The antidote to pride is service.

Text:  Obadiah 1-21

Date:  September 27, 2009

A dictionary problem (Genesis 25:19-34)

Today’s sermon is titled, “The Problem with Pride.”  It should probably be “the problems with pride.”  There are many.

The first is a dictionary problem.  The word “pride” is used in so many ways.  The first dictionary definition is negative – “an unduly high opinion of oneself; exaggerated self-esteem; conceit; arrogance.”  Just behind that definition is a second, positive one – “proper respect for oneself; sense of one’s own dignity or worth.”

As we continue working our way through the minor prophets, the last twelve books in the Old Testament, we come to the smallest book in the Old Testament, Obadiah.  Obadiah’s message is about  how the pride of a country named Edom manifested itself toward a country named Israel.

Before we can understand Obadiah, however, we need to the story behind it.  More than a thousand years before the time of Obadiah, the nation of Edom grew from the loins of a man named Esau.  Israel descended from Esau’s twin brother, Jacob.

The parents of Jacob and Esau were Isaac and Rebekah.  They were proud of their twins.  Shouldn’t parents be proud of their children?  Isaac was particularly proud of the older twin, Esau, because he was a man’s man – an outdoorsman, a hunter.  Rebekah favored Jacob, because he was a homebody, preferring the tents to the fields and the kitchen to the hunt.

The way I’ve used the words “proud” and “pride” so far illustrate the dictionary problem with pride.  Although we can see the potential conflict with parents favoring one twin over the other, the fact that these parents took pride in their boys and even in their differences is positive.  We would say the boys themselves should take pride in differing abilities and interests – but not if it leads to pride.

The dictionary discloses a problem with pride, but that’s not the worst problem with pride.

A deception problem (Obadiah 2-9)

The reason the word “pride” is used both positively and negatively is that there is a common thread.  That common thread between these meanings presents a thin line between what might be considered healthy and unhealthy pride.

Obadiah begins his message to Edom (v. 2), “The pride of your heart has deceived you, you who live in the clefts of the rocks and make your home on the heights, you who say to yourself, ‘Who can bring me down to the ground?’”

It took several hundred years, but the descendants of the twins, Jacob and Israel, finally each settled in their respective homelands and became independent nations.  After slavery in Egypt, Israel occupied Canaan, between the Mediterranean Sea and the Jordan River.  Edom settled south of the Dead Sea in a mountainous region where valley gorges were deep and peaks rose to 5,000 feet and higher.

Edom and Israel were each proud of their land.  Israel had fertile farm lands in wide open fields.  Edom’s territory was less hospitable for agriculture, but far preferable for defense.  Their people could hide in the hills.  They could rally their troops for raids on their neighbors, then retreat to their cave hideouts and enjoy the spoils knowing how difficult it would be for their enemies to find them.  Frequently during the intervening centuries between the time of Jacob and Esau and the time of Obadiah, Edom did exactly that. 

On one or two occasions, Israel was successful in its own military expansion into Edom.  King David once slaughtered 18,000 Edomite men in a successful attempt to control Edom’s copper mines and trade routes. But that was the exception rather than the rule, and most of the time Edom lived with a false sense of security, taking pride in its impenetrable natural fortress.

Pride is deceptive.  Usually we become proud about one area of accomplishment or asset.  We take pride in our wealth, or in our good looks, or in a particular talent, or in our good health, or in a successful venture.  I remember one person several years ago who took great pride in an entrepreneurial effort he was convinced would allow him to retire a millionaire in a few short years.  I was skeptical, but I’m not a businessman. The business took off, then plateaued and declined.  Not long after he was asking for some help to pay his mortgage. 

That’s a problem with pride – deception.  Like the Edomites hiding in their caves, we think one-dimensional success is sufficient.  My business is great, but I never exercise.  I’m in super physical shape, but it takes away from my family.  My family relationships are strong, but there’s no time for God. 

Pride is deceptive.  But that’s not the worst problem with pride.

A depth problem (Obadiah 10-16)

By “depth problem,” I mean that the existence or display of unhealthy pride is almost always symptom, not cause.  Something else is amiss.  Pride goes deep.

So it was for Edom.  As Obadiah continues his prophecy, he calls Edom to account for its displays of pride that show how bad things became. 

“Because of the violence against your brother Jacob, you will be covered with shame” (v. 10).

“You should not look down on your brother in the day of his misfortune” (v. 11).

“You should not wait at the crossroads to cut down their fugitives nor hand over their survivors in the day of their trouble” (v. 14).

Nobody likes pride.  But we especially don’t like pride when it shows up as violence, as gloating, as opportunism.  And that’s only a sampling.  Condescension, overconfidence, self-absorption, even false humility, are all bedfellows of pride that destroy relationships.

These related issues all demonstrate the problem with depth.  Think about this:  the animosity between Israel and Edom had continued over 1,000 years by the time Obadiah wrote.  It all started with brothers who allowed competitive pride to get blown way out of proportion.  Once pride becomes embedded generationally, with one family or ethnic group or nation simply passing down hate and prejudice toward another as an heirloom, it’s hard to eradicate.

The same is true on a personal level.  When pride in its various dysfunctional manifestations is allowed to take root in our souls, the outward displays are like the proverbial tip of the iceberg.  The person who is hostile or boastful or intimidating is only demonstrating an inner infection of the soul.  Something deep is amiss.  There is no inner peace that can only come in a relationship with the Creator.

