Day Six: Dishonesty

Today’s post is written by Rev. Sarah McGiverin of Durham, North Carolina, USA.

Track One Reading:  Acts 5.17-42;  Track Two Reading:  Acts 5.1-11

What made them do it?  Peter couldn’t understand it.  Ananias and Sapphira didn’t have to sell the field at all.  Once they sold it, they didn’t have to give any money to the Apostles.  Or they could have given part of the money, confessing that it was only part and that they were keeping some for themselves.  “How is it,” Peter asked, “that you have contrived this deed in your heart?”

These days, one of my prayer aids is a book of collected prayers of the Northumbria Community.  Every morning, I am called upon to answer the question “who is it that you seek?” With the words, “[I] seek the Lord our God.”  I am then asked whether I seek God with all my heart, all my soul, all my mind, all my strength – and to each of these four questions, it is suggested that I answer, “Amen.  Lord have mercy.”

I am grateful that they do not suggest that I say, “Yes.”  I wish it were true, by the help of the Holy Spirit, that I was undivided in my seeking after God, that I could say that I was all in, body, mind, and soul.  But “O to Grace how great a debtor daily I’m constrained to be!”  I do well not to forget it – to forget neither the wish to be whole-heartedly God’s, nor my reliance on God’s mercy as a divided person.  I am glad that this prayer book of mine requires that I face this reality squarely every morning.

Every morning, that is, except for those mornings when I blow off my prayers, saying I’ll make up for it later in the day.  Which usually I then fail to do.

Honesty.  I am learning to admit that I fall short in this area.  I can’t say for certain how it is that it became so easy to lie, or how long ago I learned to do it, but it seems like every day at least one thing comes out of my mouth that it is just not true.  It happens without me even thinking about it, usually.  I would like to pretend that these are the “little white lies” that we justify by saying that we are sparing someone’s feelings.  Lies of the “your new haircut looks fantastic” variety.  Which, for the record, are not right either.  But I’m not even bearing false witness on the behalf of others.  Most often, these lies are told to make myself look better.  Holier.  Kinder.  A better parent.  Even lies to make myself look more honest.  Lies that say, “Look at what a terrific Christian I am!”

There is a scene in the movie “About a Boy” where Hugh Grant’s character says something to the effect of, “I never really said that Malcolm was my son exactly… you just believed what you wanted to believe.”  Of course, he has been doing everything to intimate that Malcolm is his son, aside from outright saying, “This is my son Malcolm.”
Not correcting people’s misperceptions of me is another way of lying – especially when I build upon the misperception.  How often do I justfiy myself, saying that I have not lied outright?

I hadn’t really realized these things about myself until recently.   I thought of myself as a basically honest person.  And I am basically honest, usually honest, honest in most everything.  But upon reflection, these are all prettier ways of saying that sometimes I am not honest.  And when I am dishonest, it is usually because I want others to think better of me than I deserve.

My biggest temptation to dishonesty is a sense of competition.  I become so easily envious of the recognition others receive for their virtues.  When faced with someone with seemingly superior credentials, it is so tempting to inflate my own – so tempting to embelish the story I’m telling to make myself look a little more clever, a little kinder, a little more well read, a little more pious.

So back to Peter’s question.  What led Ananias and Sapphira to make such a dishonest plan?  Ananias and Sapphira didn’t just decide to pull off this deception out of the blue.  There was some competition. Going back just 2 verses (to Acts 4:36), we learn that there was this guy named Joseph who sold a field, and gave all the proceeds to the Apostles.  He was given a cool nickname (Barnabas, we are told means “Son of Encouragement”), and a big deal was made over him.  He later becomes a big shot missionary, travelling with Paul himself.

“But,” Luke continues, “a man named Ananias… sold a piece of property… [and] kept back some of the proceeds, and brought only a part and laid it at the Apostles’ feet.”  Luke understands the stories of Ananias and of Barnabas as being connected:  Barnabas had a field, Ananias had a field.  Barnabas sold a field, Ananias sold a field.  Barnabas gave money to the Apostles, Ananias gave money to the Apostles.  Barnabas and Ananias could have had identical stories, except for motivation.  Barnabas gave what he gave out of love and gratitude and trust.  Ananias and Sapphira gave what they gave because they wanted to be noticed, they wanted to be as important as Barnabas.  But we can’t all be Barnabas.

On the face of it, it seems a bitter pill to swallow – we can’t all be the best pray-er, the best giver, the best teacher, the best encourager.  But how much more bitter is it to know that we are only pretending to have the gifts that we are recognized for?  To be waiting to be found out?  To think, “if only people knew me for who I really am, they would not like me as well.  Now that I have suggested that I [pray every day / tithe / love everyone / volunteer regularly at the soup kitchen], if someone were to discover that I don’t really do all that, surely I would die of shame.”

God knows who we really are.  God knows what we really do when we are alone, or when no one is looking.  God knows that we think unkind thoughts or that we were really not too busy to go to Bible study.  And God thought that we were worth dying for.  God knows every shameful thing that I have been trying to hide with my lies, and God thought that I was worth dying for.  God knows every one of your deepest darkest secrets, and God thought that you were worth dying for, too.  Still does.

When we try to deny the truth about ourselves, when we try to make ourselves look better than we are, we are denying the truth about grace, about God’s grace for us.  We are denying that God knows the truth.  (Do we think that God doesn’t know?)  We are denying that what God thinks of us is more important than what anyone else thinks.  Who is there to condemn us but Christ, the one who intercedes for us, the one who died for us while we were yet sinners?

Poor Ananias and Sapphira – they really missed out.  They thought that the appearance of belief was the important thing – they were looking for salvation in the accolades of their community.  They were, as the song goes, “looking for love in all the wrong places.”  Salvation is not found in popularity – even popularity with excellent, holy, Christian people.  Salvation is found in the transforming power of God’s love for us – that “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling.”

I wonder what my life would look like if, instead of lost in my own fears and desires for attention, I were “lost in wonder, love and praise?”  I wonder what a congregation filled with such people would look like?  Amen.  Lord have mercy.