Lessons from Aidan (Part Three)

I’ve talked about a remarkable man I met named Aidan Mackey a couple of times now.

On my last night at Oxford, Aidan stood up after dinner and asked if he could say a couple of parting words.

The first thing he said was, “People often think that because I speak with an English accent I know more about any given subject than they do. They are wrong.”

You can read more about that here.

The second thing he said was, “People often think that younger people have nothing to offer older people. They are wrong. I get at least as much, if not more, out of conversations with those younger than myself, than they get from me.”

He joked that this was to his advantage given that, at ninety-six, almost everyone is younger than he.

To be honest, I only half-believed him. At thirty-one, I felt I had little to offer a man as wise and as godly as Aidan. That, once again, speaks to his humility.

But, I know he’s right.

The older I get, the more I realize I have to learn.

I can learn a lot from those older than me. I have learned a lot from those older than me.

But, I can also learn a lot from those younger. I have learned a lot from those younger than me.

I have – or could have – learned from almost anyone I’ve encountered, not despite our differences, but because of them.

The problem is that I don’t often stop to listen. The problem is that I can be distracted or even defensive. The problem is that I can be so arrogant that – consciously or not – I don’t believe that someone different from me has anything to teach me.

I want to slow down. I want to pay attention. I want to be open to learning.

Lessons from Aidan (Part Two)

I met Aidan Mackey in England a couple weeks back. He has long been considered the foremost scholar on G.K. Chesterton. I was in Oxford for a course on C.S. Lewis and Chesterton had an enormous impact on Lewis, so Aidan joined us for a number of meals.

Aidan stood up on our last evening together and asked if he could share just a couple of parting thoughts.

“People often think that because I speak with an English accent I know more about any given subject than they do. They are wrong.”

We all chuckled because, well, he was speaking to a group of Americans.

But, what Aidan said was true.

We are all so easily be taken by people that sound intelligent.

I assume that if they speak with a sophisticated accent or use big words or have a string of letters behind their name, they must know what they’re talking about.

I even do this with people who simply sound confident.

I assume that if they speak with such great conviction, they must have really given their position the thought and consideration it deserves. They obviously must know what they’re talking about.

But, is that really the litmus test for truth?  Of course not.

It can’t be.

Aidan is intelligent. But, all the more so because he knows that there is more to intelligence and more to truth – than just sounding intelligent. There is more to truth than just claiming something, wanting something, even willing something to be true.

The measure of truth is the Author of truth.

The wise – like Aidan – know that.

We shouldn’t assume that people who sound intelligent are. Or those who speak confidently are right. We shouldn’t assume that every truth claim is truthful.

Let’s, instead, be wise. Let’s submit, first and foremost, to the Author of truth and the Source of all wisdom. Let’s measure the truth, first and foremost, against Him.

Lessons from Aidan (Part One)

I had the distinct honor of meeting Aidan Mackey in England a few weeks ago when I was in England. I had never heard of him before, but I learned quickly that he is regarded as the foremost scholar on G.K. Chesterton.

Aidan did not claim such an honor for himself. He was adamant that he was neither a scholar nor an academic in the proper sense. But, he was, after all, president of the G.K. Chesterton Study Centre and if the British Library entrusts you with eight boxes of the renowned Chesterton’s personal belongings, you’re a scholar – proper or not.

Aidan served in the British Air Force during World War II. He said he was stationed in Africa because it was where they believed he would do the least damage. After the war he spent most of his career as a teacher and headmaster. He had seven daughters and speaks of them with warmth and pride and delightful British humor. He told us that when a young man asked his blessing for his daughter’s hand in marriage, Aidan said, “I would love to give my daughter to you in marriage, but I need to know that you can provide for a family. After all, there are nine of us.”

When we asked how he came to be the foremost scholar on G.K. Chesterton, he, again, denied it and gave the humblest answer I could have imagined.

“There have been many unfair things that have happened in my life.” he said, “Mostly to my benefit.”

Aidan takes no credit whatever.

He isn’t suffering from low self-esteem. He’s embracing self-forgetfulness.

When I think about the unfair things in my life, I focus on things that have not been to my benefit.  I’m happy to take personal credit for those things that were to my benefit.

But, the credit for success is not mine to take.

Every good thing I have has been given to me by God.

I can decide what I do with what I’ve been given, but I can’t take credit for the good things I’ve been given.

I could use a little more self-forgetfulness.

I could do to express gratitude for the graciously unfair things that God brought into my life.

I could learn and live the humility of Aidan.