The Problem With Self-Pity
Suffering is inevitable. The problem with a lot of people (myself included) is they step away from their suffering with the impression that it is unique. If it’s unique, then it’s unfair. If it’s unfair, then God is unjust.
But suffering is not unique at all. Not only does everyone face suffering in some form or degree, but Jesus guaranteed that we would have it. “Don’t be surprised,” he said, “when they hate you and kill you. They did as much to me. Is any student greater than his master?”
Your particular suffering may be unique to you. But suffering is not.
The other thing unique to you is your victory (or lack there of), and your destiny. That suffering was specialized training for the unique calling that God placed on your life. Are you called to orphans? Well then, are you well versed in being rejected and finding your identity in God?
Oh, you never felt rejection? Well that’s definitely going to come up as a skill deficiency on your application. Did you ask God to refine you in rejection so that you would be able to minister to the orphans with authority? No? Maybe when rejection came, rather than “rejoicing that you faced many trials” (James 1), you spurned God’s preparation as an insult. “Use me, Oh God!” we cry out on Sundays in worship. Then we turn around on Monday (let’s be real…by lunch on Sunday) and accuse God of injustice when he begins the training process to make us useful! What ignorant children we are!
All of this sounds a bit harsh when we think about divorce, cancer, bankruptcy, or betrayal. Certainly those are all legitimate sources of pain. But what about peanut butter?
“Huh?” you say, “What in the world does peanut butter have to do with death and disease?”
Everything!
You see I have children with strong opinions about peanut butter: creamy, smooth, honey blended. I know their preferences. I know how strongly they feel about said preferences, and given my superior intellect and frequent ability to acquiesce to their particulars, they have come to expect a certain level of peanut butter regularity. But rue the day that crunchy is their only choice! An unsuspecting passerby may wrongly conclude that Armageddon is upon us!
All because of peanut butter. All because I claim to love them, and, dang it, I know better! And, just, HOW COULD I?!?! Never mind that Wal-Mart was OUT of creamy and I’m NOT going back on this hypothetical holiday shopping weekend! Shut up and eat your PB & J I say!
Are you angry yet that I just compared your terminal situation to peanut butter? Okay, I understand that. But I’m not diminishing the severity of anyone’s suffering. My thoughts are born out of processing my own grief.
So often, though, the Lord uses my children to show me what I look like from His perspective. Given the giant leap from motherhood to creator and sustainer of the universe, I consider it a generous analogy on His part.
My children, who claim to love me and tell me every May what a perfect mother I am, will turn and cut my jugular when they think I’ve jilted them. And can I really jilt them?!? Does any amount of cuteness compensate for 9 months of sciatic nerve pain (times 5), a collective loss/gain of 500 lbs., countless sleepless nights, breastfeeding, loss of social and professional freedom, vomit, diarrhea, “tears” and episiotomies? Short of meeting their physical needs and abstaining from neglect or abuse, do I “owe” them anything. Shoot NO! But they sure think I do! We tend to think the same of God.
They believe AT MINIMUM I am obligated to provide the snacks, meals, and clothes of their preference. Realistically, they believe they are also entitled to expect a modicum of effort on my part to keep up with the sports, arts, entertainments, and recent technology releases that their peers enjoy. But don’t forget the many, many days they let their imaginations run “wild” with grandiose ideations of luxury vacations, exotic animals, and the like.
Their expectations are born out of complacency for normal. Palatable meals are served regularly. They’ve received clothes commensurate to their ever graduating height every fall. There’s never been a Christmas without gifts under the tree, etc. etc. Opulent luxury, by global standards of poverty and wealth, are their norm. Anything less than the “norm” is suffering, and boy will they let you know!
I do it as well. Probably you do to.
Most of us can recognize our petty entitlement when we are drooling over our friend’s nice new car. It’s not hard to acknowledge ingratitude when you’re genuinely riled that sister-over-there rocks a beach bod and you look like you’ve had a million kids. But can we detect it when the imbalance between our world and that of those around us is more off kilter? Have you prayed for children but instead had a series of disappointments? What about when the husband you prayed for hurts you more than he blesses you, all the while, your best friend’s hubby seems to read her thoughts. Or maybe, that husband never came at all? How do you feel about God’s justice when you’ve been honest and hard working and the slimy ladder climber one cubicle over gets the promotion? What about cancer, miscarriage, or crippling injury? That’s legitimately disappointing or dare we confess, “unfair”? Or, let’s go further down the trail. What about when a spouse dies young, a parent rejects you, a kid makes devastating life choices, or your family business goes under? Can’t we all admit that that is unfair?!? Surely God can see that “this” just isn’t right!
