A Year Of Humility (LI): Final Thoughts

(Source)

Thanks for coming along with me on A Year of Humility.

Originally, this was a project largely brought out of a series of quotes that appeared in my social media feed.  The quotes eventually seemed to disappear, which I am grateful for:  it forced me to consider other aspects of humility that I might not have considered otherwise.

I suppose it has been sort of a leitmotif for Christianity for 2,000 years that we are badly in need of humility. The humility of Christ - the Son of God, descending from Heaven to become flesh and serve and die for His creation (specifically us) - should never cease to amaze and astound us.

Sadly, too often it seems to fail to inspire us.

If I have been made aware of anything this year, it is how much that humility which the world needs to see, which the Church Universal should demonstrate, is missing.  I cannot fix the Church directly; I can only fix myself.

Is there a "limit" to humility, a point at which one has become too humble?  I guess in theory it is possible, although I cannot imagine what that limit would be; few there are that might be accused of being humble to the point of it being a detriment.  And per Moses the Ethiopian above, humility may be the one thing we can outperform the Evil One in.

I close this year with the quote I read from C.S. Lewis so many years ago (and quoted at least once during this series) that sent me long ago down this path of consideration of humility:

"Do not imagine that if you meet a really humble person 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 of 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.

If anyone would like to acquire humility, I can, I think, tell him the first step.  The first step is to realize one is proud.  And a biggish step, too.  At least, nothing whatever can be done before it.  If you think you are not conceited, you are very conceited indeed."

A Year Of Humility (L): I Am A Poor Wayfaring Stranger

 Thanks to the power of the Interweb, this song crossed my feed on The Tube of You.  The song itself is a 19th Century American song; the arrangement here is done by Jos Slovick for the movie 1917.

I do not know why this song strikes me as a poignant example of the essence of humility.  But it is, and it haunts me.

(Run time:  4:50)

Lyrics:

I am a poor wayfaring stranger

I′m traveling through this world of woe

Yet there is no sickness, toil, nor danger

In that bright land to which I go

I'm going there to see my father

I′m going there, no more to roam

I'm only going over Jordan

I'm only going over home

I know dark clouds will gather ′round me

I know my way is rough and steep

But golden fields lie just before me

Where God′s redeemed shall have their sleep

I'm going home to see my mother

And all my loved ones who′ve gone on

I'm only going over Jordan

I′m only going over home

I'll soon be free from every trial

My body sleeping in the churchyard

I′ll drop the cross of self-denial

And enter on my great reward

I'm going there to see my savior

To sing his praise forever more

I'm only going over Jordan

I′m only going over home

(Source)

A Year Of Humility (XLIX): Today

 

Longer term readers may recall that I did a series on The Prodigal Son based on a book by Henri Nouwen.  

If the quote above does not suggest what I, as a person seeking humility, should seek every day, I am not sure what does

A Year Of Humility (XVIIIL): Millstone

 "Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in Me to sin, it would be better for him if a millstone were hung around his neck, and he were drowned in the depths of the sea." - Matthew 18:6

"Therefore, if food make my brother stumble, I will never again eat meat, lest I make my brother stumble." - 1 Corinthians 8:13

Among the many things which may constitute a review of our lives when we die, I cannot help but wonder if one of those things will be those times we acted to drive people away from Christ instead of drawing them to him.

At least for myself, how many times have I acted as a millstone for someone else?  How many time times have I brought others to sin by my own?

My attitude, my self righteousness, my hurling of Biblical truths without Biblical love - how many have I turned from Christ or made Him a person without credibility to do what I say He had done, change one's life?  After all, He apparently scarcely changed my own?

Sometimes the greatest obstacle to someone else's belief in Christ is not themselves.  Sometimes it is those that claim His name.

A Year Of Humility (XVIIL): Scriptures And Ourselves

There are two ways to read Scripture.

The first way is to read it and apply it to the world at people "out there".  It is easy enough of course; Sylvia Plath used a phrase in one of her short stories of using "Bible verses like bullets" and that is certainly something that, over the history of the Church, it has shown itself quite willing to do - let alone ourselves as individuals.  There is always someone or something out there, violating God's Word.  

The second way is to apply it to ourselves.

Applying Scripture to ourselves is not the fun way to do things of course:  nothing less encouraging that to open up Scripture in the morning and immediately be confronted with yesterday's sins, or to realize mid-day that that grudge you have been carrying all morning was just as much of a sin as anything Christ called out in the Pharisees.

