Word of Wisdom: Receive
“What a child doesn't receive he can seldom later give.” P. D. James
I can hardly claim to be a sci-fi aficionado—I’ve only seen a few Star Trek episodes, and I haven’t read even one Isaac Asimov novel.
But I like a good near-future flick, with just enough technological advancement to stretch the imagination while not losing relatability to our contemporary lives. And if the storyline includes a well-written exploration of the father-child relationship, all the better.
Ad Astra is one of those films.
As the protagonist traverses the solar system to find his father, long presumed to be dead, he wrestles with the wounds of being orphaned as a boy by his dad’s self-centered quest—and the relational problems in adulthood those unhealed wounds precipitated.
Frequent AI-conducted psychological evaluations are the plot device through which we glimpse the depths of the isolation this fatherless son experiences. To pass an evaluation before a mission, he states coldly “I will not rely on anyone or anything—I will not be vulnerable”.
As the journey to the outer heliosphere takes a turn into the depths of his inner life, he more passionately confides to the computer: “When I look at my anger, and push it aside, all I see is hurt. I just see pain. I think it keeps me walled off, walled off from relationships.”
It is a walling off that many of us can relate to.
When we’ve been hurt, when we’ve been wounded through abuse or abandonment physically or psychologically, the natural response is to erect a wall—to cordon off an area of our mind or heart so that it cannot be further traumatized. Like any barrier, the effect is stymied connection, stultified relationship.
Because real, robust relationships are rooted in receiving.
Like a dam prevents the riverbed from receiving waters from upstream, or a jammer disrupts the reception of radio signals, the walls we erect in our relationships prevent us from receiving the very things we crave: heartfelt attention, honest affection, the holy allure of someone reaching out and filling us with precisely what we need. We’re often fearful that strings are attached, just as they were when we were first hurt way back when.
But there’s another circuit breaker to healthy receiving other than fear; one that may be the deadliest of all, as it ushered in death at the first: pride.
Receiving is difficult for humans, and for us midlife men in particular, because it undermines one of our paramount aspirations: autonomous achievement, and the earnings it engenders. Pride, in the sense of satisfaction stemming from our solitary successes, precludes receiving, unless it is the reception of accolades after the accomplishment.
It is this impulse that lured and hooked our first forebears. Though their immortality was rooted in a continual receiving of everything they needed from an ever-giving physical environment and ever-present spiritual presence, the fruit of the one tree—delightful to the eyes and desirable to make one wise and self-sufficient—was too much to resist. Thus, taking overtook receiving as our default, a taking that sometimes masquerades as giving in our mortal mission to justify ourselves.
But why is receiving so central to relationship? And why is it harder to receive the older we grow?
Let’s look to the word itself.
The English word receive comes to us from the Old French receivre, meaning “to pick up, to welcome, to accept”. Interestingly, it came into use specifically in relation to the acceptance of the sacrament. Prior to that, its origin can be traced to the Latin recipere, which meant “to regain, to recover, to take in, to admit”.
When we don’t receive from others, we’re denying them admission into our life, into our heart. Perhaps more importantly, we’re denying admission to the Spirit of the Father, and all of the recovery and relational fruits he brings with him.
It is when we receive that we show ourself to be a son of God. Because while servants and hired hands earn, sons and heirs receive.
The entire history of the Father’s purpose proclaims to us the centrality of receiving. From the receiving of the first breath, to the dead bones in our life receiving the redeeming, second breath; from the receiving of the Spirit in an inner room, to the receiving of the Son at the front door. We are called to rest from the earning, and receive the relational intimacy for which we’re so desperately yearning.
Yet, everything in this fallen age tends to push and pull against this. Whether we’ve been the prodigal, younger sibling who feels only worthy of being called a servant, or the older sibling wearily, angrily striving like a servant to earn the fatted calf, we naturally encounter barriers to this relational receiving.
But when we at last receive the invitation to the table, and receive the nearness and nourishment it provides, we supernaturally experience the embrace of a Father longing to be with his sons and to reveal them to the world. And it’s out of that receiving that we will give, and be amazed at how our meager means are turned into abundance that will bless everyone around us.
It’s then, like the recently returned and healed son in the final scene of the film, we’ll say with hopeful, heartfelt humility: “I will rely on those closest to me. I will share their burdens, as they share mine. I will live, and love. Submit.”
May we also.
“Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” Mark 10:15