Well, we can all agree that it’s not the outcome anyone dreamed about. But when did God ever promise that your life would go off without a hitch? At what point in history did He EVER choose the path of least resistance? Never.
But what do we do when life is unfair? Do we accuse God of injustice with the emotional impetuosity of a toddler? Or do we trust Him, look for His wisdom in placing us in the middle of this trial, and thank Him that He bears the weight of the world on His shoulders?
More times than not I have chosen the former. God willing I shift to the latter quicker with each passing trial. But in my suffering, God has revealed to me one very profound reality.
My greatest weakness is self pity.
“Wow! Don’t confess too much or we might think less of you!” you might say. But hold on...
Self pity is more pernicious than I once realized. It’s secretively destructive. It turns you away from God and makes you obsessed with yourself. You know who else is obsessed with himself? The Devil. This sin is simultaneously soothing and demonic. You don’t want that combo at Panda Express!! There are other combos that are positively divine…Shanghi Beef with Honey Glazed Chicken for example. But the other two-for-one punch must be avoided at all costs! So what’s so bad about a little self pity?
Several things.
First, you can’t learn a dang thang when you feel sorry for yourself. The Bible tells us that Jesus learned obedience by what he suffered. But we want the health and wealth gospel. You can’t see from God’s perspective about any situation when you are staring and your own self and lickin’ them wounds.
Secondly, you become incapable of compassion. When you feel sorry for yourself, you can only see yourself. You pity yourself because you’re stuck in that sin? Now, you Can. Not. feel empathy for those effected by your sin. Maybe you feel sorry for yourself because you’ve been done dirty. Okay, but you’ll miss out on the opportunity to see God move on your behalf if you’re tending to your emotions on the side lines rather than calling shots on the field of battle!
Third, (now we’re creeping deeper into the enemy’s strategy) you will fall by near sighted failure. Make no mistake, we are in a spiritual battle. You can be an active warrior for one side or the other, or a passive pawn. Pawns die first. If you feel sorry for yourself, you lose perspective of the cosmic battle. A soldier who forgets he’s in war, gets shot. Jesus taught us to be ever on our guard for the enemy is like a prowling lion looking for the weak to destroy. If your attention is on you, it’s not on your enemy, which is just how the lion likes his gazelles!
Finally, we’ve reached the Devil’s end game: rob you of intimacy with Jesus. Worst of All, self pity costs us the opportunity to share in the communion of suffering with Christ.
There is a deep bond of intimacy among soldiers, trauma survivors, and the like. They share a tragic identity which they overcame in unison. That is a fellowship that can not be transmitted to an outside party. There is no less bond between Jesus and his disciples that take up their cross and follow him.
Remember when he said, “blessed are you when they slander you and insult you because of my name. Great is your reward in Heaven.” What’s the reward? Obviously, it’s not monetary. What prize might we value in Heaven? A deeper intimacy with our Rabbi than those who chose the easy path of least resistance. But the soldiers who got down in the trenches with Jesus, bled with him, grieved with him, and died with him, they will know a bond that is quite a reward indeed!
Ultimately, the Devil is envious of surrendered unity and he is intent upon keeping you from it. He couldn’t be satisfied with submission. He burned with Jealousy and attempted to usurp the throne. What greater slap to his cheek than for a weak mortal with less than a fragment of heavenly knowledge to muster the strength of trust in God that ends in self sacrifice.
Oh how that victory insults him! Waifs of creation can find the fortitude to accept suffering and still give God glory when he lacked the inner peace to enjoy all the glory and intimacy that was freely laid out before him. And oh how it makes him sick to see a saint stand in faith.
That person is obviously immune to his more blunt tactics. But if he can coax them into a lazy self soothing, he’s in through the back door. He strokes our wounds and pretends to grieve with us. He reminds us of how much we’ve given up for the Lord and asks, “How can he demand this much from you? Haven’t you been faithful?” As he lulls us to sleep with his cloaked cooing, he draws his dagger to our throats.
But worse than the pain of death is the loss of camaraderie with Jesus. Suffering is a precious gift. It’s an opportunity to know Him in the misery he suffered for me, and appreciate the magnitude of that gift. It’s a treasure I’ve often squandered because I believed myself entitled to a life of less suffering than my savior. Can you detect the hidden arrogance? With the same mouth I’ve said, “You are Lord and savior!” and “You owe me better.” What duplicity!
