Acting Human: We're All Pretending

By Jason C. Helveston

We come alive to our humanity when we die to safe fantasies. Ironically, we stop pretending when we start using our imaginations. When we imagine a life where truth and beauty live without tension. I think this is Jesus’ point whenever he invites us to deny ourselves, pick up crosses, and follow him. Learning to act like humans requires leaving behind our old self, denying certain longings of that self, and becoming something real and brand new. It’s seeing a realm, perhaps invisible to others, where forgiveness is not weakness, weakness is not shameful, and shame is never the end of the story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9781304527097

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From TRUTH AND BEAUTY PUBLISHING

_________________________

Tell Me Everything: Why the Story of Jesus is Not a Religion

Learning to Lament: A Guide through the Book of Lamentations

Acting Human: We’re All Pretending

On the Seventh Day: Abiding in the Gift of Rest

ACTING HUMAN

We’re All Pretending

truthandbeautypublishing.com

CHICAGO, IL

TRUTH AND BEAUTY PUBLISHING

An imprint of Church in the Square.

Chicago, IL

truthandbeautypublishing.com

Copyright © 2023 by Truth and Beauty Publishing

All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, English Standard Version.

Scripture quotations are from The ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Thank you for buying this book. Truth and Beauty Publishing exists to share gospel resources to help the local church enjoy the truth and beauty of Jesus. A portion of proceeds from all resources help support communities and biblical training in Chicago and Kajiado County, Kenya.

Find out more at: truthandbeautypublishing.com

ISBN 978-1-304-52755-4 (hc) 978-1-304-5277-2 (pb) 978-1-304-5279-7 (epub)

Written by: Jason C. Helveston

Author picture by: Glori Helveston

Designed by: Joel Helveston

Editing by: Becky Cook

Publication oversight: Lola Adebimpe

Special thanks to the team at Truth and Beauty Publishing: Lola Adebimpe, Josh Burns, Derec Schmidgall, and Matt Kent.

This is for my children: Glori, Jedidiah, Micah, and Levi.

It was a scary thing for your dad to write this book. But I hope that the cracks and blemishes you see in me every day will point you to the one who has none.

I love you.

Table of Contents

When We All Started Pretending 1

The Garden of Beauty & Truth 5

1 The Case For Humanity 19

2 The Whitefield Problem 33

3 That’s Still Aunt Becky 49

4 Protect the Weak 67

5 The Bride’s Sex Addiction 79

6 The Beauty of Self-Denial 91

7 The Friends Zone 115

8 Who Canceled Dorothy Day? 131

9 We Before Me 149

10 A Tale of Two Selves 165

11 Hour Upon the Stage 181

Acknowledgments 190

Notes 193

ACTING HUMAN

We’re All Pretending

truthandbeautypublishing.com

CHICAGO, IL

TRUTH AND BEAUTY PUBLISHING

An imprint of Church in the Square.

Chicago, IL

truthandbeautypublishing.com

Copyright © 2023 by Truth and Beauty Publishing

All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, English Standard Version.

Scripture quotations are from The ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Thank you for buying this book. Truth and Beauty Publishing exists to share gospel resources to help the local church enjoy the truth and beauty of Jesus. A portion of proceeds from all resources help support communities and biblical training in Chicago and Kajiado County, Kenya.

Find out more at: truthandbeautypublishing.com

ISBN 978-1-304-52755-4 (hc) 978-1-304-52717-2 (pb) 978-1-304-52709-7 (ebook)

Written by: Jason C. Helveston

Author picture by: Glori Helveston

Designed by: Joel Helveston

Editing by: Becky Cook

Publication oversight: Lola Adebimpe

Special thanks to the team at Truth and Beauty Publishing: Lola Adebimpe, Josh Burns, Derec Schmidgall, and Matt Kent.

This is for my children: Glori, Jedidiah, Micah, and Levi.

It was a scary thing for your dad to write this book. But I hope that the cracks and blemishes you see in me every day will point you to the one who has none.

I love you.

Table of Contents

When We All Started Pretending

The Garden of Beauty & Truth

1 The Case For Humanity

2 The Whitefield Problem

3 That’s Still Aunt Becky

4 Protect the Weak

5 The Bride’s Sex Addiction

6 The Beauty of Self-Denial

7 The Friends Zone

8 Who Canceled Dorothy Day?

9 We Before Me

10 A Tale of Two Selves

11 Hour Upon the Stage

Acknowledgments

Notes

Preface

When We All Started Pretending

For they preach, but do not practice.

