Something is wrong with our ego

In his new and helpful little book (a pamphlet really), The Freedom Of Self-Forgetfulness, Tim Keller writes:

The ego often hurts. That is because it has something incredibly wrong with it. Something unbelievably wrong with it. It is always drawing attention to itself - it does so every single day. It is always making us think about how we look and how we are treated. People sometimes say their feelings are hurt. But our feelings can't be hurt! It is the ego that hurts - my sense of self, my identity. Our feelings are fine! It is my ego that hurts.

Walking around does not hurt my toes unless there is already something wrong with them. My ego would not hurt unless there was something wrong with it. Think about it. It is very hard to get through a whole day without feeling snubbed or ignored or feeling stupid or getting down on ourselves. That is because there is something wrong with my ego. There is something wrong with my sense of self. It is never happy. It is always drawing attention to itself.

The Heavy Ballast of Humiliation

From an excellent message by John Piper on the life, afflictions, and legacy of Charles Simeon:

Simeon was utterly unlike most of us today who think that we should get rid once and for all of feelings of vileness and unworthiness as soon as we can. For him, adoration only grew in the freshly plowed soil of humiliation for sin. So he actually labored to know his true sinfulness and his remaining corruption as a Christian.

I have continually had such a sense of my sinfulness as would sink me into utter despair, if I had not an assured view of the sufficiency and willingness of Christ to save me to the uttermost. And at the same time I had such a sense of my acceptance through Christ as would overset my little bark, if I had not ballast at the bottom sufficient to sink a vessel of no ordinary size. (Moule 134f.)

He never lost sight of the need for the heavy ballast of his own humiliation. After he had been a Christian forty years he wrote,

With this sweet hope of ultimate acceptance with God, I have always enjoyed much cheerfulness before men; but I have at the same time laboured incessantly to cultivate the deepest humiliation before God. I have never thought that the circumstance of God's having forgiven me was any reason why I should forgive myself; on the contrary, I have always judged it better to loathe myself the more, in proportion as I was assured that God was pacified towards me (Ezekiel 16:63). . . . There are but two objects that I have ever desired for these forty years to behold; the one is my own vileness; and the other is, the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ: and I have always thought that they should be viewed together; just as Aaron confessed all the sins of all Israel whilst he put them on the head of the scapegoat. The disease did not keep him from applying to the remedy, nor did the remedy keep him from feeling the disease. By this I seek to be, not only humbled and thankful, but humbled in thankfulness, before my God and Saviour continually. (Carus, 518f.)

If Simeon is right, vast portions of contemporary Christianity are wrong. And I can't help wondering whether one of the reasons we are emotionally capsized so easily today – so vulnerable to winds of criticism or opposition – is that in the name of forgiveness and grace, we have thrown the ballast overboard.

Simeon's boat drew a lot of water. But it was steady and on course and the mastheads were higher and the sails bigger and more full of the Spirit than most people's today who talk continuously about self-esteem.

Listen to the audio or read the transcript of this entire message HERE.

I am not humble; really...

Readers of this blog know that one of my favorite writers is Carl Trueman. He always makes me laugh and then he makes me think.

His latest article posted at Ref21 caused me to look at myself in the proverbial mirror. When I think about what drives me I cannot help but be mindful of how incomplete is my sanctification. I am so prideful! I care too much about my reputation. I crave recognition. I love for people to think highly of me and dread my faults (which are legion) being known. In short, I have a long way to go.

Trueman writes:

I am a man divided against myself; I want to be the centre of attention because I am a fallen human being; I want others to know that I am the special one; and as long as the new me and the old me are bound together in a single, somatic unity, I will forever be at war with myself. What I can do, however, is have the decency to be ashamed of my drive to self-promotion and my craving for attention and for flattery and not indulge it as if it were actually a virtue or a true guide to my real merit. I am not humble, so I should not pretend to be so but rather confess it in private, seeking forgiveness and sanctification. And, negatively, I must avoid doing certain things. I must not proudly announce my humility on the internet so that all can gasp in wonder at my self-effacement. I must make sure I never refer to myself as a scholar. I must not tell people how wonderful I am. I must resist the temptation to laugh at my own jokes. I must not applaud my own speeches. I must deny myself the pleasure of posting other people's overblown flattery of me on my own website, let alone writing such about myself. I must never make myself big by clinging to the coat-tails of another. In short, I must never take myself too seriously.

Read the entire article HERE.

On the necessity of humiliations

To preach is a fearful privilege. It's a privilege because of the honor to proclaim God's Word to God's people. It's a privilege because of the opportunity for in-depth study every week. But preaching is fearful because of the risk of getting it wrong. Also, it is fearful because of the pontential for pride to grow. I am blessed to be in a church with many people who say a lot of very kind things to me every week. There are many preachers who cannot say that. But because of the kindness I am so graciously shown there is perhaps an even greater need for humiliations - things that remind me that I am just a sinful, flawed man. If God chooses to bless anything that I am a part of then it is certainly not because of anything meritorious in me.

I once heard it said that humility comes only through humiliations. That's the tough part about humility. We never willfully go the way of humility. It always has to be forced upon us. Our natural trajectory is toward pride. It's so insidious that we even become proud of our humility.

Each week it seems God works to kill something ugly in me. As He prepares me for Sunday He confronts my sin. I ran across these words recently which resonated with me:

The struggle to make much of Christ rather than self is a struggle for every preacher; we’re all prone to say “Behold me telling you to behold the Lamb of God.”

Everything God does to kill this tendency in me is a good thing. God is even pleased to use people whose intentions are not noble and whose words are not kind to graciously kill what is ugly in me.

So I am learning to rejoice in those necessary humiliations that God sends my way. I need them.

Talking back to my inner Nimrod

Tomorrow I am preaching from Genesis 11:1-9. It’s the account of Nimrod, the people of Shinar, and their quest to build a great city with a tower reaching into heaven. They were building, we are told, in order to make a name for themselves. They were seeking to bridge the gap between man and God by their own power and ingenuity. They were seeking to erase the distinction between creature and Creator. The account tells us almost everything we need to know about mankind. We are a prideful lot. We seek lives of independence from God.

But I probably shouldn’t write in generalities. The fact is I am a prideful man. I love my independence. I am far too interested in my own name while not nearly as interested enough in God’s great name. I find God’s interests often competing with my own. It is in those times when my inner Nimrod rises up within me. My inner Nimrod wants recognition and respect. He wants to be served. In those moments the only voice that can adequately talk back is that of Jesus.

The person and words of Jesus are an open rebuke to my inner Nimrod. Paul tells us in Philippians that Jesus, though in very nature God, nevertheless put away His divine rights and became a servant. In His teaching ministry Jesus turned upside down the prevailing attitudes about greatness. In the kingdom of Christ greatness is not about who finishes first or gains the most but who serves in anonymity.

As He was explaining to His disciples that His time had come to offer up His life Jesus said, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit” (John 12:24). Obviously, Jesus is referencing His coming death which would bear the fruit of redemption. It makes sense that histories most significant death bore histories most significant fruit. But there is, it seems to me, an application to be had for all of us who know Jesus. Fruitfulness for God involves a kind of death.

Humility is hard to come by. Everything in us resists humility. We resist with all our might those things that make us humble. And so I have been thinking about Jesus’ metaphor of the grain of wheat. Seeds are put into dark, dank holes and covered over. They are drowned with water and then left to rot in the soil. Only then, after enough time has passed does the fruit come. It’s never pleasant but it’s good.