Five or so years back, a group of friends and I traveled to Birmingham to listen to Brennan Manning. Brennan died in 2013, which is one of the reasons we went to see him when we did. Manning was a writer, priest, and speaker who captured the hearts of many with his words and stories on grace and acceptance. Judging him in his old age merely by physical appearance, he failed to impress. But we felt the power of his presence as he stood in front of us, an entire audience captivated with his every word. Afterward, I wrote a few reflections, and they remind me of how I want to live:
I look at Brennan Manning and see a man I want to be like and a man I want to pretend I never saw. He cannot see well enough to sit down unaided. His frail shoulders threaten to snap if the church air conditioning blows in like a spring breeze. His jeans scream hip-hop teenager meets hippie rather than articulate and seasoned seventy-five year old man.
He pauses awkwardly in the middle of sentences, sometimes changing the subject in the process, either passionately intentional but more likely forgetful. And yet, his words turn to gold to an audience waiting like dependent and hungry babies. Passion colors his face, a vigor redefined by the fact that he has lived life’s journey through with belief and heart intact, and he will die soon.
He still believes enough to raise his voice in excitement to an audience he has no reason to manipulate and cannot base his self-worth on because he cannot see their facial response.
People listen because this man has led with his brokenness; his courage and trust founded on the belief his failures and brokenness have power to bless and bring life. And so, in some way, he is the essence of his opening statement, that it is better to live naked in truth than clothed in fantasy.
Yes. How true and hard, Brennan. It is better to live naked in truth than clothed in fantasy.
