The Arrogance of Thinking, "I Don't Really Matter."

Meditating at Dawn

Today, I woke up before dawn. With a hot cup of coffee and a pen in hand, and I'm filled with gratitude. The birds chirp as if to welcome the coming day, joining their simple song with the chorus of angels. My three children sleep soundly. My partner tinkers about in the kitchen, getting ready to work. Life can be good. But, there was a time, the lowest of times and the darkest of nights. My great descent. This was not a moment of loss or illness or disaster. It could have been a night like any other. I felt to the core of my being: “I don’t really matter.” I wonder, now, if this thought has led others to their lowest of lows, to suicide, reckless behavior, or a lifetime of greed. I've also come to realize that this thought is not humility, but quite the opposite: arrogance. When we think, "I don't really matter," what we are really saying is, “I can do what I want.”

Was this one moment, or many? There is only one thing to do when we’ve reached our lowest point: go up. 

In my early morning reading, I discovered this insight — all sin derives from the sin of insignificance. The Chassidic Masters explore this idea from a verse in Leviticus:

"If you will not harken to Me, and walk casually with Me, I too will act casually with you…" (Lev 26:28) 

All sins derive from the sin of insignificance: when a person ceases to be sensitive to the paramount importance which G-d attaches to his life and deeds. “I don’t really matter” is not humility—it is the ultimate arrogance. It really means: “I can do what I want.” The most terrible of punishments is for G-d to indulge the sinner this vanity. For G-d to say: “All right, have it your way; what happens to you is of no significance”—for G-d to act toward him as if He really does not care what happens to him. (The Chassidic Masters) 

The New Revised Standard Version (NRSV) translates Leviticus 26:28: “If you continue hostile to me, then I too will continue hostile to you in a fury...” But, instead of “hostile,” the Chassidim translated this verse as saying, “If you walk casually with Me.” So, there must be a link between hostile fury and treating someone casually.

In the realm of relationships, I've heard that the end of love does not come when a couple argues with each other. When they rage and fight and fury, there is still hope. The secret of their anger is that they still care. The end of a relationship comes when one or both members of the couple turn away. Looking in opposite directions, they have become casual and cold, indifferent to the significance of the other. So, I wonder which translation is better (or which punishment worse)? A casual God or a hostile-with-fury God? What would most likely bring you back? Abraham Heschel wrote, "The secret of anger is God's care."

In my work for justice, there is a rage against the indifference of the rich and privileged. This fury is like God’s fury. This fury is our hope for change. The protest of the oppressed is a thirst and a hunger for justice that Jesus called Blessed (see Ken Wilson's article: "The God-Given Right of Howling Protest"). 

“Blessed are you who hunger and thirst for justice now, for you will be filled” (Luke 6:21).

A society should never fear this type of righteous anger, this howling protest. It's the only antidote to the indifference of the rich and privileged who laugh in the face of suffering and take their fill in the time of hunger. I never before connected my own feelings of insignificance to this height of arrogance. And yet, this is the attitude of the wealthy and privileged today: “I can do what I want.” Anti-racist activists fight against this casual arrogance when the masses of white people remain indifferent to Black lives. This is the casual arrogance of religious condemnation that LGBTQ folks must resist with all their might--our deepest desires do matter. The great significance of our own life and the lives of others should never be treated casually.

I remember some years ago, coming home to my small townhouse in Oak Park, Michigan, after being in the hospital. It was a late afternoon. I looked around at the grey walls and thought of the many moments in this home, and in others before it, when I felt my insignificance: “I don’t really matter.” Something like a prayer surged up within me. With all the fury of righteous indignation and all the passions of divine love, I defied that insignificance. I said aloud, “I want God in this house!” I was humbled and hungry. I also knew without a doubt that I do matter, and what I do matters. This gave a new dimension to the social injustices I have long fought against. Not a single soul is insignificant--including mine.

We descend to ascend. The only thing to do when we’ve reached our lowest point is to go up. Walking forward one day at a time knowing that you matter and that you are not alone. The darkest moments of the night are just before dawn. It’s dark out yet, and my pen's in hand. I hear the song of birds. I write with an awareness of the great significance of our being.