I May Be Fooling Myself

1 John 1:1-2:2

Easter 2

April 8, 2018

William G. Carter

“If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he who is faithful and just will forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” 

On a day of Easter hilarity, we have a text about fooling ourselves. We have heard the line many times to introduce our Prayer of Confession: If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. These words from a preacher in the early church remind us that we are capable of deceiving ourselves.

Sometimes we believe some things in order to ignore other things. Did you hear the one about the Irishman who walks into a pub? The barman asks him, "What are ye drinking?" He says, "Three pints o' Guinness, if ye please."

So, the barman brings him three pints and the man begins to alternately sip one, then the other, then the third until they're gone. Then he orders three more pints. The barman says, "Now, I know ye may be worried about running out, but ye don't have to order three at a time. I can keep an eye on your drink, and when ye get low, I'll bring ye a fresh one."

"No, 'tis not that," says the man. “Ye see, I have two brothers, one in France and one in the States. We made a vow to each other that every Friday night, wherever in the world we might be, we'd still drink a pint together. So, at this very moment, me brothers are havin' three pints too.  We're drinkin' together as a family."

The barman thought this was very touching.  Every Friday, as soon as he saw the man come into the pub, he started to draw three pints for him.

Then, one week the man came in and ordered only two pints.  He drank them down and ordered two more. The barman came up to him with a long face. "My friend, I'd just like to say I'm sorry that one of your brothers has died."

The man said, "No, 'tis not that. Me brothers are fine. I've gone on the wagon."

Look at that: he’s fooling himself. And he’s not the only one.

Ever see a fool? Especially a person who fools himself? They are easy to spot, and when we do see them, and identify them, what we see is an obvious lapse:

·         The wheel’s spinning, but the hamster is dead.

·         He fell out of the stupid tree and hit every branch on the way down.

·         He is a few clowns short of a circus.

·         There’s too much yardage between the goal posts.

·         The cheese slid off his cracker.

·         His belt doesn’t go through all the loops.

·         He is living proof that evolution is not true.

Or in Robin William’s famous description, “One taco short of a combo platter.”

And this may be a bit controversial, but men are not the only fools. They may be the most obvious ones, but this is a time of inclusion. Consider the classic “blonde joke.” The old adage is that “blondes have more fun,” but the fun may be at their own expense:

·         Why do blondes tip-toe past medicine cabinets? So they don’t wake up the sleeping pills.

·         How do you keep a blonde busy? Write “flip” on both sides of a sheet of paper.

·         What did the blonde say after glimpsing a box of Cheerios? “Donut seeds!”

·         Why do blondes stare at orange juice containers for hours on end? Because they say “concentrate.”

·         What do you call a blonde with a brain? A golden retriever.

·         Why did the blonde put lipstick on her forehead? She was desperately trying to make up her mind.

Now, to be fair, my wife didn’t think any of those were funny, and she’s a brunette. In fact, she looks sideways whenever there’s a joke that could possibly demean another person in some way.

Like this one: “Your mama is so fat that when she sits on a quarter, a booger pops out of George Washington’s nose.” (We can thank comedian Paula Poundstone for that one.)

Foolishness, stupidity, human misery, and boogers – those are the raw materials of successful humor. We make fun of important things or other people, maybe to feel a little better about ourselves. But watch out: we need to be careful that the joke’s not on us.

As the text says today, “If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. That, as they say, reminds me of a joke. A friend sent it along, just for today:

A husband is having dinner out with his wife. She keeps looking at this man at another table. Can’t keep her eyes off of him. The other man, of course, has noticed her. He keeps smiling, nodding, admiring her, sitting a little taller in his chair. Finally, it becomes so noticeable that the husband speaks up, and asks, “What’s he got that I haven’t got?”

She says, “Awareness.” Husband says, “What’s that?”

My friend says his wife gave him that joke. He’s not sure what it means. Not yet.

I think it means we are completely capable of deceiving ourselves, of going about the foolish work of making ourselves look better than we are. That is a very human inclination. All of us probably do this. Most of us don’t want to get caught.

In a book called Vital Lies, Simple Truths, Daniel Goleman tells about John Dean. Some may remember him as a character from the Watergate scandal of a generation ago. He was President Nixon’s legal counsel, which meant he was up to his nose in corruption, deception, and cover-up. When he gave testimony to the Senate Watergate Committee, he amazed the committee members with precise details about who said what, when they said it, and who else was in the room.

However, when the Watergate tapes were finally pried loose from President Nixon and played for the committee, Dean’s account was revealed to be a “wishful memory.” Like a lot of us, especially as my kids say about me, Dean remember some things that didn’t quite happen. And surprise, surprise, most of what he said he remembered put in a much more positive light than was the case. He remembered what he hoped was the truth.  

And Goleman, the psychologist, suggests this probably wasn’t even conscious.[1] The truth got twisted because Dean got scared, or because the situation was tense, or because there was a lot at stake. There’s a lesson here for all of us, namely, I may be fooling myself.

