Weakness and pride

The sermon at church today was about weakness and pride. I have been thinking about that a lot lately, so I figured I'd better write down my thoughts in order to get them sorted out. (Read Mike's notes; they're really good.) I'm not sure how coherent this post will be, but I think many will be able to identify with my struggles...here goes...

Right, so the Sermon on the Mount is all about weakness. I've heard teachings on the Sermon and I understand the basics of the "Sermon on the Mount lifestyle," a.k.a. the "fasted" lifestyle: prayer, fasting, tithing, serving, and blessing our enemies. This lifestyle is about sacrificing our time, energy, food, wealth, and reputation. We are encouraged to give up the things that make us strong so that we can receive strength from G-d to live righteous lives. Pretty simple.

So why do I find it so hard to grasp the concept of weakness and live it out? The past few days, I found myself thinking, "Be weak? What does that really mean? When I am weak, I'm selfish and self-centered. I'm manipulative. I spend my time on worthless things. I focus my thoughts on things that are harmful to my spirit. I have a horrible attitude about prayer and I couldn't fast if my life depended on it. Those are my true weaknesses. Why is G-d asking for that from me?"

Then there's the side of me that hates even appearing weak. I am the kind of person who often makes defensive excuses whenever someone catches one of my (many) mistakes, trying to minimize my embarrassment. Afterward I realize how silly I sounded and how I just should have said, "Sorry, my bad," and left it at that. But in the moment I can only think of saving face. My pride makes it so hard to fast my reputation.

I also hate being weak in things compared to other people. This afternoon, I played some multiplayer Halo for the first time in a year. I've always been horrible at multiplayer FPS games. But compared to the other players, I stunk so badly today that I couldn't even laugh goodnaturedly at myself. I hated appearing so incompetent. That brought up the old longing to be one of those cool chicks who are good at video games. Correction: to be one of those cool chicks who are good at stuff, period. I started thinking about how bad I am at certain things compared to other people—social interaction, praying on the mic, playing music or singing, consistently fasting food, etc.—and wishing that I had been created with those gifts instead of having to work a lot harder at them than other people do. But questioning the way G-d made me is some serious prideful thinking.

Bottom line: I don't want to be weak. I want to be strong. I want to be someone who's got it together, who's respected by her peers, who has a vision for her life, who does things right more often than not, who people seek out for advice and friendship.

Those desires are not bad. I want to be a better person, someone of character and worth. We all desire that. What's wrong is the way we think about it. We come at the issue from the angle of pride. I think everyone who lives the fasted lifestyle is at some point afraid of what they will look like if they let go of everything that's propping them up. I have been valuing my props and my reputation more than G-d's plan for me. I haven't been trusting that He'll catch me when I throw away my crutches to reveal the broken bones in me. It's the conflict of earthly vs. eternal wisdom that Paul talked about in 1 Corinthians 1.

The Sermon on the Mount is eternal wisdom—wisdom that's actually meant for strengthening me, not solely to bare the ugly side of me. Yes, fasting and everything tends to bring up what's usually buried beneath the civilized demeanor and full stomach. But that's not the point of the fasted lifestyle. The real point is to give up my pride. I have to sacrifice my reputation, even if it's only in my head. And I have to remember that I am under the law of grace, as Paul said in Romans; I accept what I'm really like when everything is stripped away, but I don't let that weakness reign in me. Instead, I invite God to come in and strengthen me where I'm weak. Which is everywhere. Well, more room for Him, then.

Did this post make sense? I don't even know. Feedback would be welcome.