Hierarchy

It was nice to not be fighting for a moment, as much as I enjoyed fighting with him.  He and I fought a lot.  He was one of my training partners.  We’d logged innumerable hours on the mats training with and against each other.

But, right then, we were just having a good conversation.  He’s one of my favorite sparring partners, but he’s also a good friend.  He’s one of my best friends.  It’s easy for me to take for granted what a good friend he is, but he really is a good friend.  He’s reminded me of that fact a lot recently: both aloud and silently.

We were talking about some of the techniques we’ve been using on each other.  He was complimentary of some of the guard retention I was working on, but his compliments only held so much weight.  The fact was that I couldn’t stop him from passing my guard, no matter how good I was getting.

He treats me with an incredible amount of respect.  It’s probably a respect I don’t deserve, but we’re both black belts and he’s always considerate.

I had been in one of the classes he taught the day before and had been trying to apply some of the technique he had been teaching.  I wasn’t there yet.  I wasn’t successful at it, but I was trying.

“I could feel what you were trying to do,” he said, replaying our sparring match from the day before.  “But you missed the foot.  Remember how I taught…”

That’s when he paused.  I knew immediately what was going through his mind.  He was a black belt, and I was a black belt.  He didn’t want to seem disrespectful of our analogous rank.  He didn’t want to seem arrogant in assuming he was a black belt worthy of teaching another black belt.

But I knew better.

“It’s OK, brother,” I told him.  “We both know you’re better than me.  I’m here to learn from you.”

There is a hierarchy to be found on the mats.  It works itself out naturally without too much effort.  Often, it is sorted by the color of a belt and that makes it easy to see.  That’s not always accurate, though.  The toughest fighters aren’t always the ones with the darkest belt colors, but sometimes they are.  It can be confusing at first, but it figures itself out.

During a good open mat or a tough sparring night the pecking order establishes itself quickly.  The elite fighters can be spotted in the first couple rounds.  It doesn’t take too long, usually, to identify the best in the room.

It’s not too difficult, either, to recognize the worst fighter in the room.  That’s often a tie, though.  There are many times when competition for the worst fighter in the room is in extreme contention.  From the best to the worst, the hierarchy reveals itself.

I know where I stand, positionally, in respect to my God.  I know on some level, at least.  I know that God is bigger, stronger, wiser, more powerful—God is God.  He does God things.  He performs miracles, keeps the planet turning, and stretches the heavens across the sky.  In relation to God, I am entirely irrelevant.

But God doesn’t see it that way.  He sees me as something of value and as something of worth.  In fact, He treasures me so much that he imprinted me with His very image.  He thought enough of me that He allowed me the honor of reflecting His glory.

So God created man in His own image; He created him in the image of God; He created them male and female. (Genesis 1:27) 

I can’t pretend that I have this stuff all figured out.  God is obviously the superior being in this equation, yet He has chosen me as His own.  He tells me He has a plan for me and promises me a future and a purpose.  I know He can make it all happen.  He’s got the power and the strength and He’s willing to leverage all of it in my favor.

But I still like to fight with Him.  I struggle and contend against Him, sometimes unintentionally and often with malice aforethought.  I tell myself that I can’t help it, but I don’t know if that’s true.  I can probably help it, and I probably choose not to.  I acknowledge this weakness in myself, but that doesn’t make it any better.  There are no excuses, despite the number I keep in my pocket.  I’m always trying to strain against a God who is obviously stronger than I am.

"Woe to the one who argues with his Maker— one clay pot among many. Does clay say to the one forming it, 'What are you making?' Or does your work say, 'He has no hands'? (Isaiah 45:9) 

Despite all my straining, despite all my fighting and my contrary nature, God maintains and God remains.  He stands at my side and He gives me purpose.  The imperfect reflection of Him that I am is still His reflection.  He has a place for me in His kingdom and He has a plan that I get to be part of.

The LORD is the One who will go before you. He will be with you; He will not leave you or forsake you. Do not be afraid or discouraged." (Deuteronomy 31:8) 

I can’t do anything to make God love me more or love me less—because He already loves me with all the love that could possibly exist.  That doesn’t mean I don’t keep trying.  I’m often—if not always—trying to earn my way into a love that God has already given me.  I’m trying to own and control something I already have and can’t manipulate.

