Pride

Church of the Redeemer, Chestnut Hill

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

September 1, 2019    12 Pentecost

Let us pray:

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Amen.

You probably would not recognize me 30 years ago, not so much in my physical appearance, but rather in my emotional and spiritual life. I was in my 30’s at the time, and I had, at best, a fragile relationship with God. Emotionally, I had a very limited range as well. Able to smile easily, I often got positive comments in that regard. And yet, I think sometimes my smile became stuck. Like the desert sun, my smile would blaze, even when my private landscape was dark and gloomy, and my soul longed for relief from the rain. There was then, and still is now, plenty for you and me to cry about these days.

            Today’s Old Testament lesson is about the sin of pride. Now most of us have heard the saying, “Pride comes before the fall”; but pride is not always sinful or destructive. Like guilt, our pride can be both healthy and unhealthy. The “healthy pride that we all need is high self-esteem, and a reasonable delight in our own achievements, abilities, and place in this world. Healthy pride fuels progress in human affairs and is something to be protected and nurtured," wrote Mel B. (Hazelden) We celebrate pride in our human diversity, wearing rainbow colored buttons and waving various flags. Proudly, we sing songs about our saints, our alma maters, and our countries. Like a pride of lions, we gather in groups, declaring solidarity with a particular cause or belief or mission. Perhaps we’re proud of our Church.

Unhealthy pride, like its kissing cousin called arrogance, is an enemy to spiritual growth. With this kind of pride we place ourselves at the center of our universe, rather than God. Our acronym is EGO which means easing God out. The song we sing is “How Great I Am” rather than “How Great Thou Art.” Acting like little king and queen babies, we put ourselves on the throne, ruling our worlds with iron fisted control. We exalt ourselves, justifying our words and actions, certain that we are right.

We forget that we are all unique, and that we are all ordinary human beings, created with various God given gifts, and seeing the world from different perspectives. Whether we like it or not, we are inescapably dependent upon other people. Just think about the ripple effects of our weather, trade wars, gun violence, political protests, or social media. The strings of our human connections are woven together like a well-knit sweater, a world-wide web, and an underground tunnel. We create and destroy each other with our pride.

“The beginning of human pride is to forsake the Lord; the heart has withdrawn from its Maker," wrote the psalmist. Easing God out of our lives, disengaging from our faith communities, and ending our relationships can happen abruptly. In her book, The Cloister Walk, Kathleen Norris wrote, “I realized that what went wrong for me is centered in the belief that one had to be dressed up, both outwardly and inwardly, to meet God. I simply stopped going to church when I could no longer be ‘good’, which for girls especially meant not breaking the rules, not giving voice to anger or resentment, and not complaining.” (pp 90-91) 

            My heart withdrew from God much more gradually and subtly. Some of us are taught that being dependent upon others is a sign of weakness. Tightly controlling our emotions, pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps, and stockpiling our assets, we put up walls and white picket fences around our property, our relationships, and our lives. Some people call this the golden ghetto.

            I lived there for decades. When our children were in elementary school, I was a traditional housewife, and my husband Paul an international business owner. From all appearances, we looked like we were a family that had it all together. Sitting side by side in the pews at Trinity Episcopal Church, we were the model suburban family, 2 cars in the garage, a black lab in the backyard, and a chicken or two in every pot.

While serving on the vestry, I became chair of the Outreach committee; and with 4 other churches in the Danbury area we created a transitional living facility for homeless women and their children called Amos House. During this same time I also became involved in a women’s and men’s prison. Unknown to everyone except me, my marriage was falling apart. My smile was stuck. And I was too proud to ask for help.

When I resigned as a volunteer from Amos House, a fellow church member said some nice words about me at the farewell banquet in my honor. In her remarks, she described me as “fiercely independent”, a characteristic that I was proud about then and embarrassed about it now. One who is “fiercely independent” denies the reality of God and our need for other people.

Proudly, I had relied solely upon me, myself, and I to get through our family difficulties. God and other people were decorative flourishes, socially acceptable pieces of my pie, and accessories to my independent living. God forbid that I would ask for help; for it is “more blessed to give than receive,” Jesus had told me. And when asked,  “How are you?” my rote reply was “Just fine” even when it wasn’t. I frequently told myself that “God helps those who help themselves” and I could easily say to myself, “It could be worse. I could be like them.”

            Such thinking and such behavior is hubris. Like the man in today’s gospel, we presume that we deserve a place of honor because we have worked hard and earned it. Or we have done good things for others sacrificially. With a head nod to our privileges, we forget that God, any many, many other people have contributed to our success, and sometimes even to our death. Yes, externally God was a noticeable part of my life; and yes, my church was a very good thing. Yet, truth be told, internally God was absent from my very being. There was a hole in my soul that was causing internal bleeding, and who knew? Not even me.

            Without conscious thought, or deep exploration, I thought that being a good Christian was just being of service to others. I had given freely to the poor, served people in prison, and shared what I had. I had a healthy pride in my contributions and generosity. I also had a need for approval, and even more deeply, a need for love, which was hidden well below the surface of my skin. Maintaining my mask of fierce independence, pretending that everything was fine when it wasn’t, actually prevented me from having truly deep and satisfying relationships with God and those around me. It prevented me from seeing others just as they are, and me just as I am, uniquely created and unconditionally loved by God, regardless of where we lived, how we dressed, and what we did for a living.

I was blind to my own need for unconditional love. It wasn’t Bible study, or Education for Ministry, or even seminary that taught me about love. Rather it was people in my family, my church, in our community, in prisons, and at Amos House that did that. I discovered that both the ghetto and the golden ghetto are inhabited by human beings all yearning for love. Some of us have walls and bars; others have picket fences and windows. We are both poor and poor in spirit, crippled when we look for love in all the wrong places, masking our need for it with other things, and blind to God’s amazing grace.

            Many times it takes failures, or diseases, or broken relationships to see the truth. Feeling powerless, I discovered a higher and greater Power and a 12 step spirituality that crosses all boundaries and leaps over all fences. As a grateful member of al-anon, I know that humility is the antidote to unhealthy pride, and it involves, above all else, being honest with myself as well as others. I learned painfully how to “let go and let God” reclaim my life. “This is hard for me when the thing that God is inviting me to release has gained an identity, like our jobs, people, things, and ideas, so much so that it’s beginning to function for me as a god,” wrote Roger Owens. (Christian Century, Aug 21, 2013)

I came to believe, one person at a time, one day at a time, in a God who loves us just as we are, unconditionally, undeservedly, and without reserve. And invites us to grow into fuller and healthier human beings. In prayers of thanksgiving, today, we offer our sacrifices of praise for Jesus, the One who humbled himself upon the cross, enduring the shame of humiliation for our sakes, so that we might be exalted with Him.

Our humility is neither humiliation nor exaltation. Rather it is knowing who we are, who belongs at the center of our world, and who sits at the head of our table. Humility doesn’t come to us through isolation or being fiercely independent, but rather participating in many communities and relationships, and offering some of our gifts of time, talents, and treasure for the benefit of others. Recentering our lives around God, we realize that through the power of God’s Holy Spirit, we actually can perform at our highest and best selves. We can give unconditional love because we have first received it from God. For that kind of living and giving, we can truly be proud.

Sirach 10:12-18

Psalm 112

Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16

Luke 14:1, 7-14