“Arrogance is hateful to the Lord and to mortals…” But honestly who doesn’t think a little too highly of themselves from time to time?
BEN FRANKLIN STORY
As I met with a group of colleagues on Tuesday morning one of them summed up the readings for today like this, “"This is one lesson that a middle class, mainline congregation can throw away. It is too hard, there is no way we can be expected to do it, so let's forget about it.” Obviously he was joking, but he pointed to a real tension that existed in the room. Pride is everywhere; especially in a room full of pastors. The fine line between humility and pride is hard to find.
A former professor of mine, now Dean of the Seminary at Sewanee, wrote a book called, Disordered Loves: Healing the Seven Deadly Sins. In it he comes to realize that (at least) two of the seven deal directly with arrogance. “Pride errs when it places self at the center, when it builds a high tower of isolation. In contrast, accidie involves a person shrinking from existence, slipping into a pool of hopeless non-being. What these sins have in common is they refuse our status as creatures dependent on God. They reject the gift of created, contingent life. Some of us violently assert ourselves; we sin boldly. Others of us shrink into nothingness; rather than climb up, we slide down.”[1]
It is hard to find that balance. On one hand “spiritual pride might be the deadliest of the Seven Deadly Sins, because it can corrupt even striving to be good and generous and turn it into an occasion for further pride. Fight is successfully for a moment, and you might find yourself saying, “Wow… I’m being humble. And I’m MUCH more humble than Jean, or for that matter George. Maybe I should teach a class on humility.’”[2] On the other hand, accidie, a crippling fatalism, leads to “a deep (and unhealthy!) burden, ‘I can’t tell anyone, and I can’t pray – I’m so bad that God can’t forgive me.’ That line of thinking sets you and whatever crime you think you’ve committed as being more powerful than God, and ‘I think I’m more powerful than God’ is a statement of supreme arrogance.”[3] Maybe the line is so blurry, because there really is no line. Both pride and accidie are based on arrogance, putting ourselves in the place of God. And remember, “Arrogance is hateful to the Lord and to mortals…”
And so what are we to do? If the line between pride and accidie is so close as to be indistinguishable, how do we find a place in the middle; appropriately humble, with a healthy amount of self-esteem? That seemingly impossibly small middle place is where Christ alone exists. He models for us a life lived abundantly in God; a life of humble service; a life of hospitality. It is clear from the parable of the dinner guests that Jesus calls us to humility, even as we take our seats at the banquet. I often wonder if Episcopalians take this parable literally as they fight for seats in the back of the church. But Jesus uses an interesting reason for our humility; so that we might be honored. “Take the lowest seat,” he says, “so that when you are asked to move up, you’ll be honored all the more.” Of course when he goes on to tell us we should invite to our own parties; not those who can repay, but instead the poor, the lame, the blind, and so on, the actual motivation becomes clear. It follows then that if we are invited to God’s party, it is because of our disability; our spiritual blindness, our poor spirit, our limping faith. At this party our place is in the lowest seat, but God will turn that upside down. Through the cross, Jesus takes our lowly seat and we are moved up, to the seat of glory. Proper perspective puts us where we should begin, but God’s redeeming grace makes honor a possibility.
As if building on the gospel lesson, the letter to the Hebrews moves from the spiritual banquet of the next life, to practical ways to live humbly in the here and now. “Let mutual love continue.” Mutual love can exist only in that middle place between pride and accidie. Mutual love cannot exist unless both parties are 1) capable of love – that is capable of focusing on the needs of the other and 2) capable of receiving love – that is able to see oneself worthy of love and affection. Practically speaking, mutual love looks like hospitality to strangers, remembering those in prison, remembering those being tortured for their faith, honoring marriage, staying away from greed, and being content with what we have. Practically speaking, mutual love is hard. Fortunately, we have examples in the faith to show us the way. As the author of Hebrews writes, “Remember your leaders, those who spoke the word of God to you; consider the outcome of their way of life, and imitate their faith.” At first glance, this verse made me quite nervous. With arrogance running through my head, I thought to myself, “I hope they don’t look to me.” Quickly, however I realized that maybe this didn’t mean look to your local clergy as an example of godly life, but rather to look to the communion of saints for examples.
For example, The Virgin Mary is a great example of “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.” Imagine as the angel Gabriel entered Mary’s room to announce her pregnancy to her. Certainly she was scared. Her first instinct was most likely to run or to shoo away the intruder, but instead she showed him hospitality and was rewarded as the mother of our Lord.
Hospitality is foundational to our faith. Henri Nouwen wrote of American society in the 1970s as “a world of strangers, estranged from their own past, culture, and country, form their neighbors, friends and family, from their deepest self and their God.”[4] How much more so are we estranged today as the family dinner table becomes TV trays; as conversations happen over voice-mail or email; or as the number one pastime of even those over 65 is surfing the web, an isolating practice. Increasingly we exist in a world as individuals on a journey of our own. We meet people along the road and with some we choose to walk for a spell, but the image of Americans as nomads on a journey is becoming more and more accurate. And so, hospitality becomes more and more important. As Christians we are called to welcome strangers, our fellow tourists, “as we ourselves have been welcomed into God through the love of Jesus Christ.” The one who is the same yesterday and today and forever is the one who invites us into relationships; moving us from individuals and strangers to members of a community.
Hospitality is risky. It means welcoming those who we might not normally hang out with. It means sitting next to that guy who just won’t shut up. It means allowing the jerk in traffic that just passed you on the shoulder to merge in front of you. It means being vulnerable and offering mutual love. But hospitality is the work of those who by God’s grace enter into that thin space between pride and accidie. It is the call in these lessons which we would most certainly rather ignore. It is the cornerstone of the faith; we welcome as Christ welcomes us. We have the wonderful opportunity to join Jesus in this difficult work. Who knows, you may entertain an angel. Amen.
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