But here is the odd thing, at least for me:  the more I concentrate on applying Scripture to myself, the less I become concerned with applying it to other people.   Perhaps it simply reflects the fact that - for me - pride is me always looking out to others on how they have missed the mark and humility is me looking inward on where I have missed the mark.

I cannot control or "work on" others.  But I can certainly do both of those things on myself.

A Year Of Humility (XVIL): Serving When Called: A Retrospective

 As you might recall from early October, I was offered an opportunity to lead a small group for seven weeks.  This was part of a church-wide focus on Spiritual Friendship; the hope that that it would enable folks who struggled with making connections find a channel to help them make a connection in a small group environment.

The initial period is over; we chose to extend a bit through the first week of December as there was interest and childcare available.  As a result we only have one week left which will be as much of a goodbye as a study.

What, then are my observations on serving when called?

I think my biggest worry was simply that things would go awry.  That there would be incredible amounts of dead time which would be awkward.  That people would come for a week or two and then leave (in my mind, for no other reason than they did not like me). 

None of the fears were realized.

Were there periods of silence?  There were.  But never too uncomfortable, and almost inevitable someone brought something up that moved the conversation forward.  

Did some people not keep up?  Also yes, but that is to be expected with anything.  Certainly after the initial 7 weeks, but that was past the original commitment that everyone made.  So by and large we came out as we went in.

Perhaps the most important thing:  Did it make a difference?

I think it did (not me of course, but the group).  There were connections made.  People opened up to some pretty significant things that they were facing, things that I think in my former years of leading a group would have never happened (again, that was God, not me).  Outside of the group interactions occurred, even if it was just finding someone else to say hello to at church on Sunday.

Would I do something like this again?  I think the answer is a pretty solid "No", at least in a sole leadership position.  This was something outside of my normal comfort zone and while I am glad I had the opportunity, I am just not a leader in the traditional sense of the word and holding at least one role like already (my current job), it can be exhausting.  

But I am glad that I did it.  For all that I did not do, I saw God moving powerfully in the lives of others.  And seldom if ever does one get a front row opportunity to see that happen.

A Year Of Humility (XVL): Do Not Be Zealous For Evil

I confess that I struggle with meekness.  I am not nearly as much so as I should be:  I push to the front too often, turn the focus upon myself more than I should, and demand the world be the way I desire it such that I would be offended if it were someone else.

That, I can deal with.  But have I ever thought about such behaviours as being zealous for evil?

I do not like to think myself evil of course; I suspect no sane person does.  And yet, I have to ask myself: If I am not truly being zealous for good, what am I being zealous for?  Surely there is not some kind of mediocre middle ground, a sort of middling thing that neither wins people nor offends them, a banal blandness that does nothing at all.

But that is not what the Bible offers us.  We are only, ever on a journey to one of two locations.  

Maybe I can argue myself down to being somehow passively good.  But that will not fill the bill either:  Christ was never passively good, nor were the apostles.  They were actively, zealously, good.

If I am not zealous for good, likely I am zealous for something else.

A Year Of Humility (XIVL): Decency

I would not expect to find an aspect of humility from Kurt Vonnegut, of whom I have vague knowledge of a writer (and having been scarred by his book Slaughterhouse Five at an age I should not have been reading it) who once described himself as a "Christ Loving Atheist", but the quote above struck me pretty deeply.

Decency strikes me as the common man's kindness. Decent (per Merriam-Webster) means "Proper and fitting; not immodest, not obscene, chaste; conforming to social standards, respectable; reasonably good or adequate; fair and kind".  And if you think about it, those things are all pretty easy to offer to one another.  The phrase "Common Decency" conveys the whole meaning, really:  a common sense of responsible fairness and fitting behaviour of respect for others.  

It can be as simple as waiting for someone else to enter or helping someone with a heavy item.  It can be as meaningful as keeping quiet in a moment where others shout or laugh away or taking upon ourselves the unkind or uncharitable comment meant for another. It can simply be not noticing a thing that, were it called out, could create a moment of embarrassment.

It becomes even more important, as Vonnegut points out, in a society that is none of these things.

It had never struck me before that to be humble is to be decent but upon consideration, why would it not be?  Part of being humble is to think of others; is not decency the simple practice of thinking of others in our everyday social situations?
 

A Year Of Humility (XIIIL): Candles

 

Have you ever had the experience of someone out of your past reaching out to you unexpectedly?