“If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.”  This is what an early church leader declared as a general truth about the human race. We don’t know what prompted him to say it.  Maybe he discovered the church treasurer had her hand in the money bag and lied about it. Or perhaps he has listened to a preacher who did not believe a word of his own sermons. Or maybe he discovered that some hypocrites had infiltrated the church building.

Or maybe he was talking about people outside of the church as much as he may have been speaking to people in the church. There is some primal need in every person to lie, to hide, to avoid exposure – and then to cover up what they have done or refused to do.

When we hear the news about those who steal, or those who twist the truth, or those who go to elaborate lengths to deceive and hide, we should never be surprised. I am at the age that I frequently take pity on them, because I recognize them all too well. Ever since the Garden of Eden, we have been prone to reach for what is not ours and then to lie about it. Or we don’t reach for it and we still lie about it.

Did you hear about the ninety-two-year old priest who was venerated by everybody in town for his holiness? He was also a member of the Rotary Club. Every time the club met, he would be there, always on time, and always seated in his favorite spot in a corner of the room. When he stood to bless the meal, everybody listened.

One day the priest disappeared. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. The townsfolk searched all over and could find no trace of him. A month later, he resurfaced at the Rotary Club meeting, sitting in his usual corner. “Father,” everyone cried, “were have you been?” “I just served a thirty-day sentence in prison,” he said.

“In prison?” they cried. “Father, you couldn’t hurt a fly. What happened?”

           

“It’s a long story,” said the priest, “but briefly, this is what happened. I bought myself a train ticket to go into the city. I was standing on the platform waiting for the train to arrive when this stunningly beautiful woman appears on the arm of a policeman. She was gorgeous. She looked at me, turned to the cop and said, ‘He did it. I’m certain he’s the one who did it.’ Well, to tell you the truth, I was so flattered I pleaded guilty.”[2]

Now, talk about fooling yourself!

Brennan Manning was one of my favorite spiritual writers. He was a wonderful writer and a total mess as a human being. In short, he was a recovering alcoholic who loved Jesus. Brennan says the best way to save our lives is through two different kinds of honesty. Did you know there are two different kinds? Honesty about ourselves, and an even deeper honesty about God. Here’s how he says it:

The Good News means we can stop lying to ourselves. The sweet sound of amazing grace saves us from the necessity of self-deception. It keeps us from denying that though Christ was victorious, the battle with lust, greed, and pride still rages within us. As a sinner who has been redeemed, I can acknowledge that I am often unloving, irritable, angry, and resentful with those closest to me. When I go to church I can leave my white hat at home and admit I have failed. God not only loves me as I am, but also knows me as I am. Because of this, I don’t need to apply spiritual cosmetics to make myself presentable to Him. I can accept ownership of my poverty and powerlessness and neediness . . . My deepest awareness of myself is that I am deeply loved by Jesus Christ and I have done nothing to earn it or deserve it.^[3]

So, the first word today is to simply get over ourselves. To laugh at ourselves. To give up all pretending and to knock off all superiority. To present ourselves to God, as we are, and not as we imagine ourselves to be. God must deal with us as we are – and the sooner that we can be honest about who we are, the sooner God can get to the hard work of rescuing us in Christ.

This can be difficult for some of us to do. We love to manufacture an image, as if the image of God is not enough. Why can’t we simply see who we are, and laugh? Our honesty is God’s opportunity. The great thing about a sense of humor is that it sets us free – free to be who we are, free to become what God is redeeming us to be. A healthy sense of humor is the best defense against arrogance, pride, and superiority. If we can laugh about something, particularly something in ourselves, there’s a much better chance that we will never be so holy that God wants nothing to do with us. And so, in the name of Christ, we laugh. We laugh at ourselves, and we laugh even more at what God is doing in us.

·         After all, you have heard it said: Jews don’t recognize Jesus as Messiah. Protestants don’t recognize the Pope as the head of the church. And Baptists don’t recognize each other in the liquor store.

·         A woman went to work at a lemon grove and the foreman thought she was much too qualified. The foreman said, “Do you even have any experience picking lemons?” She said, “Sure do. I’ve been divorced four times.”

·         Do you know how to keep a ditzy person in the shower? Give them a shampoo bottle that says, “Shampoo, rinse, repeat.”

·         What did God say after creating man? “I can do better than this.”

·         Some advice for anybody who wants to get married: look for an archaeologist. The older you are, the more interested your spouse becomes.

·         Did you hear about the preacher who stepped into the pulpit, preached the sermon, and the congregation started clapping and yelling, “Once more! Once more!” So, he preached the whole sermon again, and the congregation screamed even louder for him to preach it one more time. So, he did. And they yelled for him to preach it again. He thanked them and asked why – and somebody yelled, “It’s getting better!”

Don’t be fooled.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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^[1] Retold by Cornelius Plantinga Jr., Not the Way It’s Supposed to Be (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995) p. 106

^[2] Anthony De Mello, Taking Flight: A Book of Story Meditations (New York: Doubleday, 1988) 113-114.

^[3] Brennan Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel (Sisters, OR: Multnomah Publisher, 1990) 25, 27.