Becoming Self Centered

I’ve been doing some thinking lately about the nature of criticism.

It’s important to me at the mo because I find myself in this strange in-between place where I’m giving and receiving it more than ever before, and trying to do both graciously.

I have just written a book criticizing the way we do church (note: not the Church itself), and, in response, I’ve received a fair amount of criticism for having the gall. I believe in the critique I’m offering, but, to my disappointment, I often find my confidence wavering with each backlash. It’s only human I suppose, but it has the power to cripple this type of endeavor. Many would say I’m getting what I deserve, but if I am to move forward with this; stick to my guns so to speak, I have to learn to roll with these punches.

For those of you who are watchers of award shows, I’m sure you’ve heard all the furor surrounding the Golden Globes recently. Brit Comedian Ricky Gervais, who I have been a fan of for years now, was asked to host the evening for the second year in a row. Now he is known for his cutting jibes, but this year some have suggested he went too far with his comments.

Here's an example of what I'm talking about:

Did he go too far?

For some he did.

Others found him hilarious.

I then went and listened to an interview with Gervais by Piers Morgan; CNN’s new go-to interview guy.

Here is a short clip from that interview:

I’ve watched the whole 45 minutes, and at no point does Ricky apologize for the things he said. He reminds Piers that he is a comedian, and the expectation is that a comedian observes and pokes fun at our oddities. If it isn’t true, it isn’t funny.

Personally, I enjoyed his ribbing of the ridiculousness that is the celebrity scene, the frivolity of Award Shows, and the insufferable collective ego of these human beings who make up Hollywood; and I know Gervais did it deliberately, because he has spoken openly in interviews before about how he feels concerning the illusion of celebrity.

Whether he was right or wrong really isn’t the point I want to make though. What I found interesting is how he handled the criticism of his criticism. As I was sitting and watching this interview I wondered what it must be like to have millions of people angry at the things you’ve said. I mean here he sits in an interview on CNN, basically being asked to answer for himself, and he remains calm and unashamed. I may have just caved under the pressure and issued the usual generalized, waffly apology that quashes these kind of things.

But not Ricky.

His unassuming confidence was impressive. He knew what he wanted to say. He had thought about his jokes before he went on stage, and the reactions of the media moguls after the fact hadn’t shaken him in the least. At one point in the interview he said something to the effect that, ‘If you do what you do for you alone, the way you think it should be done, you’re bulletproof’.

Now I know that could be read as supreme arrogance, but that wasn’t the tone at all. What he was saying was that, if you are going to put yourself out there, you have to back yourself. You can’t be swayed by everyone’s opinion.

It took this to remind me that I really do believe in what I’m doing here, as unpopular as it may be to the target demographic: Western Church-Going Christians. Criticism will come, and perhaps it’s a sign of at least being listened to, if not heard. The point is, criticism cannot shake me every time... in fact neither can the praise.

I mean, just the other night I had this woman come up to me, while I was waiting tables asking me why, with all my years of education I had ended up in this job. I explained that I was having to reboot my career. I told her briefly how I had been a Pastor, but had left the role out of conscience. I simplified the argument for the sake of time into the fact that churches have huge resources which, by and large, aren’t used to better their local communities, but rather spent on themselves to build bigger buildings and pay salaries. I told her I felt I had a message to give and that I couldn’t give it as a member of the paid clergy. At the end of the evening she sought me out, clasped my hand, and choking back emotion, told me how brave she thought I was.

Now I walked out of there feeling really good; really confident about my choices.

Juxtapose this with the fact that I recently sat across the table from a church leader who told me that I was ‘a terrible Pastor’, I was ‘a false prophet’, and I am ‘going to hell’. I left that meeting feeling pretty terrible about myself, and questioning everything I was doing.

There has of course been every shade of grey between these two as well, and the up and down emotional response to it all has to stop. If I am swayed by every opinion that comes my way I will go crazy.

So this week, I learned from Ricky Gervais that, at the end of the day, you have to create for yourself.

This afternoon I went for a drink and a cigar at the Che Bar with a friend of mine who is writing his own book. He was saying how difficult it is ‘point the book’ at something. ‘If you say this particular thing, that group won’t listen, but if you don’t, that group won’t listen. You can never win.’

I told him what I’m telling you here: the only way you can create is to create the thing you would want to see. Write the book you want to read, paint the painting you want to see, shoot the movie you want to enojy. It’s the only way you can make sure that your creation has focus. If you try and please everyone, and produce for the widest possible audience, you’ll end up reaching no one effectively.

I believe in the message I have to give. I will keep on having to remind myself that, and will continually have to work on finding better ways to say it, but I believe it. I wrote the book that I would want to read. I write the blog I would want to subscribe to. I give the talks that I would want to listen to. And at least this way I know I have a good chance of saying it properly, rather than whispering softly in a corner for fear of being heard and shunned.

I often assumed that the worst thing that could happen would be that I was ultimately ignored or rejected, but it’s not. The worst thing that could happen would be that I tried to please everyone around me and ended up putting out ineffectual, middle-of-the-road blandness for fear of offending anyone. If that happened, I would have no one to blame but myself.

This is the reason I say ‘I would rather err on the side of volume than caution’, and I think this applies to much of what we do day to day, especially us creatives.

Obviously I'm not saying that the advise and 'sounding board' of trusted friends isn't valuable and good, but the point is you're not trying to please them either. You're asking them to help you hone your offering. At some point you have to bite the proverbial bullet; put away the second-guessing and commit to putting your work out there to do what it has to do. You have to find the message, and the courage to give it, in yourself, apart from your fear of rejection. All the greats have.

If you want a really poignant allegory of this, go and watch the movie “The King’s Speech” at the cinemas. It’s a major Oscar contender, and for good reason.

Colin Firth plays King George VI, a reluctant king with a bad speech impediment. Historically, he came to power at the dawning of the Second World War, and Britain needed a Monarch who could inspire the nation through this new medium of Radio, in the way that Hitler did so compellingly in his own country.

With the help of failed Ozzy actor, turned speech therapist, Lionel Logue, King George (Bertie), has to face down his own incredible fear of failure and ridicule to be able to speak to the masses.

There is a beautiful scene in Westminster Abbey where the two are rehearsing for the King’s coronation. Logue decides to plonk himself down on the King’s throne. Despite the fact that Bertie is becoming more and more enraged he refuses to budge asking, “Why should I move?” Bertie eventually loses it, and in perfect, unbroken speech yells, “Because I am the King, I have a voice!”

Logue quietly responds, “Yes, you do.”

And as the tirade echoes off the vaulted ceiling, you realize he’s found it in himself, whatever ‘it’ is. Even though it would still be an uphill struggle, something had given way. It’s no longer about public opinion, or crippling self-loathing, it’s about who he is, and what he knows he has to do.

He’s become necessarily self-centered.