Early one morning during my working years, a surprise visitor entered the reception area and requested a meeting. He was a stranger to me but I agreed to see him. When I went to the reception area to invite him back to my office; he was sitting rigidly upright, calmly waiting. Even in gym shorts and a white athletic T-shirt, he looked freshly scrubbed and well-dressed.
In the privacy of my office, he explained that he’d recently been released from prison. The group that agreed to provide housing as part of his release had changed their minds without explanation. The job he was promised had fallen through as well. Not being from this area, he had no family or friends to whom he could turn. I listened sympathetically. At the conclusion of his story, I had but one remaining question: Why, of all the people in Richmond, was he in my office? For whatever reason, upon learning of his predicament, a mutual acquaintance who lived out of state had told him, “Go see Jay Marshall. You can trust him. He will help you figure this out.” That could have been a compliment, or convenient way to hand off the problem. In either case, here we were!
With neither housing nor a job, his early release would have reportedly been rescinded. Local authorities were willing to let him return to Michigan where he was from, but getting there would be his responsibility. And of course, he lacked the funds for a bus ticket. On the one hand, he didn’t want to return there. It would be too easy fall into old friendships and unhelpful patterns that had contributed to his incarceration. Recidivism statistics didn’t paint an optimistic picture for his potential success. But on the other hand, he’d rather take that risk than return to prison now. If I could help him get to Michigan, he said, he would mail the money back to me once he had a job. It would be the first check he wrote, he insisted.
Some days I think my picture is probably printed in the dictionary beside the word “gullible.” But when you feel the Spirit start egging you toward action, it is generally unwise to resist. I called the bus station and learned that a ticket home would cost about $40. I gave him a little pocket money for meals so that he didn’t have to make that trip hungry. He reiterated his promise to repay me, but I didn’t count on it. I decided I was willing to invest this much in his future so that he at least had a chance at a fresh start. Plus, when the Spirit calls, repayment isn’t really a factor in the decision.
I confess, I was more than a little surprised the day a handwritten envelope arrived to my office. Inside was a check. Its number was 001, the first check drawn on a new account, made payable to me for the full amount given to him. I hate that I no longer remember his name, and that I don’t know how his story developed once he was home. But that the impression he made was an indelible one is hard to deny. Whatever his other issues and challenges may have been, when I attempt to recall an example of integrity, our brief encounter comes to mind. He was honest, upstanding, and proved trustworthy in that instance.
Integrity. Quakers have long valued it, counting it among our short list of most treasured testimonies. Anecdotes about the origins of fixed prices, honest speech and the like fill our writings. But this is a complicated world. It allows for multiple perspectives, with each one demanding respect in some circles because they represent someone’s “truth.” Anymore, the rapid rate of information dissemination makes verification of facts difficult. Before we figure it out, life has moved on to the next “thing.” Does integrity matter anymore? Should it?
Personally, I’m not ready to relinquish it as a standard of faithfulness, and even common decency. Why? For starters, I hate being lied to, and assume that many others may share that sentiment. For as long as I can remember, that has been the case. Is it a natural disposition? Or did something that occurred early in life form that perspective within me? I haven’t a clue. I only know that one of the quickest ways to lose my trust or respect is to deceive me intentionally. I know that I am not alone in this regard.
The lure of honesty and integrity runs deep in our culture. How else do we explain the persistence of the myth that George Washington confessed to have chopped down a cherry tree, reportedly telling his father that, “I cannot tell a lie.” Or the moniker “Honest Abe” for President Lincoln – born from a reputation that was reportedly deserving of the name. I desire to witness the quality of integrity rooted deeply within those who lead us, though I am frequently disappointed. Watergate burst my bubble of innocence, and many others since then have made sure the bubble never fully reinflates. It is like being trapped in a continual loop of a MadTV’s Lowered Expectations skit. In so many places and so many ways, we have become content to settle for less.
But the call for integrity is not limited to only a few. It is not a standard to be held up for others but not ourselves. Proverbs 28:6 states, “Better is a poor person who walks in integrity than a rich person who is crooked in their ways.”
Early in my undergrad experience, the school I was attending invited me to apply for a scholarship prior to my sophomore year. It was restricted for someone preparing for full-time ministry. To the credit of the financial aid director, she was attempting to put together the strongest financial aid package possible. Of the three applicants, I was the only one who met the scholarship’s ministerial vocation requirement. However, I was also the only one of the three not associated with the school’s denominational affiliation. That was not a stated requirement, but it became the deciding factor in awarding the funds to one of the other applicants. I remember feeling betrayed by the process and to some degree, the school. I had not sought the scholarship; my application was solicited. The choice was theirs to make, and I didn’t begrudge them that responsibility. But why invite my participation if I was not eligible to win? Perhaps they didn’t realize they had a hidden criterion that they had failed to communicate at the outset. Perhaps they were keeping the original donor happy. Whatever the case, it felt like a moment where integrity was shaky at best. Their decision became the catalyst for my transferring to a different institution. That turned out to be a really good move in terms of my education, but the motivating factor was unfortunate.
Honesty. Trust. Fairness. Respect. Responsibility. Those are the sharp edges that become visible when the diamond of integrity is held up to the light. A thing of striking beauty when observed from afar, they cut like knives when used to evaluate less truthful episodes. These qualities seem to come easily to some, whereas others struggle to incorporate their standards into they manner of being. I don’t know why that is the case. I’m certainly not perfect in this regard, but my wife tells me one of the things she appreciates most about me is that I follow through on what I say I will do. Why wouldn’t one do what they say? Or why would we say it we don’t intend to do it? Who knows? But life is complicated. Many factors influence a decision. Maybe there are extenuating circumstances. Still, integrity matters.
In recent weeks I have oddly found myself drawn to the beginning words of the U.S. Constitution – “We the People . . . .” Often used as a rally cry in support of taking back power, here is the rest of the opening statement: “. . . in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.” If that isn’t a call to integrity, I don’t know what is.