Jesus

1

My son, Jedidiah, has an incredible imagination. Regularly, I watch as he gets lost in solitary play, allowing himself to journey deep within worlds seen only in his mind. Usually, he’s off canvasing the far reaches of the Nether––a dangerous dimension within the seemingly infinite 8-bit landscape of his favorite video game, Minecraft. He envisions grass and weeds as fire and lava. Sticks transform into the realm’s fungal vegetation. Trees and bushes attack like hostile mobs seeking his life and the precious trove of powers, weaponry, and gems he’s collected. Though he pretends alone, there’s robust dialogue and sound effects. It’s fantastic. Left unbothered, Jeddy could remain in his imagined world for hours.

Mike Yaconelli describes imagination as the place all children know about. But we all grow up. Realms like Jeddy’s Nether are soon sealed off like the wardrobe in C.S. Lewis’ classic tale The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. What was once a portal into a different universe, is now just a place to store coats for the summer. Idealism and innocence die first, Yaconelli laments. Our souls become ravaged environments where one could see the withered remains of dreams, spontaneity, poetry, passion, and ourselves—our real selves, the persons we were made to be. Somewhere along the way we’re convinced to leave behind our imaginations for the serious work of life. And so, we stop pretending, right?

Well, that’s what I want to talk about. While an adult venturing through the Nether in a city park would be admitted for care, grownups are pretending all the time. You see, it’s precisely when we stop using our imaginations, Yaconelli says, we stop being our real selves. That’s when we start acting human.

2

Jesus was constantly at odds with a group of religious leaders called the Pharisees. Surprisingly, Jesus’ primary contention with this party wasn’t theological. He rarely engaged them in doctrinal debates. Rather, he was concerned about their lack of imagination. The scribes and the Pharisees sit on Moses’ seat, Jesus says to a crowd, so do and observe whatever they tell you, but not the works they do. For they preach, but do not practice … They do all their deeds to be seen by others. Jesus recognizes the Pharisees’ role as teachers of Scripture and even wants his disciples to heed their instruction. His critique centers on the absence of integrity. They do not practice what they preach. What’s more, they follow the moral law only to be seen. In other words, they do good to look good, not because they are good. Researcher and author Brené Brown says authenticity is about the choice to show up and be real. The choice to be honest. The choice to let our true selves be seen. This is what the Pharisees are lacking—authenticity. And so, through the rest of his address, Jesus calls them hypocrites. Six times.

A hypocrite is a pretender. But hypocrisy is a distinct brand of pretending. You see, though Jeddy immerses himself in the unreal, he’s not being duplicitous. To the contrary, he’s one of the most honest people I know. The kind of pretending Jesus is exposing in the Pharisees isn’t about play but performance. Jesus is calling attention to the place all adults know about. A place where the treacherous terrain of religion, fear, power, and shame teach us to put on a show so that our true self can remain in the shadows.

In this fallen world, we’re all acting human. Sometimes we pretend, like the Pharisees, in order to be seen and adored. Some of us pretend just to survive. Other times we leave behind our true selves because our church or childhood has trained us to do so without our consent. Regardless of its cause, I think pretending is a misalignment of truth and beauty—our nature and our worth lack harmony. And when these remain at odds, something of our true selves, of our humanity, is dimmed.

3

This book is about reclaiming our spiritual imagination. It’s about cultivating a childlike vision of ourselves and others, something many of us have left behind a long time ago. You see, I’ve been on this journey. I am on this journey. I’m learning about how and why I pretend, and how Jesus is making me fully human again. The pages ahead are a humble invitation to join me and others on this path of healing. But I must caution you, recapturing something that has been lost invariably requires leaving something else behind—something perhaps we love and trust but is unnecessary, unhelpful, and even damaging. Author Mike Cosper says that Life with God is an invitation into a world where most of what makes sense to you crumbles. I think that’s really true. You see, in our world pretending makes sense. It works. It’s powerful. It’s safe. And it often pays. But it’s not who we are.

