Spring-time awards. Most schools do this. It’s getting close to the end of the year, so the school takes time to show appreciation for, reward, and recognize those who been outstanding that year whether it was for academic success, willingness to serve, or just because everyone liked them. I’ve been part of them in elementary, middle, and high schools. My undergrad alma mater has an Honor’s Day celebration.

Even seminaries get in on the action. Where I went to school to prepare to be a pastor, they have boatloads of awards: book awards given by individual professors, awards for service in different types of churches, awards for students who show prowess in pastoral care, preaching, ethics, or justice, awards for the most outstanding professor — one voted on by their professorial peers and another voted on by students. Suffice to say, there are ample opportunities for which one could feel good about oneself, how others notice their work and dedication, and how (let’s not kid ourselves) they are better than other people — especially better than those they don’t particularly enjoy.

My wife received awards two out of the four years she was there. I, on the other hand, never got one. That’s right, your author never won a single award in seminary.

Don’t get me wrong. I was happy for Hannah to win. She deserved them in every way. But I would be lying to you if I didn’t say I was disappointed, frustrated, even angry that I wasn’t recognized. (Obviously, the pain lingers or I wouldn’t be talking about it to you!)

Validation, celebration, and acknowledgement — the awards symbolized what I was doing was right, that others saw in me something worthwhile, and that I was justified, was good. And if I got to act a little bit like Ron Burgandy from “Anchorman” and tell everyone to come see how good I look, that would’ve been fine too:

I don’t think I’m alone in feeling this way. I haven’t met a soul who doesn’t seek some sort of validation from the outside, recognition from others, or people to acknowledge them. We want people to notice us and our efforts. It’s toddlers hoping their parents like the impromptu puppet show they put on. It’s the woman hoping for riotous laughter at the joke they tell their friends. It’s grandpa patiently waiting for their grandkid to enjoy the model airplane as much as he did. It’s the teenager hoping their friends will notice how their clothes are just right. It’s the event planners, the pie makers, the awning builders, the toilet plungers, the card writers, the picture painters, the leaf sweepers, the two copper coin givers, the special music offerors, the back row prayers, the cookie bakers. That is to say, it’s you and it’s me.

This all is to say, I understand the Pharisees that Jesus has such strong words for — and I hope you do, too, because they are just like us. Jesus takes a three-pronged approach to his critique of his opponents: they make life harder for everyone by demanding strict behavioral practices, they have an inability or an unwillingness to walk the walk when they talk the talk, and they want people to recognize all the gold stars they earned.

And really, it’s not the Pharisees themselves, but their attitude. Jesus’ words in Matthew 23 have been used in horrendous ways to justify antisemitism — prejudice, hatred, and violence against Jews — but that is just not what’s going on. Jesus himself was Jewish, and far closer to the Pharisees than, say, the Zealots of the day. He commends the Pharisees’ teaching about God’s Law. It is correct and worthy of Moses. Instead, Jesus is taking aim at a culture of self-justification and self-centeredness — which is to say he’s taking aim at human culture at large.

Because what he is taking on is the human heart, our hearts, curved in on itself, living for oneself instead of others and God. “What the heart loves, the will chooses, and the mind justifies.”

It’s why we can demand forgiveness for ourselves when we do wrong, but refuse to give it when someone wrongs us. It’s why we can pretend we are better than “those people” who do not think or act or look or vote or cheer or believe like us even though we are all secretly afraid someone will find out we don’t always toe the company line. It’s why we can explain away or even miss our biases, privileges, and failures while holding onto long seeded grudges against others who have their own biases, privileges, and failures.

… they tie together heavy packs that are impossible to carry. They put them on the shoulders of others, but are unwilling to lift a finger to move them. Everything they do, they do to be noticed by others. They make extra-wide prayer bands for their arms and long tassels for their clothes. They love to sit in places of honor at banquets and in the synagogues. They love to be greeted with honor in the markets and to be addressed as ‘Rabbi.’ (Mt 23:4-7)

They tell people how to act, how to live, how to be in the world and then they won’t help the very same people. They want people to acknowledge their broad and deep and impressive and correct faith. They want people to see them as worthy of being doted upon, showing proper respect by using the title they earned. They are what we all are and do what we all do, even if we are afraid to admit it.

What Jesus is attacking is self-justification: the idea that we justify ourselves — what we say, what we do, who we are are — and believe that is what makes us good and worthy of love, what make us holy. Most people these days probably shudder if I told them they were trying to be holy, but what other term fits someone trying to have the perfect work-life balance, the perfect body, the perfect family, the perfect social media presence, the perfect diet, the perfect everything? None of us is innocent in this regard. We all strive for perfection somewhere in our lives.

We sometimes even take Jesus’ commendation at the end (“But the one who is greatest among you will be your servant. All who lift themselves up will be brought low. But all who make themselves low will be lifted up.” Mt 23:11-12) and flip it on its head. We might try and be the greatest servant, or the most humble, or the best helper. And while I think this is categorically better than expecting the world to be served to you on a silver platter (wouldn’t the world be a better place if society rewarded service and humility more?), it still swims in the same self-justification pool — still thinking you’re better because you’re more humble.

One way or another, life is going to humble you in ways you can’t manufacture. Life this side of the veil is full of pain and heartache and frustration and suffering, showing that you are not in control, no matter how hard you act like you are. You don’t have to find ways to make yourself humble, they will come to you when you least expect or desire them.

Maybe it’s when you didn’t receive that gold star many thought you deserved. Maybe it’s when a skeleton you thought you hid way back in the closet finds its way into the light. Or when you accidentally let out a four-letter word and your kid starts repeating it over and over and over in front of a whole cavalcade of strangers.

Instead of fighting tooth and nail, arguing the fine details, or trying to wiggle your way out on a technicality, life is best accepted it for what it is. To be willing to admit the truth. Those who cling to control, who throw their sense of goodness only in their ability to never be a hypocrite, who try to save their lives, will lose them. Instead, let yourself enjoy for one blessed moment life off the hamster wheel of self-justification and on the firm ground of real life. A place where you’re humbled, yes, but where your Lord and Savior actually turns up for you with something to really offer.

Because it is in being humbled, in dying and letting go of our addiction to try and control and justify ourselves, that we are able to be raised to new life. Jesus did not come to make the good better or the smart smarter or the put together more put together. Jesus came to raise the dead, full stop. “However, God is rich in mercy. He brought us to life with Christ while we were dead as a result of those things that we did wrong. He did this because of the great love that he has for us. You are saved by God’s grace! 6 And God raised us up and seated us in the heavens with Christ Jesus.” (Eph 2:4-6)

Baptized that you might die into his death and be raised into his life, there is already a seat for you at God’s great Table because God has great love for you. How’s that for an award?

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