I’m not sure if you’re into children’s books, but I am. Well, at least I am when they are written for kids but have truth for adults, and “The Emperor’s New Clothes” by Hans Christian Anderson is one of those. In case you’ve always heard of the story but never actually read it, let me give you the Cliff Notes version  so we can move on with the point of this post…

There was a king who loved his clothes and bought new clothes like women buy shoes. One day some cons came along and told him that they would make him some new clothes with thread that was so refined that it was invisible to the eye of anyone who wasn’t superior enough to see it. The king said yes, paid the cons and provided them with the most expensive silk and threads you could buy (which they pocketed for profit later). They worked feverishly on nothing and every time the king sent officials to check on huge progress, the king’s men would report back that it looked amazing (because they didn’t want the king to think they weren’t worthy of their positions). Finally, the king was in a parade which was held simply to show off the new clothes, and as the king paraded down the street in nothing but what the good Lord gave him, the people oohed and aahed about his new threads even though they were pretty sure he wasn’t wearing any.

Eventually, though, a young boy yelled out the obvious – “the king isn’t wearing anything!” – and before long everyone started yelling it, too.  Unfortunately, the king decides to press on with the parade even though he realizes that the boy is right but also that by admitting the boy is right he’d be admitting that he was wrong.

The end.

Seems like a pretty odd way to end a story, and yet it is much more accurate than any of us would want to admit.  The story isn’t about invisible thread, or spending too much on clothes, or even about con men.  It’s about the one thing that could have changed everything for this emperor (and you and me if we’re willing to do it).

All of us would like to think that we’d be quick to admit it when others point our our shortcomings, but the truth of the matter is that we aren’t.  WE can think about our weaknesses all day long, but let another person point them out and we retreat into “protect ourselves at all cost” mode.  We do our best to keep up the appearance of being right even when what’s making an appearance really shouldn’t be!

There’s a curious verse in 2 Timothy 3:5 that warns of people who “have a form of godliness but deny its power.”  Then Paul went on to say we shouldn’t have anything to do with people like that.  Apparently, pretending to have something that you don’t isn’t a good thing, and yet we do it all the time.

We get impatient, but instead of admitting that we’re impatient, we point out what’s wrong with the person who made us wait.  We get angry and say things we regret, but instead of admitting our anger problem, we tell everyone about the problems of the person who made us angry.  We go to church and feel hollow and far from God, but instead of admitting that we’re empty because we never hang out with Jesus, we tell everyone that we aren’t being fed, moved, used, loved, etc, etc, ad nauseam.

Now I’m not suggesting that the slow person or the button-pushing person or the church person is always right, but I am suggesting that when God uses other people to point out the obvious in our lives, we would be far wiser than the naked king if we would simply own the obvious.

What if the king had heard the boy, and simply agreed?  Instead of looking foolish, he would have appeared wise, humble, and someone who valued truth over appearance.  Ecclesiastes 7:5 says, “It is better to heed a wise man’s rebuke than to listen to the song of fools.”

Whose voice are you listening to?

Today is Big Word day on TBC, and our word is consternation.  It means “feelings of dismay, typically at something unexpected.”  Something like, I don’t know, LeBron James coming up short on his personal quest to win a championship by playing on a team stacked so deep with talent that experts said there was almost no way they couldn’t win.  But they didn’t.  It was unexpected, too, the way they lost 3 straight games with LeBron playing the Invisible Man at the end of each of them.

Here, then, are my thoughts as I experience “LeBronsternation…”

There is something so innate within us that it is rarely ever recognized.  It slips into our speech so easily that it is imperceptible, and even when it is blatant, we stop short of calling it what it is because we don’t really see the danger in it.  Perhaps if it was a four-letter word, we’d be more apt to shine the light of truth on it, but since it has more than four, we don’t.  It is powerful enough to bring kingdoms to their knees and, yet, it never happens overnight.  Like a vine, it grows slowly, quietly, until it is finally in place to pull the noose around the neck of the unsuspecting.  It was at the center of the greatest failed coup in the history of the world, and it will be at the center of future coups for generations to come.  Relentless, calculating, and cold, it works behind the scenes whispering self-help mantras to anyone who will listen.  It’s pride.

Pride filled the imagination of a beautiful angel who wanted to take his talents to the throne of God, and led to the destruction of that devil and those angels who sided with him.  The consequences of that prideful action have been far-reaching, and today you and I are left navigating this life like men in a river watching for the sudden strike of a constrictor.  Pride searches for us and tells us stories of what could be if people would only see how great we know we are, and if we’re not careful, it will get us in its grip and squeeze the life from us.

I thought a lot about this last night as I watched the Dallas Mavericks defeat the Miami Heat for the NBA championship.  I recalled The Decision, a prime-time special paid for by LeBron James in order to announce where he would be playing basketball this season.  I replayed the words that have been burned into the hearts of every Cleveland Cavalier fan forever: “I’m taking my talents to South Beach.”

This is what the LORD says: “Let not the wise boast of their wisdom or the strong boast of their strength or the rich boast of their riches, but let the one who boasts boast about this: that they have the understanding to know me, that I am the LORD, who exercises kindness, justice and righteousness on earth, for in these I delight,” declares the LORD. (Jeremiah 9:23-24)

Pride.  It causes us to boast in what we feel are our strengths.  The wise about their wisdom, the strong about their strength, the rich about their wealth.  LeBron about his mad ball skills.  It makes us feel like we’re the piece that’s been missing.  “If only I was the boss…the teacher…the President.”  We see it as ambition, and applaud people for having upward mobility and career goals.  We wish we had the nerve to say what they say and do what they do, and yet somewhere deep inside all of us, we know that we can’t quite picture Jesus saying and doing the same things we’re hearing from and seeing in them.

Am I the only one having a hard time picturing Jesus’ response to our need for a Savior being, “I’m taking my talents to Bethlehem?”

The longer I serve Jesus, the more I see in Him a Savior who boasted in His relationship with the Father.  He didn’t talk about how once He was resurrected He was going to win, not 1, not 2, not 3, not even 4, or 5 or 6 billion people to Him.  He just kept on loving God and loving the people around Him.  I want to boast in knowing that Savior, and in understanding that it isn’t about me and what I can do for people, but rather what He has done for people.

Pride blinds us to what could happen.  It causes us to believe that the best perceived end is the guaranteed end.  When James joined the Heat, he and Chris Bosh and Dwayne Wade had a big party, err, press conference, and announced with index fingers raised how they were going to be a dynasty.  Pride makes us count our chickens before they hatch, because pride convinces us that it’s not possible for us to do anything but have chickens, and not just any chickens, but the best chickens ever.

It’s sickening, really, especially in light of a Savior who came to seek, to serve, and to save.  His eyes looked outward.  Always. A total failure at self-promotion, He instead chose the route of self-demotion and as a result was made more upwardly mobile than anyone ever has or will be (you can read about His career path in Philippians 2:5-11).  He walked on the side of justice and kindness, and those of us who love Him might want to consider walking there with Him.

Walk that path with Jesus very long and you’ll begin to see there isn’t room on the road for pride, because there isn’t room in the presence of Jesus for our selfishness and ambition.  Sometimes I watch the premature celebrations in sports, or the over-hyped promotions in church programs, and think that pride must stand for Predicting Ridiculous Individual Deeds Enthusiastically.  Too harsh?  Maybe.  One thing is sure, though.  Not only does pride lead to a fall, but it almost always ensures that there’s no one there to catch us when the inevitable happens. It’s not that they don’t care.  They’re just too busy celebrating the victory of the guys who weren’t jerks.