High Expectations

January/February 2009

by Elyse Nelson Winger

Last summer, I spent my vacation visiting several old friends. We’re all mothers, daughters, partners, spouses, siblings, friends, and we’re all in different stages of family and career, both of which bring us a varied collection of joys and complexities. But no matter whether we’re getting ready for maternity leave or trying to freelance from home, we all feel the burden of high expectations.

As I talked with my friends this summer, a theme kept coming up in our conversations: Is all this possible? Can we live up to it all? We might poke fun at the Martha Stewart/Mother Teresa/Angelina Jolie composites of womanhood we see extolled in media and movies, but the truth is, this image of the domestic goddess/earthly saint/movie-star mother has power. Power to burden and to haunt.

Here’s a composite of the expectations that came up as I visited these wonderful women: We’ve got to be high-powered and creative in our work, on a clear path to advancement. We’ve got to be present with and for our children as parents who nurture and guide with both authority and playfulness. We’ve got to be social and hospitable, with open doors and open kitchens. We’ve got to be culturally and politically with it.

But wait, there’s more: We’ve got to have a home that reflects our ethics and esthetics, and to purchase and prepare food that is healthy and environmentally responsible. We’ve got to be generous on behalf of others outside our work and family realms. We’ve got to take excellent care of ourselves and our families physically, emotionally, and spiritually. And, of course, we’ve got to look great through it all!

I laugh—helplessly?—when I realize what is expected of us and, even more important, what we expect of ourselves. That burden actually has the power to crush our creativity and compassion, drain our energy for community and service, and deprive us of the spiritual connection we so desperately need. We’ve got to figure out how to strike a healthy balance in all of it. And there you go: another high expectation.

The Party's Over
The Book of Daniel tells us the story of a king who was crushed by the burden of high expectations. Belshazzar of Babylon was the playboy progeny of a reformed ruler. His father, the great king Nebuchadnezzar, experienced personal and spiritual transformation; he prophetically named God as the one who “is able to bring low those who walk in pride.” But walk in pride Belshazzar did. He probably strutted. When we meet him in Daniel 5, he’s playing the glutton and the drunkard, presiding over an extravagant feast.

This king is able to call on the best of Babylonian culture, but so mean is his mind that the entertainment consists of sacrilege: guzzling wine from the holy cups taken from God’s temple in Jerusalem. And I think: This guy is seriously lost. He has seen what his father went through on the way to becoming a humble and faithful ruler. He’s got to change his ways. He’s got to praise the living God whose works are truth, whose ways are justice, whose power is Belshazzar’s very breath! Belshazzar wouldn’t— couldn’t—live up to the high expectations set by his father’s example, and used his wealth and power to serve only himself, exalting himself against the Lord. And the consequences were tragic for him.

When Daniel is finally summoned into the chaotic hall to interpret the mysterious writing for the foolish king, he issues a string of indictments of Belshazzar’s failings. The writing on the wall—which for centuries hasbeen synonymouswith promises of coming judgment and declarations of doom—reveals that for Belshazzar, the party’s over.

Release and Hope
I envision the expression “the writing’s on the wall” as a wag of a finger, an “I told you so,” a harsh accusation of an ugly reality. Yet, when I try to imagine it in the light of Christ and as a means of God’s living presence, the powerful image comes alive not as condemnation, but as invitation. To people living under the crushing power of high expectations of their own and others’ making, Jesus speaks a holy word of release and hope.

I think about the stories of Jesus in the Gospels, fingers wagging all over the place in disapproval of Jesus’ fellowship with Belshazzar types: “Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!” (Matthew 11:19)

Many people were scandalized by his friendship with people they thought should be told they’d been weighed on the scales of righteousness and found wanting. Those people didn’t meet the high expectations of the law or of society. But Jesus said, “You are forgiven.”

I think about the stories. Jesus said, “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today” (Luke 19:5b). I think about the stories of Jesus with women who were ostracized for breaking purity laws or crossing boundaries of class and gender. Plenty of his disciples thought Jesus shouldn’t bother stooping to their concerns or witness, that it didn’t befit his status as Rabbi and Messiah. But Jesus said: “You are restored.” Jesus said: “Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her” (Mark 14:9).

I think of the stories of Jesus with people who were burdened by responsibilities and relationships of all kinds. They were oppressed by empire and the corruption of the Temple elite. But Jesus said: “You are free.” Jesus said: “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).

Freed From, Freed For
In light of Christ, the writing on the wall is “You are forgiven.” The writing on the wall is “You are restored.” The writing on the wall is “You are free.” The writing on the wall is grace.

That holy word of grace is what I’ve got to read over and over again, because it has the power to free me from the burdens of self-imposed high expectations and free me for renewed service and response. Such writing has the wisdom to release me from what I’ve got to do and into what I get to do, because of God’s amazing grace at work through Christ.

At my ordination five years back, Martin Marty preached this very thing, and his profound gospel insight keeps re-spiriting my own journey. I get to figure out how to strike a healthy and faithful balance in all of it because the joys and complexities of life together with family and community is all a gift.

I get to minister; I get to parent; I get to share my table with friends; I get to spend time in prayer; I get to give and be given to; I get to share in the beauty of creation as a cocreator and steward.

None of it is about proving my worthiness—all of it is about responding with gratitude to the gift of life and possibilities that God has given.

The writing on the wall is “You are not alone. We are called into these responsibilities and relationships together—as friends and children of a restoring and welcoming God.”

Table of Mercy
My summertime conversations with old friends live on in morning calls to my sister, Emily. She knows I am always heaping way too much onto my plate (including dessert). I call her from my minivan and rattle off a string of tasks and meetings and social engagements and school activities.

I say, “It’s too much!,” as if I had nothing to do with the schedule. Emily listens, laughs, and in her own charming way, scolds. I’m not excellent at portion control when it comes to meals, and I’m definitely not disciplined at it when it comes to daily life and responsibilities.  So, I need her to provide both sanity and solace as we both experience the stress and sweetness of daily life.

And I also need something else.  With a plate full of expectations, I know I must keep coming to God's table of mercy.  In that meal, we all get to be fed, forgiven, and freed.

The Rev. Elyse Nelson Winger serves as associate pastor for worship and music at St. John’s Lutheran in Bloomington, Ill. She is grateful for her sister and the many diverse women friends who enrich her life!