Pride Is a Heavy Burden

“It’s never enough!”

I threw up my hands and sighed. My neck muscles tensed. I felt a heavy, invisible weight settle on my shoulders.

I stared at the words of the text message. One of my fellow teachers had shared an idea she was implementing with her class.

Should I be doing that, too? I wondered. I’d thought I was doing a good job, under the circumstances. The school was closed thanks to COVID-19, and all classes had transitioned online. But as I compared myself to my colleague, I felt like I was falling miserably short.

I thought of all the late afternoons when I’d come home weary from struggling to create the perfect classroom. My shoulders ached from carrying a heavy schoolbag laden with games to make and papers to evaluate. My neck hurt from hours bent over a computer as I searched Pinterest for new projects.

I love my students. I love watching them learn and grow. But on bad days, when I feel unsuccessful, my job seems like a burden, a yoke around my neck.

Jesus had something to say about burdens and yokes:

“Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Matt. 11:28-30 NIV)

That’s what I wanted. Rest. As I listened to myself complaining, I realized it wasn’t my job I resented. I resented my feeling of failure.

Had I failed my class? Hardly. My students were learning and thriving. But as I saw it, on the cuteness and cleverness scale, my ideas ranked at the bottom.

As I wrestled to pinpoint the reason for my dissatisfaction, I finally faced the ugly word I was trying to avoid: pride.

Pride is a heavy harness to wear. And it weighs us down with burdens we don’t need to carry.

We can be like the Jews Jesus confronted. In an effort to be acceptable to God, they lived in a constant cycle of rule following, deed doing, and ritual performing (Matt. 23:4). Their lifestyle could have two undesirable results. Discouragement and defeat came to those who tried but could never measure up. Arrogance characterized those who thought they’d made it.

But Jesus simply said, “Come.” “Believe in me.” “Learn from me. I’m gentle. I’m humble.”

Humility is a lighter, freer lifestyle. It doesn’t involve groveling. Rather, it’s taking the spotlight off of ourselves and shining it on God.

In Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis writes,

Do not imagine that if you meet a really humble man he will be what most people call “humble” nowadays: he will not be a sort of greasy, smarmy person, who is always telling you that, of course, he is nobody.

Probably all you will think about him is that he seemed a cheerful, intelligent chap who took a real interest in what you said to him.

If you do dislike him it will be because you feel a little envious of anyone who seems to enjoy life so easily. He will not be thinking about humility: he will not be thinking about himself at all.

Pride is self-centered.

Humility is focused on others.

Pride causes us to be perfectionists and approval-seekers.

Humility allows us to strive for excellence in order to please the One who already loves and accepts us. (Col. 3:23)

Pride compares and competes.

Humility collaborates and cooperates, and celebrates the success of others.

Pride has to be in control.

Humility abides in Christ and remembers that apart from him we can do nothing. (John 15:5)

Pride seeks recognition.

Humility seeks God’s glory.

Jesus offers a lighter, easier yoke. And he’s gentle with us, so we need to be gentle with ourselves, too.

Lewis continues:

“The point is, He wants you to know Him: wants to give you Himself. And He and you are two things of such a kind that if you really get into any kind of touch with Him you will, in fact, be humble—delightedly humble, feeling the infinite relief of having for once got rid of all the silly nonsense of your own dignity which has made you restless and unhappy all your life.”

This has been a tough lesson for me, but I might be making progress on my journey to freedom.

Just last week, I was tempted to take up that old yoke again. Our family made a birthday video for my brother. Other family members sent messages with dazzling special effects: light sabers flashing, drones flying over a football stadium to reveal my brother’s name spelled out across the field, original song-and-dance routines. I offered a basic but sincere, “Happy birthday. I love you.” Just for a moment, I was tempted to berate myself for my bland contribution. But then I caught myself.

Nope. Not going to drag myself down. Not this time.

I’m walking in humility.

My shoulders feel better already.

Margaret Kemp spends most days teaching a classroom full of lively five-and six-year-olds. She’s attracted to be fragrance of vanilla, the printed word, and all things blue and white. She delights in spending time with her husband and family, singing praises with her church choir peeps, and traveling. Her heart’s desire is to know God better and learn to trust him more.

Photograph © Allef Vinicius, used with permission