It can be a call or an e-mail or a chat or even a letter - out of the blue.  It can be surprising at first - after all, weeks or months or years or even decades can have gone by.  As the conversation goes on, you begin to realize that the person reached out to you not because of a need they had - a situation, an encounter, a series of words - and the first person they thought of that could help them is you.

Do not be so concerned about this, suggests Nektarios in the above quote.  Like a candle, you have somehow lit a way for them in times past and they believe you can do so again.

 In our darkest hour we search for that which can comfort and illuminate, not necessarily that which is front and center.  The humble remember that to be of great use to others does not always require being a constant focus of attention.

A Year Of Humility (XIIL): Compassion

 When traveling to and from The Ranch for my monthly travels, I have taken to using a local private parking lot:  the price is no more than the nearby major airport parking lot and rather than wait endlessly for a bus to come by, I can get a pick up at the lot immediately and a trip back to the parking lot in about 10 minutes after requesting a pickup.  For the slight inconvenience of being farther from the airport, it has worked out well.

Last weekend upon my return from The Ranch, it seemed a different story.

After an initial contact (all done by your phone and texting now), I wait the usual 10 minutes or so.  No bus. To be fair, I think to myself, it is a busy time.  So I wait more, as other shuttles pull in and away and as they do, the crowd waiting for my shuttle became more apparent.

Final, about 20 minutes in, the shuttle pulls in - not at my standing point of course (it never works that way) but about 20 feet beyond me.  The crowd - larger than a single shuttle bus - lurches towards it.  And, sure enough, I was the first one to not make it on.  The driver, looking a little harried, says the next bus would be along shortly.

And so we wait.  And wait about another twenty minutes.  At this point in the program I am tired, cold, and looking at a 30-40 minute drive just to get home.  I watch - we all did - as another round of other shuttle buses come by, load up, and head out.  I begin to question the wisdom of using this parking lot.

The next bus pulls up, a good 45 minutes after I made the request.  The door opens, and out comes a man who is clearly in his 70's, our driver.  Immediately half of my frustration disappears.  He works hard to load everyone's suitcase and everyone up. We manage to get everyone on the second bus.

As he is collecting the parking cards with our spot numbers, he apologizes profusely for the delay.  He just came from a drop off where one of his passengers had a walker, a wheelchair, an electric scooter, and her luggage, all needing to be dropped off at the luggage desk outside the airport. Likely he had to take it all there himself.

And then to boot, apparently she lost her dentures at the desk.

The mood in the bus - and in me - instantly changes. Someone says "Not your fault; it is just life".  

If our tips all were a little more than usual, I would not be surprised.

---

It is quite easy for me to look at how the world is impacting my life and make certain determinations about everything else going on around me.  I can get grumpy about the inconvenience of waiting and a perceived lack of service and make certain assumptions about the situation and the reasons why things are the way they are.

Only to find out, at least sometimes, that there is a backstory that should evoke not my criticism or anger but my compassion.

We read that Christ looked upon the crowds and had compassion for them as a sheep without a shepherd. How often do I have the same kind of compassion in not leaping to conclusions based on stories that I have concocted in my head, a narrative that has me as the main staring role?

The proud can only, ever, see the world through their own eyes. The humble have learned that, through compassion, they can see it through someone else's.

A Year Of Humility (XIL): Depression

 This past week I have been severely out of sorts, with a depression that I have not experienced in some years.

It came on me as I left work for no reason that I could discern. It followed me through at the gym, which was a miserable affair of me doing the "work" I had committed to doing when I showed up, and then completely overcame me when I got home.  Dinner was a lazy affair of comfort food; I was in bed by 2000.

It might seem like an odd topic, humility and depression.  But I think there is value in admitting all of our emotions in the practice of humility. One of them is simply sometimes I get depressed.

Depression has certainly entered the mainstream a great deal more than when I first had to deal with it as a teenager. That is good in that it is both acceptable and okay to say "I am depressed".  I do wonder if it is also bad in the sense that, being something that is commonly batted about, we lose some of the urgency and poignancy that should come along with addressing it. It can become something that we simply go get a prescription for or sign on once a week for our virtual counseling appointment - not there is anything wrong with either of those; what I am concerned about is a familiarity that ultimately ignores the actual condition.

---

One of the things that I have found comforting in my Monday night Men's group (my regular group, not the short-term one I am leading) is the fact that we are incredibly honest about our feelings.  That strikes me as a very unusual thing in the modern world: I am never likely to mention to coworkers that I am in a depression and quite possibly not to family or friends that I speak with occasionally (although my family undoubtedly knows).  It is only in this group that I somehow feel that I can discuss such things.

