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?
