“I Command You to Yawn”
In the The Little Prince—that short, profound children’s story that has spoken to millions of adults, that tale of a mysterious young man who shows up on earth and recounts his travels throughout the universe and the lessons he has learned—there is a funny little scene where he visits a little planet and meets a king:
“Ah! Here's a subject!” the king exclaimed when he caught sight of the little prince.
And the little prince wondered, “How can he know who I am if he’s never seen me before?” He didn’t realize that for kings, the world is extremely simplified: All men are subjects.
“Approach the throne so I can get a better look at you,” said the king, very proud of being a king for someone at last. The little prince looked around for a place to sit down, but the planet was covered by the [king’s] magnificent ermine cloak. So he remained standing, and since he was tired, he yawned.
“It is a violation of etiquette to yawn in a king’s presence,” the monarch told him. “I forbid you to do so.” “I can’t help it,” answered the little prince, quite embarrassed. “I’ve made a long journey, and I haven’t had any sleep...” “Then I command you to yawn,” said the king. “I haven’t seen anyone yawn for years. For me, yawns are a curiosity. Come on, yawn again! It is an order.” “That intimidates me...I can’t do it now,” said the little prince, blushing deeply. “Well, well!” the king replied. “Then I...I command you to yawn sometimes and sometimes to...” He was sputtering a little, and seemed annoyed.
For the king insisted that his authority be universally respected. He would tolerate no disobedience, being an absolute monarch. But since he was a kindly man, all his commands were [meant to be] reasonable.[1]
For me, the humor of this scene has to do with the absurdity of a law that governs how a person feels. Yawns are a bodily reflex. They emerge as the result of a feeling: tiredness. They are not the kind of thing many of us can do on command. Laughter is similar. We can fake-laugh just as we can fake-yawn. But authentic laughter and authentic yawning emerge from how we’re feeling inside. And that’s something that laws just can’t touch.
Laws are meant to govern the behavior and conduct that we choose, not the involuntary reflexes of our heart and body.
Commandments?
Today’s scripture is what our world knows as the “Ten Commandments.” Growing up, I thought of the Ten Commandments in the same way that I thought of laws. They were a bunch of “thou shalt nots.” They were a disciplinarian’s list of bad behavior. Wrongful conduct. “Don’t murder. Don’t bear false witness.” They were like, “No cookies before dinner”—but much more serious.
But the Bible itself never calls them commandments. Instead, they are later referred to as the “Ten Words” (Ex 34:28; Deut 4:13), which suggests perhaps that what we’re looking at is not quite the same as laws and statutes. Sure, some of these Ten Words resemble laws that are common to all society today, laws that address governable behavior, such as “Do not murder,” and “Do not steal.” But if we look closely, some of the Ten Words actually pertain to what is in our heart, such as “Do not covet” and “Honor your father and mother.” If we take these words seriously, they begin to resemble the silly king’s demand that the little prince yawn. Are these legitimate laws? Aren’t honoring and coveting involuntary matters of the heart? Shouldn’t commandments concern governable behavior, such as, “Do not swindle your neighbor,” or, “Do everything you parents tell you to do”?
Perhaps these Ten Words are not really commandments, at least not in the sense of enforceable laws that govern behavior. Perhaps something else is going on here.
A Lover’s Pledge
Let’s pay closer attention to the way they begin, the way they are framed: “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery” (Ex 20:2). These are extremely intimate words. The “you” in them is singular. God is speaking to every Israelite, and by extension every one of us, effectively declaring God’s love.
Perhaps like me, you have been conditioned to hear “I am the Lord your God” as an almost authoritarian claim, as though God were an almighty ruler, saying, “I am your king; now obey me!” But it is equally possible to hear in these words a lover’s pledge: “I am yours!” God declares. I chose you (cf. John 15:16). I brought you of Egypt that we might live together and enjoy the fullness of life! So, please, choose life! (cf. Deut 30:15).
Julian of Norwich, a Christ-follower from the thirteenth century whose writings are among the earliest we have of a woman writing in English, had a suspicion that failing to perceive God’s love is what hinders many of us in life, even us who follow Christ. She writes, “Some of us believe that God is all-mighty and may do everything, and that he is all-wisdom and can do everything, but [believing] that he is all-love and wishes to do everything, there we fail. And it this ignorance which most hinders God’s lovers, as I see it.”[2]
A Choice I Make Again and Again
When I look at the Ten Words as the invitation of a God who loves me, who delivers me out of Egypt, which is to say, out of every attachment that deprives me of life, I begin to see not a disciplinarian’s list of no-nos but rather a gateway into a new way of life. I know about life in Egypt. I know the gods they worship. I know what it is to chase after control, prestige, and wealth, and how these things ultimately do not satisfy. It is like drinking salt-water to quench my thirst. These things just inflame the thirst, even as they set me in competition with others and make the world into a tournament of winners and losers. Egypt is full of strife. But these Ten Words offer a glimpse into another world, what I think Jesus was calling “the kingdom of God.” And this new world, the kingdom of God, begins with what’s inside my heart, with my attitude and my feelings.
I have a friend from college who would always say, “Happiness is a choice,” and for a long time I thought she was crazy. Happiness is a feeling, I thought, and feelings just happen. They come and go. I can’t control them.
But I have come to appreciate that, while I cannot control my feelings, I can trust and choose a way of life that is bigger than my feelings, that transcends them and can even help to reorient them. The first four “words” (in today’s Ten Words) invite a spiritual reorientation: (1) no other gods, (2) no idols, (3) no empty use of God’s name, (4) and a day of rest. In other words, it is the divine Lover pleading, “Please stop chasing.” Idolatry is not just making a statue and bowing down to it. It is any fixation, any attachment, that takes my eyes off the divine Lover, that makes me think I can do it on my own, that if I just have this, or achieve that, or win this person’s attention, I will be secure and happy. Spoiler alert: it does not make me happy. Choosing to chase after idols is choosing unhappiness.
But I can also choose to trust that God has made to me the irrevocable pledge, “I am yours!” I can choose to trust that life is not a reward I achieve on my own but is rather a gift received through relationship with God and others and through Sabbath rest. And while it is true that these choices do not magically, instantly make me happy, that I cannot upon command “be happy” any more than I can yawn or laugh, it is also true that these choices are the way out of Egypt. They reorient my heart. They lead me toward a happy, fulfilling life. My experience has born this out. When I am chasing life, I am unhappy. When I am receiving life right where I am, accepting that I am God’s beloved and that relationships are a gift to be cherished, then I am headed somewhere good. Happiness is not magic. It is the choice I must make, again and again, to trust that God loves me and cares for me.
Prayer
All-loving God,You call us yours
And lead us out of Egypt:
When we seek life
Somewhere else—
Away from your presence beside us—
Help us to hear you pleading, again,
“I am yours”
…
May we choose your love,
Again and again,
And know the happiness of your salvation.
In Christ, who calls us friends: Amen.
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