Why is that? I am not sure, really - in this case these are men that I have known for a little over a year and seen once a week only.  And yet there is a robustness in our conversations, an honesty, that makes such communications possible.

And humility, of course.  It takes a lot of humility in a modern culture that only pushes that things are always okay to be able to admit that they are not.

---

The depression will pass - it always does of course, I have lived long enough to know that "now" is not "forever".  But the humility to admit that I have depression is something I have to remind myself to practice every day. 

After all, I have to remind myself that I am not the only one that does so and that some other person may need the example of someone humble enough to admit their depression to be able to admit their own.

A Year Of Humility (XL): Serving When Called

In what is almost a complete reversal of my normal operating procedure, I am leading a short-term small group at my local church.

There is almost nothing more anxiety inducing to an introvert than leading anything; the fact that I am a "manager" at work leads to its own sense of anxiety as I try my best to be completely non-managerial.  So the fact that I was suggested by my own small group leader for such a role is nothing short of either amazing or terrifying - or both.

In terms of commitment, it has a limited term:  7 weeks (really 6, as I was gone in Grand Canyon for 1 week).  There is a program in place so I do not have to come up with anything.  I just have to lead discussions for 1.5 hours a week.

It was a offer I almost passed up.

I have led groups in the past but arguably never felt I was very good at them, and with the move from Old Home to New Home my involvement in such activities almost completely ceased except as a member of groups.  It was clear - painfully clear, at least then - that there was no leadership role in my future.  And thus, when I was offered this opportunity, I almost passed it up again.

But I had a long thought about it first, not just buoyed by my small group leader's confidence in me, but by asking God about it - which is in itself always a risky proposition, because He might answer.

He did, in this instance - not in the Burning Bush sort of moment that Moses had or any sort of sky writing, but in the simple sense of a presence that indicated that this was something that I could - and should do.

But what if I fail at it, I threw back.  My record was not stellar.  What if I turned people away from Him instead of bringing them closer?

His response was simply "Whose group is it?"

My initial response was "Mine".  And then I thought about it - for a rather long time, until the response came to me "Yours".  He did not precisely smile at that point, but one could feel the sort of supernatural nod that comes when another party comes to the truth.

It is in fact His - and therefore, my excuse as to outcomes was invalid. I need only say yes and do my best; the results will be the results of His doing, not my fumblings.

Sometimes in our search for humility, we go to extraordinary lengths to demonstrate that we are humble and can learn lessons, even to the point of avoiding those things that we should be doing.  Being humble has its place, but humbly serving when called also has one.

In our search for humility, let us never avoid the ability to serve in any role because we are so "humble" we do not think we can do the job.  After all, it is not our job, but His.

A Year Of Humility (XXXIX): Humor

(Even those on search of humility need to laugh sometimes.)

A Year Of Humility (XXXVIII): Old And New Humility

 "Humility was largely meant as a restraint upon the arrogance and infinity of the appetite of man.  He was always outstripping his mercies with his own newly invented needs.  His very power of enjoyment destroyed half his joys.  By asking for pleasure, he lost the chief pleasure; for the chief pleasure is surprise.  Hence it became evident that if a many would make his world large, he must be always making himself small.  Even the haughty visions, the tall cities, and the toppling pinnacles are the creations of humility. Towers that vanish upwards above the loneliest star are creations of humility.  For towers are not tall unless we look up at them; and giants are not giants unless they are larger than we.  All this gigantesque imagination, which is, perhaps, the mightiest of the pleasures of man, is at the bottom entirely humble.  It is impossible without humility to enjoy anything - even pride.

But what we suffer from to-day is humility in the wrong place.  Modesty has move from the organ of ambition.  Modesty has settled upon the organ of conviction; where was never meant to be.  A man was meant to be doubtful about himself, but undoubting about the truth; this has been exactly reversed.  Nowadays the part of a man that a man does assert is exactly the part he ought not to assert: himself.  The part he doubts is exactly the part he ought not to doubt - the Divine Reason. Huxley preached a humility content to learn from Nature.  But the new sceptic is so humble that he doubts if he can ever learn.  Thus we should be wrong if we had said hastily that there is no humility typical of our time.  The truth is that there is a real humility typical of our time; but so happens that it is practically a more poisonous humility that the wildest prostrations of the ascetic.  The old humility was a spur that prevented him from stopping; not a nail in his boot that prevented him from going on.  For the old humility made a man doubtful about his efforts, which might make his work harder.  But the new humility makes a man doubtful about his aims, which will make him stop working altogether."