I often hear people tell me that God wants to use me.  He wants to put me to work and give me a mission.  I’ve spent a lot of time around church and church people, and this is one of those things that is frequently spoken.  God wants to use you, He wants to use me, and He wants to use us.

But He doesn’t.  God doesn’t want to use anybody.  I’m not a tool, I’m not a weapon, and I’m not a device.  To use something implies some sort of utility.  I have no utility to God.  He’s not looking for an object to wield, He’s looking for a partner and a friend.

I get to do fun things, and one of those recent fun things was helping my same friend teach some technique.  He asked me if I wanted to come along and help with a seminar.  I was honored and excited.  He’s a good friend who is incredibly good at Jiu-jitsu—he’s a legitimate world champion.  He’s better than me.  He proves how much better he is frequently.

Before using me to demonstrate the technique he was teaching,  he took a moment to introduce me to everyone in attendance.  “This is my friend, Joel,” he said.  “He’s been training with me for years.  He was my main training partner back when I won Pans.”

I remembered that training camp.  He was competing on one of the most prestigious Jiu-jitsu stages on the planet.  He was going to fight world champions and legendary practitioners.  He was a world-class grappler, and this was his chance to prove it.

His training camp was rough for both of us, but it was probably rougher for me.  He’s better than  me.  He’s a lot better than me.  His understanding and execution of Jiu-jitsu does laps around my limited knowledge.

But I gave him the best I could.  He’s one of my best friends, and I wanted to see him succeed.  We sparred for rounds on end for weeks on end.  He would teach a class and we would spar, then we would stay longer to spar some more.  We sparred situationally and we sparred to mirror the round lengths he would be competing with.  I did my best to emulate the fighters he would be facing—I’m nowhere near as good as they are, but I was trying to feed him as best I could.

I started packing multiple gis when I went to train with him.  I was sweating pounds through my kimonos while we hammered out round after round.  I can’t remember the number of times we both stood, exhausted from the hard work, and he lifted his finger toward me and breathed, “one more round.”

I remember when that camp came to an end and he left on a plane to go compete at the highest level of the sport.  I didn’t go with him, but I watched his matches online.  I watched him dominate his bracket using the techniques he had spent the last several weeks using on me.  When he stood on that podium in the most elevated space—in first place—I knew that I had played a part in that victory.  I was ecstatic, yelling at my laptop display from miles away.  I had been part of his victory.

But anyone joined to the Lord is one spirit with Him. (1 Corinthians 6:17) 

God isn’t seeking to use me.  He’s looking for a partner and a friend.  He’s inviting me to join Him on a purposeful journey.  He wants to give me a part—an ownership—in the incredible things He is doing.  He’s bigger than me, stronger than me, far more powerful than me, but still He implores me to partner with Him along this unpredictable voyage.

When people tell me that God wants to use me, it sounds kind of ridiculous.  I know it’s only a language thing, but language means something to my ears.  God’s not trying to use me.  I don’t serve any purpose to Him.  There is no way in which He needs me.  I can do nothing for God.  I’ve God nothing to offer the author and creator of the universe—the known and unknown universe.

But God doesn’t think that way.  He doesn’t see that way.  Thank God He doesn’t see the same way I do.  That would be a terrible world to live in.  It’s the sort of world that I keep trying to live myself inside of, and it’s the same world that God keeps shattering the boundaries of—the world of my limited imagination.  God doesn’t see me as a thing of utility.  He sees me as a thing of purpose.  He sees me as His friend.

I do not call you slaves anymore, because a slave doesn't know what his master is doing. I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything I have heard from My Father.  You did not choose Me, but I chose you. I appointed you that you should go out and produce fruit and that your fruit should remain, so that whatever you ask the Father in My name, He will give you. (John 15:14-16) 

I can’t wrap my mind around the idea of being God’s friend. I can’t even begin to comprehend a God who wants me at His side.  I don’t think that much of myself.  I don’t think of myself as the sort of person that the creator of the universe would want to be around, let alone partner with.