We come alive to our humanity when we die to safe fantasies. Ironically, we stop pretending when we start using our imaginations. When we imagine a life where truth and beauty live without tension. I think this is Jesus’ point whenever he invites us to deny ourselves, pick up crosses, and follow him. Learning to act like humans requires leaving behind our old self, denying certain longings of that self, and becoming something real and brand new. It’s seeing a realm, perhaps invisible to others, where forgiveness is not weakness, weakness is not shameful, and shame is never the end of the story.

Jason C. Helveston

May 24, 2023

Introduction

The Garden of Beauty & Truth

Our purpose is to grow gardens, not just cut flowers.

Eugene Peterson

1

When you walk into Pequod’s Pizza you know you’re in the right place. The red brick building flows naturally with the city scenery. If not for the line on North Clybourn Avenue in the summer and spring, you’d miss it. Oh, and the marquée. It reads, Ask About Whale Tale. Their logo is unmistakable too. It’s what I can only describe as an angsty whale with a beer in one fin and underwear on its head. The lights are always dim, sports always on. Few places feel more Chicago.

Pizza is simple—crust, sauce, cheese, and toppings. But Pequod’s chars the edge of their pies, crystallizing crust and cheese, creating this sweet and crunchy experience that makes you think happy thoughts the rest of the day. So, when I heard Jamin Goggin was coming to town, we went to Pequod’s.

Jamin is disarmingly kind. He’s got one of those beards—full, with a balanced blend of dark and light follicles. He speaks with a soft confidence, like a tenured professor. I liked him instantly. He and Kyle Strobel wrote a book called, The Way of the Dragon or the Way of the Lamb. It’s fantastic. You should read it. In it, Goggin and Strobel call Christians to embrace weakness that cuts against the grain of earthly power. They take their time. The writers meet with Marva Dawn, J.I. Packer, Eugene Peterson, Dallas Willard, James and Rita Houston, and John Perkins—women and men who for generations have shaped the modern Christian imagination. Their collective influence spans through American church history, from the Jesus movement to the church growth boom, on into our current day, to what Skye Jethani calls the era of the Evangelical Industrial Complex. These sages have watched the American Church grow up in the modern world. And what they’ve observed is alarming.

Every conversation in the book centers on the idea of power. The journey begins broadly, considering power [as] the capacity to affect reality. However, their conclusions are exacting and convicting. Those Goggin and Strobel interview lead them to discover shameful ways followers of Jesus regard and utilize the cosmic powers over this present darkness. Near the end of the book, they explain power’s paradox:

Power in strength for control, used to achieve kingdom ends, will ultimately deceive us into thinking we’re living in the way of Jesus, when in fact we are living in the way from below. This power is the power of straw; it is the power that seems invincible, and then one day just disappears. Power in weakness works the opposite way. Power in weakness appears to be powerless in the face of this world and it may even be denounced as foolish within the church itself.

Their words exposed me. I’m well into my second decade of professional ministry. I’ve served as a pastor in Denver, San Jose, and now Chicago. As Jamin and I sat enjoying unrivaled deep-dish excellence, I told him his writing revealed a brokenness or, perhaps, foolishness in me I had never faced. You see, for most of my vocational life I’ve believed fame was right around the corner. To this day, I assume I’m one viral sermon, one boom in the size of my church, or one best-selling book away from being truly significant. Of course, my plans for this celebrity are completely virtuous. Aren’t they always?

I had to admit, and must regularly confess, that instead of embracing contentment and delighting in God’s good pleasure, I’m often waiting for my own slice of earthly power. Instead of cultivating a hunger and thirst for righteousness, I nurse an appetite to be seen and adored. It feels like wearing a mask. To be sure I baptize my ambition in biblical language and religious activity. I even call it ministry. But in the spirit of Shakespeare’s Juliet who pined from her balcony, That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, I’ve been learning that an idol by any other name is just as destructive.

After compelling Jamin to swear eternal pizza allegiance to Pequod’s, I thanked him for his work and dropped him off at a local used bookstore. Driving away, I had to deal with an unnerving human experience; a host of questions had been bouncing around in my mind even as we ate. How could someone I had only just met know something so intimate about my heart? Something I had been blind to for much of my adult life and ministry? How did he know I was pretending?

