The saying, “pride goeth before the fall” has always interested me. In some ways, there is a notion that the “high and mighty shall be brought down”—almost a means of retaliation. In other ways, there is the concept that an absurd sense of power and entitlement will inevitably bring about an insurmountable obstacle—“the bigger they are the harder they fall”. But there is another aspect to this saying that is often overlooked.
Our vicar reached out to forty congregants and asked each to write a prayer inspired by one of the lectionary readings through the season of Lent. It has been interesting to see the different viewpoints that each reader (and writer) have expressed. It has been illuminating to see familiar passages rendered colorfully with a different consideration.
One of the prayers stood out for me, because it touches on something that I have written about before and that I have been particularly mindful of personally. The author, towards the end of her prayer, asks for help in not being “so embarrassed by my failings that I reject the love and support of my sisters and brothers”. It’s this kind of pride that I think is the hardest one with which to grapple.
As my oldest friends will tell you, I like keeping my proverbial cards close to my chest. Part of that is a level of introspection driven by being an introvert. But part of that is not wanting to tarnish the image that others hold of me. I have crafted and created the person I am perceived to be and when the reality is different from the perception, it is pride that keeps me from being open and honest.
This protective pride goes before my fall because I refuse to reach out for the arms and hands that I know would catch me, if only I asked for their presence. I pride-fully keep my failings and doubts from view because I somehow believe that they will make others consider me through a lens different from the one I have carefully crafted. But this kind of pride hurts not only me in the long-term, it hurts those who care about me because they are not given a chance to share their love and grow by being called to be empathetic. We are both thrown into a void because my pride won’t allow that void to be filled by love.
The best stories of healing in the New Testament (in my humble opinion) are those where the people in pain did not allow pride to get in the way of asking for help. Jesus rewarded those people with healing and, more importantly, enduring love. Pride and love are therefore almost at odds with one another because when pride is around, loved is not allowed to be at its most present.
The net result of pride is a resounding crash to the pavement. I can avoid that crash by just acknowledging, from time to time, that all is not right in the world. In doing that, love is allowed to cushion the fall and return me to my upright position, unbruised and unscathed.