: "Here's the process, kid. My servant will bring in one object of art at a time into this room. You get to say one of two words--" pass" or "keep." Once you pass on an item, it's gone for good. It ain't coming back in the room. I have a hundred items...you can choose any one of them, but it has to be when that object is in the room with you. You're not allowed to ask any questions of my servant. Even if you did, he doesn't speak English. And no trades after the fact. I hope you pick something good...for your sake. I know that boss of yours, and she's tough. Good luck."
It's a fun question in an interview. Well, it's a fun question to ask in an interview. You can get a pretty good sense how someone frames the problem. The questions they ask and factors they consider tell a lot, too (e.g., "A billionaire recluse on his own island? That's weird to begin with.")
But for this blog entry, I want to tweak it a bit. And yes, I want to give it a spiritual spin. Let's fly out to Idol Island for a bit, a postage stamp sized atoll in the middle of Self-Absorption Sea. It's a place we all know well. Every one of us has one...our own personal idol factory. As John Calvin wrote, "The human heart is a factory of idols…Everyone of us is, from his mother’s womb, expert in inventing idols.”
So we land on our island. Imagine Tattoo (for Fantasy Island fans) runs over, exclaiming "The owner is here! Welcome, chief." He escorts us into the presentation room.
The idols that we have invested in these many years are carried into the room, one at a time. Unlike our employment quiz, though, we are the world-class expert on the value of each. Because we created them.
First in the door is career. It's a big idol. Tattoo has a tough time carrying it into the room. "How valuable is this one, sir? Is this the one you want to keep? Shall we place it in the plane for you? " I pass. You see, there was a time when I put that one at the top. But I got everything I asked for in my work career, so I discovered that it did not fully satisfy. That idol is dragged out the exit doorway.
Next in comes appetite. I have had some interesting "appetite" idols that I invested in over the years. This one is my appetite for attention...to be at the center of things...to have the spotlight focused center-stage on...me. It's a BIG one; so big, it takes two servants to drag this baby into the room. "Pass," I call out. That particular idol has not served me well. Some might say (correctly) I became a bore, in my wholesale pursuit to be in center ring.
Comfort is next in. For me, this is made of $100 bills, glued together into a big recliner. Very artistic. You see, the idol maker--my heart--knows me well. I used to convince myself that material comfort was the ultimate objective of a good life. The whole purpose was to accumulate enough during my "productive" years to be totally independent in my less productive years. And comfortable. Very comfortable. I pass on that one too, because I realize that's a pipe dream. Every time I achieved some level of material comfort, my heart moved the goalpost.
And so it goes. Each of the idols of six decades of that production line running is carried through the room. I immediately know the value...how well each particular idol served when it was number one in my heart. I also know that none of the bunch will really fill the void that will always remain with idolatry.
But it's a good tutorial. A blessed reminder of how far Jesus Christ has stooped to rescue me. He leads me out of the room, walks me back to the plane, and pilots us off to a far better place. A land without any durable idols. A place where that space in my heart is filled by something real... something permanent... a personal relationship with the risen Son of God. The Redeemer. Who came for me. In spite of my idols.
Thank you Lord.
By the way, where are we going?
Chris Joyce
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