2

Familiarity is not the same as understanding. Being exposed to something regularly, even over a long period of time, doesn’t necessarily mean we’ve figured it out. Like the people we see on the bus every morning, whom we recognize but we don’t really know.

Familiar is about proximity.

Understanding is about intimacy.

For example, I’m familiar with gardening. But I don’t understand it. I have the basic information—seeds, water, and sunlight eventually yield plants. In fact, in my backyard we have a few planter boxes. Strawberries, tomatoes, kale, and squash grow with shocking persistence. My astonishment lies both in the miracle that our young children let them live and in the fact that I have no idea how plants actually grow. I’m familiar with gardening, but I don’t understand it. In much the same way, as human beings, our self-knowledge rarely moves from proximity to intimacy. We’re familiar with our humanity yet we lack understanding. I think that’s the tension I was brushing up against at Pequod’s.

In his New York Times best-selling book, Sapiens, Yuval Noah Harari explains that "the real meaning of the word human is ‘an animal belonging to the genus Homo’, and there used to be many other species of this genus besides Homo sapiens. And he concedes there was nothing special about humans. There were many types. Now there is one. Harari’s research has led him and many others to describe what you and I likely think of as people as the last remaining tree in a previously vast forest of human-like species. The origin of this network of life came from a single female ape who had two daughters; one became the ancestor of all chimpanzees, the other is our own grandmother." Our shared origin is foundational to our biological concept of what it means to be a human being today.

That’s a lot of information. In fact, it’s no stretch to say we have more information today than ever before about our humanity. Yet every day, all over the world, humans still ask—like Derek Zoolander staring into a curbside rain puddle, dropping his inflection ever so slightly on the last syllable—who am I? This isn’t merely a general curiosity about our species, but longing to understand our story. Isn’t it? We crave intimacy, not just information. Through extensive cultural histories, in-home ancestry and DNA tests, online research (read: Facebook stalking and Googling stuff), and conversations with our relatives, we have more facts than ever about ourselves. And yet, have you noticed? We seem more unsure, at odds, and uncomfortable with ourselves and others than ever before. Remember, Zoolander’s reflection answers his own question…I don’t know.

Staggering advancements in our knowledge of Homo sapiens have produced little harvest in our understanding of self. Don’t worry. Sociologists, philosophers, and even anthropologists struggle to make sense of us too.

In his recent book, Humankind, Dutch historian Rutger Bregman compares the perspectives of renowned philosophers Thomas Hobbes and Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Basically, Hobbes (17th century) saw humanity as inherently evil. Rousseau (18th century) believed we were fundamentally good. Today, at least from a historical vantage point, most of us side with Hobbes. Most of us assume, overall, humanity began barbaric or ignorant and through time we’ve matured in ability, civility, and morality. We were bad. But now we’re good. Or, at least, better. But Bregman suggests, That’s how our sense of history gets flipped upside down. Civilisation has become synonymous with peace and progress, and wilderness with war and decline. In reality, for most of human existence, it was the other way around. He’s suggesting that contrary to popular presumption, Western advancement has made us eviler. The more progress, the more degeneration. In other words, maybe Rousseau was on to something. More information doesn’t necessarily cultivate richer intimacy. In fact, if we’re not careful, more data can even deteriorate our understanding. I think this is what compels many of us to begin peddling pretense.

According to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, 1.4 million people in America attempted suicide in 2017. This number has steadily increased every year since 2008. In a 2016 report from the World Health Organization, suicide was the 18th leading cause of death. That’s all pre-pandemic. Reflecting on our collective mental health in April of 2021, organizational psychologist Adam Grant explained,

In psychology, we think about mental health on a spectrum from depression to flourishing. Flourishing is the peak of well-being: You have a strong sense of meaning, mastery and mattering to others. Depression is the valley of ill-being: You feel despondent, drained and worthless. Languishing is the neglected middle child of mental health. It’s the void between depression and flourishing—the absence of well-being.

Unwittingly, many of us were sucked into this mushy middle ground during the pandemic. Every second a new think piece promised insight and influencers offered a hack to shake us loose from the doldrums. But nothing really worked. We were left alone with infinite information about ourselves at our fingertips and we still broke. Dark emotions like anger and sadness, which had previously been pacified by the next happy hour or family vacation, were all of sudden taking