Three Moments of the Self

Week of June 28, 2004

Lectionary Readings

            Exodus 3:1-15
            Psalm 26:1-8
            Jeremiah 15:15-21
            Romans 12:9-21
            Matthew 16:21-28

            When we read the Scriptures it is all too common to idealize and romanticize the Biblical drama, and then to write ourselves into the noble narrative that we think we find there. And that is a shame, because if we could let the Scriptures speak to us as they are—full of war and rape, deceit and failure, ecstatic joy and dark depression—we would find that they speak very powerfully to the way we really live our lives, down and dirty, in contrast to a fictional and unattainable ideal. That is, God embraces us right where we are, and not where our parents, church, our spouse or we wish we were, or make us feel like we ought to be.

            The readings for this week are a case in point. They feature three of the most prominent and commonly romanticized actors in the drama of salvation—Moses and his famous encounter with the burning bush, David and one of his many Psalms, and then Peter at a strategic juncture in the life of Jesus. In each instance, if we read the Scriptures at face value instead of romanticizing them, we would discover very fallible and fallen saints, people like you and me. These are the sorts of complex people whom God longs to love and to use in His kingdom.

            After a brief rehearsal of his birth, the first thing we learn about Moses is that he murdered an Egyptian and “hid him in the sand.” When Pharaoh of Egypt learned of this, and his fellow Israelites rejected him, Moses fled to Midian as an alien in a foreign land. There he vanished to the margins of the story of salvation for forty years (Acts 7:30). He had been raised in the household of Pharaoh’s daughter, only to find himself tending sheep for his father-in-law.

            But then Yahweh appeared to Moses in the burning bush and called him to speak truth to power (Pharaoh) and deliver the Israelites from bondage. Moses could only respond with five excuses masked as meaningful questions. Who am I to go to the likes of Pharaoh? Whom shall I say sent me? What if my people reject me? I am not an eloquent speaker. Please, send someone else. The voices of censure and self-pity had drowned out the voice of God’s call.

            Moses’ excuses were real and not imagined. He was a murderer on the run from the authorities and his own people. He had drifted into obscurity and insignificance for forty years. The voices of the internal censor of self-pity became so powerful, so authoritative, and so convincing that not even one of the most famous miracles of divine presence could overcome it.

            The outlines of Moses’ life are hardly the ones of a romanticized Biblical hero to which any believer would aspire. But that is good news for us, because we too sometimes live where Moses lived, listening to the voice of censure and self-pity—I am a fraud, a lousy writer, a crummy father, a lame husband, and on and on. Whatever excuses we bring to God, Moses teaches us that failure, doubt, insignificance, feelings of inadequacy, and fear need not be obstacles to the loving purposes that God has for each one of us. His love will not take no for an answer.

            David wrote many Psalms, but when I read Psalm 26 I wonder what he could have been thinking. He begins the Psalm by boasting that he has led a blameless life. He then insists that he has trusted God without wavering, that he has consistently walked in God’s truth, that he never consorted with sinful or hypocritical people, and that his life was characterized by innocence and praise to God. David ends the Psalm where he began, “I lead a blameless life.” Even if David wrote this before he committed adultery and murder, no one lives like this, even if we wish we did or want others to think we did.

            You might read this Psalm as a moral ideal toward which you should aspire, but that will only lead to guilt and frustration because no one lives like David writes. Perfection is an oppressive burden to carry. Or you might construe David’s Psalm as a fine example of self-justification, the very sort that God does not expect from us and from which He wants to liberate us. In this view the Psalmist gives us an unfortunate description, not a recommended prescription.

            David’s Psalm reminds me of myself at times. A while back I spent three days in an intense psychological evaluation that involved numerous test instruments and interviews by two psychologists. One instrument indicated that I tended to place myself in an unrealistically positive light. One test question, for example, asked whether I cursed. I answered no, which was so outrageous that my wife was astounded. My score on this trait was far above the standard deviation. Although I had “no significant or limiting psychopathologies,” said the test summary, “the presentation of extremely high self-esteem may at times indicate that a person has blocked awareness of negative aspects of himself.”

            While Moses wallowed in self-pity and self-censure, David seems blind, oblivious to his fallen self. I have lived here too—smug, sanctimonious, unctuous, and self-righteous, thanking God that “I am not like other sinners” (Luke 18:11). But God’s love and mercy are too severe to leave us in this fantasyland of make believe. And when we want to leave we need not fear his reprobation. We can give up the oppressive urges for perfection and give in to God’s voice of love, knowing that He accepts us for who and where we are. I have no need to portray myself in a falsely positive light, either to myself or to others.

            Then there is Peter, the ostensible rock, the first pope, the person always listed first in the three lists of the apostles. In the text for this week Jesus calls him “Satan.” Much as Moses’ self-pity came hard upon the heels of a significant demonstration of God’s power in the burning bush, so too Peter’s fall from grace follows immediately after Matthew tells us of his famous confession of faith, “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God” (Matthew 16:16). From the self-pity of Moses and self-justification of David, we move to the self-interest of Peter.

            Jesus says that Peter confused and conflated the things of God and men. He wrongly assumed that his own interests and desires were those of God. This too is so easy to do. On a national level you hear many people articulate American national interests as if they were the same as God’s kingdom interests. On a personal level we ask God to baptize our own plans, wishes and desires. But when God hates all the same people that you hate, and loves all the loves you love, then you can be sure that you have done a fine job of creating God in your own selfish image.

            But God is no Candyman or Sugar Daddy. He gives us what we need, not what we want. Peter’s lesson—take up your cross, deny yourself, lose your life in order to save it—are stark reminders that in following Jesus the vinegar is just as salutary as the honey, especially given our propensities to cast all of life in terms of raw self-interest.

            Self-censure, self-justification, and self-interest are all common maladies of the Christian journey. The most prominent figures of the Biblical drama succumbed to them. But while sin and failure abounded in their lives, God’s grace abounded all the more.