Would You?

Selling a Product it Appears We Know Very Little About

I’ve been telling a story about my eventual death for a long time. I’ve told my wife, and a few friends, that I envision my death as the result of a single car accident, in which my body is severed at the belt buckle and the halves become separated in the chaos of a flipping car. First responders will arrive, and try to make sense of the wreckage. They’ll be convinced there were two occupants in the vehicle and both have perished. They’ll report over the radio, “single car, double fatality”, and then spend the next thirty minutes looking for the torso of an aging athlete, and the bottom half of a sumo wrestler.

With that body-shape in mind, I’d like to ask a simple question…. Would you buy a diet and exercise regimen that I recommended to you? Your answer shouldn’t require a lot of thought. If you’re serious about weight-loss and / or being in good physical shape, you’d assume I followed my plan, and immediately you’d decide to try something different.

You would! Be honest. It doesn’t hurt my feelings. I’m okay with myself. This is not self-loathing – it’s a teaching hook that just happens to be visually verifiable. Deep down, you know the accident scenario could happen.

My former Primary Care Physician was a short, nice lady who, even by my standards, was overweight. I liked her. For the 20+ years she was my PCP, she never once suggested I lose weight. Similar to the writings of Solzhenitsyn, the topic of my weight never came up during our chats about my health.

I really like my new PCP, too. Unfortunately, she’s in much better shape. She told me I “needed to get rid of this”, pointing toward my midsection. I asked her if she was referring to my shirt, assuming my wife had prompted her somehow. The doctor’s approach, and her language, was a stark contrast to the content of the discharge documents she sent home with me. Straight from the Baylor Scott and White database, immortalized forever in the ether, the discharge papers read “Morbid Obesity”. Morbid? A quick internet search for the definition of morbid, in a weight context, reveals it is related to diseased. Synonyms are, and I quote, “gruesome, ghastly, and unwholesome”. I walk about 4+ miles per day, six days per week; eat a lot less than I want to; drink oil tankers full of water every day; and even so, I’m morbidly obese. I look like a potato with two straws sticking out of the bottom. I’m afraid that if I do more to lose weight, my legs may disappear completely.

To compound the situation, my new PCP recently suggested I should go see a gastroenterologist (I think that’s Latin for gut doctor). She suspects….. wait for it….. fatty liver disease. I couldn’t be less surprised. My next task is to decide which word I like least: fatty, diseased, or morbid.

So, would you buy a diet, exercise, and healthy living regimen that I recommend?

I asked that question when teaching a Bible class many years ago. I asked it cold turkey. No stories about severed bodies or PCPs preceded the question. The class squirmed and chuckled. One person chuckled and added an emphatic NO.

That’s a pretty good question, don’t you think? In a spiritual context, it is an outstanding question, and one Christians should be asking ourselves. Would others buy Christianity from me? I’m not trying to pack the bags and take us all on a guilt trip, I just think it is worth thinking about - introspectively.

The danger in an introspection is the possibility of missing the blind spots in our lives. My gut (metaphorically) tells me that we don’t see our inconsistencies, or we’d change our behavior or change our opinion. I mean, I knew I was overweight, even obese, but “morbid”? That’s the honest candor that valuable introspection should supply.

Jesus understood this premise. He routinely rebuked the Pharisees for their hypocrisy, not following their own teaching, their pretending to be something they weren’t, and their words not matching their hearts. In street language, Jesus was saying that people shouldn’t be buying religion from them. Jesus was a doctor who spoke honestly about their condition, and exposed the Pharisees as an example of our premise.

Pharisaism didn’t disappear in the first century CE.

Jesus even expressed frustration and compassion for his own disciples when they failed to live the teachings they claimed to be following and sharing. I believe his frustration and compassion was based on his concern for their readiness when he left them to their mission. He knew when the time came for them to share their faith with others, people wouldn’t buy faith from the faithless, accept humility from the arrogant, understand self-denial as taught by narcissists, learn forgiveness from the unforgiving, mimic the cold-hearted who preach compassion, or accept a legalist’s message of grace.

It’s just buying the Scott Wolfe Fitness Program from Scott Wolfe.

Christians will never be perfect. There will always be failure and always opportunity for improvement. We will never teach from a position of mastery. Funny thing, though, Jesus knows that. He knows that people who look like me should try to, and can, sell fitness. It’s the only option in the workforce. But, wouldn’t it be helpful if we were to teach more from a position of humility, rather than blind arrogance? I’m pretty sure I know what I should be doing, for better health, I just don’t do it. That doesn’t mean my advice can’t be helpful for others. Not because it is working for me, but because it can work. I am the problem, not the program. If we’re representing a product that we appear to know little about, at least be honest about it, and position the product as separate from the salesperson. Reality, though, shows it’s difficult to separate the two. But it’s the only option on the table.