So a problem with pride is depth.  But that’s not the worst problem with pride.

A dethronement problem (Obadiah 17-21)

Obadiah ends on a note of hope.  Not much about this book is hopeful, in fact, until the end.

Eugene Peterson’s Message paraphrase captures this hopeful end of the short prophetic word – “The remnant of the saved in Mount Zion will go into the mountains of Esau and rule justly and fairly, a rule that honors God’s kingdom” (v. 21).

If you are an Edomite, you start reading verse 21 with trepidation.  It doesn’t sound like this is going to be good news or hope.  “The remnant of the saved in Mount Zion will go into the mountains of Esau….”  Every time either of these nations had entered the other’s territory for a millennium, they were up to no good.  The purpose of crossing the border was for killing, for stealing, for occupying.

But Obadiah says a different future is on the horizon.  Israel will enter Edom to “rule justly and fairly, a rule that honors God’s kingdom.”  No tit-for-tat any more.  Everyone will be treated with dignity and respect, treated the way that will honor God.

In ending on this hopeful note, Obadiah moves us to the ultimate problem with pride.  When God sits in his rightful place as ruler of individuals and relationships, people are treated with dignity and value.  When pride steps in, it dethrones God. 

When Christ is Lord of all, we have no need to resort to manipulating others to get our own way.  We are content to let him be in charge.  Pride is the first of the seven deadly sins (Proverbs 6:16), precisely because it is the biggest barrier between us and God.  When we put ourselves in a place that presumes we don’t need God, we are better than others, or we can act with impunity or without accountability, we erect an Edomite mountain that cuts us off from the one who wants to love us and make our lives whole and meaningful.

The biggest problem with pride is dethroning God.  If I  think I’m at the center of the world – impenetrable, self-sufficient, superior – God has no room to work.  I don’t even need grace.  I don’t need Christ.  I’m all I need.

Toward a solution (Obadiah 1)

Whenever we talk about problems, we should talk about solutions.  What is the solution to pride?

For this we return to the first verse of Obadiah.  I skipped that earlier in my overview of the book, intentionally. 

Most of these prophets tell us something about themselves.  Where they lived, a little of their stories, who was king when they prophesied.

Not Obadiah.  He begins his book by saying only, “The vision of Obadiah.”  That’s sort of like saying, “The vision of Bob.”  Obadiah was a common name – so common there are many Obadiahs in the Old Testament.  None of the others mentioned are the same as this Obadiah who wrote the shortest book.

This is all we know about him.  It may even have been a pseudonym.  He could have chosen the name to make a point.  The name “Obadiah” means “servant of the Lord.”  That’s all he wants us to know about him – that’s it really not about him.

Last week we talked about service as we studied Amos’ prophecy.  It’s a matter of the heart, Amos tells us.  It’s not something you do.  Turning the service heart into servant action is the best antidote to pride. 

For the finest example I know, let’s turn the clock back more than a hundred fifty years, to 1865.  It was the close of the Civil War, barely months after the cessation of hostilities, and the proud Rebel states had been humbled.  They had believed their cause was not only right – it was guided and directed by God.

Now they had not only lost the war, they had lost many of their finest men – boys, husbands, fathers.  Economic devastation was complete for their farms and businesses.  Their pride was decimated.

Jeremiah Ingold had already begun his work as founding pastor of what would become Corinth Reformed Church in Hickory Tavern, but he had larger responsibilities.  He served other congregations as well, and he also served as the President of the North Carolina Classis of the Reformed Church.

It was Jeremiah Ingold whose name appeared on behalf of pastors and elders in the North Carolina churches at the end of a pastoral letter directed to the other Reformed congregations.  The letter was an antidote to pride.  The words “ate crow.”  We were wrong.  God has scourged us.

What do you say next?  Much of the letter was an exhortation to serve.  Serve each other.  Serve the widows.  Even if you are yourself needy, find someone to take care of.

Most significantly, Jeremiah Ingold wrote, serve the “freedmen,” those whose entrapment into slavery we fought and died to preserve at great cost.  Serve them.  Find them jobs, find them homes, give them dignity.  It’s quite obvious the message did not take hold, at least not all across the South.  Not for more than a century.  The effects of the opposite attitude, in fact, linger even today.

But Jeremiah Ingold had the principle right.  The antidote to pride is service.  I wonder how the spirit of service toward those of African descent might have altered the course of history if those in power had chose service over pride before the war.

I’m increasingly humbled by the amount of service I observe and hear about at Corinth.  The Habitat project we started this week in our community is a good example.  We also have a team returning from New Orleans working on Habitat.  The children’s church ministries offer further proof.  A group of Corinth members got together yesterday on fairly short notice to help a single person move into her new condo.  One of the helpers immediately e-mailed me when he got home:  “It was an awesome feeling to have helped today. Reach out again if something is needed.”

We can’t do it just because it feels good, but do you know why it feels so good?  Because it fights pride.  I don’t need to be rewarded for this.  I don’t need to be thanked for this.  I don’t need to keep going incessantly with my interminable task list.  I’m not the center of the world.  I’m just a servant.

Obadiah thought like that.  That’s why Obadiah is my favorite minor prophet.  Amen.