riding with Don Quixoté

Sometimes I feel like Sancho Panza, the mule-riding sidekick who serves as squire for the legendary Don Quixoté. For those who don’t know the story, Don Quixoté is the main character in a novel (written by Miguel de Cervantes) considered by many to be among the greatest works of Spanish literature in history. Don Quixoté is the fictional name taken on by a middle-aged gentleman from central Spain who, having become addicted to books about chivalry (knights in shining armor rescuing princesses who have been captured by dragons, and so on), decides to become a knight and ride around the country doing good and opposing evil. Sancho Panza is the ignorant peasant who agrees to go with him.

Quixoté and Panza end up trying to rescue people who are not in danger, mistakenly helping others who are bent on doing harm, and generally making complete fools of themselves. In perhaps the most famous scene of the novel, Don Quixoté becomes convinced that a cluster of windmills is actually a group of giants. He valiantly takes up his lance and attacks the unsuspecting windmills, hence the phrase, “tilting at windmills”(which means attacking imaginary enemies).

Poor Sancho Panza often finds himself oscillating back and forth between the “real” world, and the fictitious and fantastical world that emerges from Quixotés imagination. The story ends tragically with Quixoté returning home in complete disillusionment, with Panza desperately trying to keep the imaginary journey alive.

If I’m honest, I must admit that sometimes I feel like Sancho Panza. Sometimes I feel like I’m living in an imaginary world, engaging in absurd activities that have no significance other than that which emerges from my Master’s fancy (or worse yet, my own). I can feel like I’m following a lunatic (not a liar and not the Lord), with no idea of where I’m going or what will happen when I get there. Sometimes I can’t help but ask this Knight that I follow, “What planet are you on? What in the world are you thinking?” Sometimes I feel like I have followed a fool into a meaningless adventure, and that the real world is simply laughing at me as it passes me by.

A French author and philosopher named Albert Camus wrote extensively on what he called “the philosophy of the absurd.” He wrestled with the apparent “meaninglessness” and undeniable contradictions of life, while at the same time searching for some meaning that serves as a motivation to go on living. I have had to read several books by Camus as part of my French coursework, and I have been impacted by his portrayal of life’s absurdities. The truth is that our world, for all of its logic and order, is filled with apparent contradictions, with opposing realities that don’t make much sense. And there is reason to be really depressed, as was Camus (and as are most philosphers) for much of his life.

But in light of this absurdity that I can observe all around me and, at times, even in me, I find it fascinating that the Son of God didn’t come and straighten it all out. Instead, he himself entered into the absurdity, into the complete folly of this world; living a life that didn’t make any sense at all at the time when he lived it. I’m sure that the disciples could have found themselves relating to Sancho Panza as well, had they had opportunity to read the novel. Jesus often said and did things that probably seemed insane. Following him around must have felt like utter lunacy at times. And I’m sure that these men were regularly faced with the question: Is this real, or are we on a wild goose chase?

Perhaps surprisingly, I’m finding that the more I’m exposed to the absurdities of this world, particularly in the context of people’s lives, the more Jesus starts to make sense. Hanging out with my engineer neighbor, with his lovely wife and three kids, who lacks for nothing and is very pleased with the general course of his life, I find myself squirming to make sense of the claims of Christ as they apply to him. But sitting in the car across from a nearly homeless man in his mid-60s, who describes his life as “hell,” and who is trying to make sense of the downward spiral that he’s been in ever since the untimely death of his wife, I’m strangely comforted by the blatant folly of the Christian faith. A homeless Jesus who wandered the countryside with a rag-tag bunch of otherwise insignificant men and women, opposing the proud and giving grace to the humble, has something to offer this desperate friend.

Does that mean that Jesus is irrelevant for the rich and happy? Yes and no. The book of James tells us that God has chosen the poor to be rich in faith. Jesus suggested on numerous occasions that, in His kingdom, the poor and lowly (the have nots) are blessed while the rich and satisfied (the haves) are often excluded. But, when they encounter Jesus, the “haves” are often faced with an option. They can humbly hop on their mule and follow Jesus into the foolish way of faith. Or, they can proudly reject his way in preference for the apparent logic, order and sanity of the “real” world. Unfortunately, there are few from this category of people who are willing to exchange their worldly sanity for Christ’s absurdity. And, although the United States has succeeded in creating a very orderly and “sane” branch of Christianity where the “haves” can feel at home, this bares little resemblance to the scandalous, confusing, and insanely self-sacrificing road that Christ described as the “narrow way.”

In the end, I’ve got it way better than Sancho Panza. The wisdom of my Master’s foolish way proves itself again and again in my daily life. And although at times His apparent insanity can be confusing and disconcerting, I am finding that His promises are consistently true, and that His grace is sufficient for me.

In the face of what seems like folly, my Lord, when I’m tempted to turn away, give me grace to join the apostle Peter in saying: Where else can I go? You have the words of life.