After his baptism, Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished. The devil said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.” Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.'” Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. And the devil said to him, “To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.” Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.'” Then the devil took him to Jerusalem, and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you, to protect you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’” Jesus answered him, “It is said, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.'” When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.
Luke 4:1-13
I wonder if you have heard of the phrase “Imposter Syndrome.”
An imposter is a person who pretends that they are someone they are not, often with the intent to deceive others for harmful purposes. Think of all the email scams sent by people who claim to be a close friend or family member in need of emergency assistance. But not all such pretenses are for ill-gain. As a child, I often pretended to be someone else and that I had been born into a different family. I didn’t want to be who I was. This went on in various degrees well into my teens. Even as a young adult I imitated other people—taking on their mannerisms and public persona. It took a long time for me to not only accept, but come to enjoy being me.
Imposter Syndrome isn’t different. It’s a relatively new term to describe the experience of worrying that we are not worthy of the situations that we find ourselves in, that if other people knew who we really were and what we can and cannot do, they would see us for the frauds that we are. I felt like an imposter when I was accepted into college, because in comparison to my peers, academically, I was so unprepared.
When I was elected bishop, it was, for me, a surprising result, given the other candidates that members of the diocese had to choose from. I was relatively unknown, from a medium-sized congregation in the Midwest. But somehow it happened. I was thrilled—and inside, I wondered if I was up for the job.
Sometime after the election but before I moved to Washington, I had a dream. In the dream, a stranger knocked on the front door of my house with a clipboard in his hand. When I greeted him, this unknown person said, “I’m very sorry, but there’s been a mistake. You were not elected as bishop.”
In the dream, I tried to maintain my composure. “Oh,” I said. “I understand… Can you tell me who won?” “Oh, yes,” the person said, brightly. And he mentioned someone to whom I had lost a previous election for bishop two years earlier in my home state.
That’s an expression of imposter syndrome. You don’t really deserve to be where you are. You don’t have what it takes. If people only knew… You’re like the emperor with no clothes.
The dangerous thing about imposter syndrome is that it can be exploited by others whose interests are served by causing someone to doubt his or her legitimacy. There is a lot of talk these days about persons of color not deserving the positions of accomplishment or authority they occupy because they didn’t really earn them. It’s not only a terrible insult, but it also provides justification for taking from them what they rightfully earned. We’re watching this in real time as leaders in the new administration are firing people in the effort to dismantle diversity, equity and inclusion policies.
Internally, the most common response of those experiencing imposter syndrome—or being accused of being an imposter—isn’t to quit, but to try harder, often to the point of exhaustion. It’s to take on even more responsibility, say yes to more things, doing more and more and more, in an effort to prove to themselves, and others, that they belong where they are. When that happens to us, we tend to overreach, which can serve as a self-fulfilling prophecy, as we put ourselves in situations that truly are beyond our capacities.
What got me thinking about imposter syndrome this week is one small word found in the gospel story we’ve just heard about Jesus’ time of temptation in the wilderness. I wonder if you can guess what that word is:
If
The devil says to Jesus If you are the Son of God. If you are who you think you are, show me your power. If you are the Son of God, prove it. Prove to yourself who you are.
Bishop Rob Wright from the Episcopal Diocese of Atlanta—whose reflections this Lent are truly worth reading—says this about the word if:
The devil makes three attempts to lure Jesus away from his identity and purpose. He even enlists Scripture to help his work of confusion and deception… The devil prefaces each temptation with the word “if.” “If you are the son of God,” do this or that. Remember, “If” denotes something conditional, something that needs to be proved or earned. The “if” is an attempt to surface and activate any latent doubts Jesus may be harboring about his identity and purpose.1
What’s more, the devil doesn’t lure him with trivial temptations, but the best of possibilities: If Jesus could turn stones into bread, he could feed the starving of the world. If he could throw himself off a high tower only to be rescued by angels, he would unlock the mystery of immortality. If all the powers of this world were to bow to him, he could end, once and for all, the wars and mindless bloodshed that has plagued humankind from our beginning.
Jesus had real power, and he knew it. After his baptism and the experience of the Holy Spirit descending upon him, he had a sense of what he could do. The temptation to give into his power must have been overwhelming. And Satan comes close to the mark: would not a Messiah want to exercise his power? Perhaps, Jesus concludes, but on God’s timetable and at God’s direction—not Satan’s or even Jesus’ own.
Jesus leaves the wilderness ready to yoke his power to the rigors of obedience to God. There would be no shortcuts, no stunning solutions to the dilemmas of humankind. His would not be a dazzling life, with a quick rise to power, but rather one marked by steady faithfulness and humility. He stayed close to the poor and marginalized and cast his lot with them. He didn’t need to prove anything.
How can we become more like Jesus in that way? How can we grow in steady confidence in ourselves as the unique person God has created us to be—less vulnerable to those voices, inner or external, that constantly question our worth and tempt either to become small or to ever-reach and attempt to do too much?
I wonder if the antidote to imposter syndrome is to simply accept our humanity, our imperfections and vulnerabilities. For those of us who are persons of faith, we have the daily invitation to put more trust in God than in ourselves, to embrace our identity as beloved children of God, not for what we do, but for who we are, and to recognize that whatever good that flows from us, and through us, is an expression of God’s grace and power.
The Apostle Paul said it this way in his second letter to the Christians living in Corinth, Greece—a group of people known for their spiritual arrogance and who were constantly challenging Paul and his authority.
For we do not proclaim ourselves; we proclaim Jesus Christ as Lord and ourselves as your slaves for Jesus’ sake. For it is the God who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness’, who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.
The he says this—which I believe is his definitive spiritual insight:
But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us.
2 Corinthians 4:5-7
I’ve been your bishop now for 13 years; I’ve been an ordained minister for over 35 years, and a follower of Jesus since my youth, and I still have my bouts of uncertainty, feelings of unworthiness, or being an imposter. I simply make it part of my offering now. I give all those feelings to God.
After the sermon I preached at the Prayer Service for the Nation, many people—including those close to the president of the United States—referred to me as the “so-called bishop,” as if I were not legitimate in my role. The president himself claimed that I was a hateful person and nasty and that I owed the president and the nation an apology. What followed was a massive public effort to paint me as an imposter and delegitimize what I said from the pulpit.
At the same time, thousands of people have poured praise upon me, and some speak of me now as if I walked on water, which I can assure you, I do not. I am being asked to speak all over the world, with an assumption that I have knowledge and insight to share on nearly every topic of public concern, which I do not.
I offer it all to God. And I’m working hard to listen for God, not dismissing, but not taking too seriously the voices of lavish praise or fierce criticism. I am a bishop, a preacher, and a pastor. That’s my lane, where I am called to do my work as best as I can, the best clay jar that I can be.
I pray the same for you—first, that you know that your blessedness in God’s eyes is non-negotiable—there are no ifs about it. And that you have been given gifts and talents to enjoy, develop and share, and that each day you have good work to do—some of it relatively straightforward, and some quite challenging.
You aren’t an imposter. You aren’t meant to be perfect. You can stand tall and with humility at the same time.
Whenever the tempter’s voice suggests that you are unworthy, remember that you are a beautiful clay jar, that you have good and important work to do, and that the power to do it comes from God.
Amen.
1Settled, The Rev. Rob Wright, From the Diocese of Atlanta’s Lenten Offering Growing Up in Christ