But He does.

It was one of the coolest experiences I’d had in a long time.  My very same friend—my world-class grappler friend—was competing in the same tournament as me.  Not only that, but he would be competing on the very same mat at the very same time as me.  Our two brackets were scheduled to run consecutively on the same mat at the same time.  That’s how tournaments go, sometimes.

I arrived early and checked in, then joined a few members of my team.  I had changed into my gi and checked my weight when my friend waved me over.  He has an academy and a team of his own.  I train with him when I can, but I also have a team of my own.  We’re on the same team, but we’re also on different teams.  That’s just how things are sometimes.

He knew we were competing on the same mats at the same time, because he had checked the brackets just like I had.

“We’re scheduled to start at 9,” he said.  “Let’s get warmed up at 8:30.   I’ll come find you.”

And he did.  At about 8:30 he came to find me, and we headed to the warmup mats to get our bodies moving while we waited for our names to be called.  We found a free space on the mat and started working.  We’d worked together a lot—years of training together—so we settled into a familiar rhythm as we flowed into and through semi-cooperative guard retention and guard passing drills.

I didn’t escape the gravity of that moment, even in the silence of my busy mind.  Here I was, about to compete simultaneously with one of my great friends and long-time mentors.  He’s a legitimate hero to me in many ways, and I sometimes wonder if I have anything to offer him as a grappler.  He’s so much better than me.

But here I was with him, about to share the mats with him.  And we’re warming up together, because we’re partners.  I’m helping him and he’s helping me.  We’re both helping each other so we can go do battle together.

God doesn’t need me at His side to turn this world on its axis.  He’s going to accomplish His will and He’s going to have his way, no matter what anyone—including me—has to say about it.  He doesn’t need me or anything I have to accomplish His designs.

And He calls me into His purpose and asks me to walk at His side.  Not behind Him like an inferior, and not in the place ahead of Him wear I so often strive to take charge.  Instead, in the strangest shifts in perspectives, He asks me to walk at His side.  He craves my company, my companionship, and my concern.

He sees me like no other has ever seen me.  He sees me as worthy of His time.  He sees me as worth of His presence.

And He wants mine in return.

Now the one planting and the one watering are one in purpose, and each will receive his own reward according to his own labor.  For we are God's coworkers. You are God's field, God's building. (1 Corinthians 3:8-9) 

It’s a really good morning, a good morning for both of us.  His match is scheduled first, and he takes a win with authority in the way I’ve grown to expect.  When my first match comes, I get to fight with my friend just a few feet away.  My opponent made me work for it, but I had a good match.  He was the toughest opponent I had to face.  I ended up winning the whole bracket.  So did my friend.  He won his whole bracket.  We both took home gold medals.  We took them home after fighting at each other’s side.

It was a beautiful morning.

God could use me if He chose to.  He has every right to do so.  He has the strength to exert His will and I don’t have the strength to resist it effectively.  Don’t get me wrong—I still try to fight against a God that I’m helpless to fight against.  I do it all the time.  I try to fight against the God who created me.  It’s a foolish proposition, but I have a proclivity for foolishness.

Despite all my struggling against Him, my God still desires a partnership with me.  Despite all my flaws, he’s not looking for a subject.  He’s seeking a partner and a friend.

For we have become companions of the Messiah if we hold firmly until the end the reality that we had at the start. (Hebrews 3:14) 

Just a couple days after our tournament—the one where we both won gold together—we’re sitting in the same place we sit from time to time and talking.  We’ll get to training in a little while, but for now we’re just having a conversation.  We’re talking about our matches and the techniques we used.

He’s enormously complimentary of my performance.  Obviously, I can’t help but admire his wins.  He’s one of my heroes.

“You know,” he says to me, “I was talking to a couple guys who were watching us.”

“Oh?” I reply.

“They were telling me that the way you and I pass half-guard is almost identical.”

“Maybe it is,”’ I replied.  “What did you tell them?”

“I told them that it’s identical because we’re training partners.  With the amount of time we’ve spent together, we’re bound to look the same sometimes.”

It was a really good morning.