Jesus taught that multitudes will be cast out of heaven on Judgment Day who honestly believed themselves to be heaven-bound. They’ll leave the throne room sadly, befuddled by their self-deception, terrified by their fate. I wonder: If it’s possible to deceive ourselves regarding salvation, is it also possible to deceive ourselves regarding insidious pride?
Even among fellow ministers of the gospel, I can feel it sometimes. I can feel it in my own heart. We might call it “platform building,” “sharing praise reports,” “establishing credibility,” or “measuring outcomes.” These are worthy pursuits. But oh, brothers and sisters, pride would love to claim those attendance numbers, that revenue spreadsheet, that Christian celebrity endorsement, that social media following, those feedback testimonials.
Pride loves to take what rightfully should bring God glory and redirect it to a lesser being—whether to Lucifer, to Dan Jarvis, or to you. (Yes, I just put our names on a list with Satan!) We must deny pride the opportunity to leverage what God is doing through us for its sinister agenda—we must resist the devil (James 4:6-7).
Counterfeit humility cannot remain for long—pride isn’t good at hiding in a crowd. It surfaces in “innocent” ways. A casual name drop of an “important person” we know. A slightly forced mention of how many people attended our church last Easter. A clarification of our professional title. A question about budgets or bravery, seminary degrees or life accomplishments, or who mentored whom—asked not to discover but to prompt reciprocation.
The Bible calls this the “fear of man”—when we start angling for appreciation or jockeying for a higher position in the pecking order of our associations. Beware! It’s a trap (Prov. 29:25). Fearing what other people think of you is a vice that never satisfies, never resolves, never ends. Jesus said of Pharisees with similar motivation, “They have [already] received their reward in full” (Matt. 6:2 NIV).
I recall meeting a man who confidently announced to me that he was pastoring the “fourth largest church in the county.” Not country, mind you … county. Now, I have my own battles with pride, so I don’t want to judge the poor guy too harshly, but I think he was trying a little too hard to impress me!
Silly? Just like my feeble attempts to impress. Like when I yearn to mention something great about what I’ve done, a sacrifice I’ve made, the number of years I’ve served, or some statistic that validates me, just to swing the conversation toward the “glory of Dan.” Pretty pathetic, eh?
So what should we do? Our hearts naturally bend toward pride, and even we who preach sermons about humility are not exempt from danger. Here are a few of my own resolutions:
- When I meet people, I ask as many questions as I can. I’m willing to share too, but my real aim in conversation is to benefit the other person, not add extra helium to my ego. I want to encourage them, not myself!
- I don’t volunteer reports about myself unless they are actually necessary. I often choose to not mention “who I am” or “who I know” or “what I’ve accomplished.” (Those items are far less relevant than my pride wants to admit.) My goal is not to end up sharing “Dan” with everyone I meet. I’d much rather share Jesus!
- I consciously wonder how I can add value to the person I’m speaking with. That keeps my focus in conversation off of me. It keeps my mind preoccupied with how I can serve, share with, or uplift them.
- I try my best to redirect praise toward God. When I receive compliments, I first say thank youto the person offering encouragement, but I then point to the grace of God that was involved. I’m His servant, after all, not a servant of my reputation, self-esteem, or brand identity. Any glory I happen to receive should rightfully be redirected toward Jesus.