As a returning freshman at UNM, I decided to take a course of F. Scott
Fitzgerald, author of The Great Gatsby, Tender is the Night, and dozens of short
stories. I had read Gatsby a few years before, and was intrigued by the romance
of the time period, and was a bit familiar with the rich on Long Island as I had
a friend whose address was just Twin Gables, no street needed. Old money, as
they say. But as Dickens was to remind us, “it was the best of times and it was
the worst of times,” I got more than I had bargained for. I wanted to
understand Gatsby, to relate to my experiences in his neighborhood, to associate
with the rich and for one brief shining moment, be Gatsby. With a different
ending, I would get my Daisy and live happily ever after. Sadly in too many
ways my grade reflected my disappointment, but also my first real experience
with being told what to think, the all knowing professor would handle that for
me. A lesson learned, if only by being disillusioned.
In Back to School when Rodney Dangerfield was asked “why did the call
Gatsby the Great Gatsby,” we all laughed at his answer, “because he was great.”
Simple but true, but not the existential insightful answer the teacher was
looking for. And suddenly Gatsby wasn’t so great. I learned how every name had
a hidden meaning, the importance of sentence structure, how Dexter Green was
more than a name, but described the greedy man, Dexter being devious, green
representing money. But the real eye opener was how a man who had never been to
Long Island, never driven or visited the places Gatsby wrote about, knew more
than someone who had been there. A few of us who knew the area were quickly
told to hold our tongue about our experiences, this was about F. Scott, not us,
and like Quick Draw McGraw used to tell Bobba Louie, “I’ll do the thinnin’
around here, and don’t you forget it!” Which was reinforced by the harsh notes
in red pencil on my exam, I had used all the things I had been taught in class,
organized them in my writing, and felt pretty good afterwards. In a class where
he had encouraged us to put ourselves in the title character’s place, to get
inside his head, when I did, I found I was being graded not on my
interpretation, but what I was supposed to have written. Seems the class was
more about the faux greatness of the teacher, and making him great, than
exercising our own minds to greatness. My first encounter with a real liberal,
and their take on free speech, you can have your opinion only if it agrees with
mine. And since I do the grading.......I think you get it. I had come to learn
about my favorite author, what I got was a different education. Gatsby may have
been great, but in this class only the teacher was. Simply put, if he wanted to
hear your opinion, he would give it to you. And they call that
learning...
In my mind’s eye many times I have been Gatsby standing on his dock looking
across to Daisy’s house, wondering what is going on, how is she doing, and how
can I rescue her for myself. Not so much for Daisy, but for that perfect world
that is just out of my reach, that all my skills and money cannot change.
Something that goes way beyond me, more of a prayer than a daydream. Ever talk
to God like that? I do, telling him my desires, my dreams, my plans. How I
have all of life figured out for the moment, then the phone rings, and the scene
changes. Funny how one phone call can change so much, and why it seems good
news is few and far between, but bad news always seems to find me. But unlike
Gatsby, I have found the view from the end of my dock in Jesus, where when I
wonder, I can wander with him, and let him lead. Only in Christ, not in
religion, does Jesus let you decide, for true love demands a decision, and
cannot be legislated or forced upon you. For years I thought I was in a spirit
led fellowship, only to be found embargoed by legalism, no room for what the
spirit has to show you. In all cases go back to the word, good advice, but
interpreted as remember what we taught you. Our way is superior to others.
Leaving me with a feeling like the one I had in college. But when I actually
listened to the spirit, when I found out that it is the spirit who called me to
Jesus, that it is the spirit that reveals the mysteries of the gospel, not some
pastor or teacher, when God truly became all knowing and everywhere in my life,
I began to go places the educated or churched didn’t know existed, or feared to
tread. I began to really trust God, and live in his will, not mine. God really
cared about me and my thoughts, and would guide me, not force me into a
relationship with him. In Christ Jesus I had everything, including this thing
called potential, which surpassed any talent I may have had. It was personal,
and God would listen, unlike many teachers and pastors today. Gatsby may have
been great, but Jesus has a greatness you can only fully experience in the
spirit.
So why do we study for the test? To pass it, and then quickly forget the
lesson, heading onto the next assignment. Life is not studying for a grade, and
fortunately God doesn’t grade on the curve. Imagine if our grades got us into
heaven, and it took a 90 to pass, and you got only an 89? Imagine if God was
like that professor, imagine living life never measuring up to what your church
sets the bar at? Do you really rejoice that salvation is a free gift from God,
so none can brag, here or in heaven? Have you embraced the holy spirit, or do
you like Gatsby wonder, seeking things to fulfill a longing, when only Jesus
can? Do you live by your own code or the one of the spirit?
Seems I did learn more than my grade reflected. You may have knowledge,
power and the authority to use it, but without Jesus it all means nothing. But
what I got out of that class, I wouldn’t discover until later. A man I had sold
a motorcycle to, Rafael, was in the same class. A businessman, he too wanted to
learn more about Gatsby. He too a dreamer. But when I found out a few weeks
after school was out, he was in the hospital, I went to visit him. Showing love
and compassion, which cannot be taught. He was blown away I remembered him and
the class, and of course the motorcycle. But walking out after giving him a
fruit basket, God reminded me of how all things work together for those who love
him. Who call him Lord, I had been led by the spirit, and was too young in the
Lord to know it. On that day God’s ways of love had become my way, I cannot
explain the rush of Jesus in my life. If only Gatsby had known Jesus...
Talk with God today, use your own words, he is fluent in them. Have a
conversation, a dialogue not a monologue with him. No rules or boundaries, talk
to him like you would a friend, you can be yourself in him, for no condemnation
is found in Jesus, listen and learn, be encouraged, and discover his greatness
goes way beyond what he can do for you, but what he has done already. And it
seems I had the last laugh on my Gatsby know it all professor. When I signed up
for classes, I unknowingly chose a pass/fail grade instead of a letter grade. I
passed, and after all, isn’t that why we study for the test?
Me and Gatsby, both of us have been there, only one escaped alive. And as
for my Daisy....42 years later I still rejoice. Seems God really does know what
he is doing after all.....Gatsby’s love was doomed, yours doesn’t have to
be.
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com