- G.K. Chesterson, Orthodoxy

A Year Of Humility (XXXVII): The Salt Of Humility

 Salt is a pretty useful thing.

The history of salt and the virtues thereof have been written on by better minds than I (there is a whole book by Mark Kurlansky:  Salt:  A World History).  And we know what salt does: it preserves, it adds flavour.

I take Isaac of Syria to mean the same thing for humility: it preserves virtue, it brings "flavour" to the virtue by making it fresh and piquant.  The path to it, he suggests, is not nearly as "easy" as mining salt or pulling out of dried beds:  it involves self-reflection, recognition of where we miss the mark, and judging ourselves accordingly.  But, he suggests, the benefits far outweigh the pain of getting there.

But the great thing about gathering the salt of humility?  We need neither mine or seabed; we can simply start by looking in the mirror and seeing ourselves as we truly are - and then changing.

A Year Of Humility (XXXV): Seventy Times Seven

 A week ago Friday night found my navigating my way through a cell phone waiting lot at New Home 2.0 airport.

As a confession, I was not in the best of moods.  I had come off a frustrating week of work and had not been able to let go of my irritation against a particular individual; I had snarled and grumbled all the way to the airport. Additionally, The Ravishing Mrs. TB's flight was late, and rather than arriving home at 2300 it was looking very much like we would be home after 0000 the following morning.

It was hardly my best look.

As I snaked my way around the curves of the cell phone lot (which seem universally unsuited for a place to wait no matter which airport I am at), I looked ahead to see a truck pulling out and the car in front of me hit their reverse lights.  Ah, I said to myself, they are going to pull back a bit, wait for the truck to go, and then pull forward.

The car did not in fact wait, but continued to pull back until I had the sickening feeling one has when realizes that one is going to be hit.  I honked, but of course it was too late.

The driver sat there for shock for a minute as I got out, looked at the car and checked with her.  Thankfully no injuries and the damage to her car seemed worse (I was hit right on the license plate; other than denting the license plate and cracking my cheap license plate frame, no issues).  She was distraught - and who is not after an accident?  We exchanged phone numbers and information, took pictures, and prepared to leave.  

She thanked me as she left for not yelling, as if she had anticipated something far worse.  It is only a car, I replied.

To our right was a gentlemen who, besides just being present for everything, needed a jump.  I had the cables and some minutes to burn, so I pulled in next to him, The cables were run, the dead battery brought Lazarus like to life, and we stood for a minute or two waiting.  

He, too, was apparently surprised by my reaction.  Or rather, my lack of one.

---

In Matthew 18:21-22, Peter approaches Jesus with a question: How many times should I forgive my brother after he sins against me?

Peter suggested seven times - which was three times the going rate that the rabbis gave, citing verses in Amos (Amos 1: 3, 6, 9, 11, 13) where God forgave the enemies of Israel three times.  Seven, then was more than double to traditional amount with a bonus round.  In terms of the times, Peter possibly felt he was being more than generous.

Christ's response, of course, was not seven, but seventy times seven - a poetic way to say "As many times as he asks for forgiveness", a point is clarifies in Luke 17:4:  "And if he (your brother) sins against you seven times in a day, and seven times in a day returns to you, saying 'I repent', you shall forgive him."  Interestingly, in both sets of verses the word "brother" (αδελφός) is used.   "Brother" could have meant a kinsman, a national identity, a neighbor, indeed all of mankind. Interestingly, Peter  used the phrase "my brother" (which may have been a bit awkward, as his brother Andrew was also a disciple of Christ); Christ in Luke uses the term "your brother".

No matter how close the "brotherly relationship", the intent was clear:  Forgive, as many times as you are asked to.  Even, especially, to those close to you.

---

Why is it that I can be so unforgiving of those near to me - my "brothers" (and "sisters") and so forgiving of those that I meet by happenstance or (literally) by accident? In the case of those close to me, I can quietly or loudly be as grumpy as a dog worrying a bone; in the case of those that are strangers, I can instantly forgive.

I perhaps have an answer, if not an excuse.

Those that are close to us have to ability to hurt us (in this sense mostly personally and spiritually, but it could be physically as well) in a way strangers do not.  Sometimes it is those in positions of power above us, be they managers or parents; sometimes it is those close to us in a familial sense:  husband, wife, children, parents.  Sometimes it is friends that we have years of history with.*

It is not just the matter that happens, the event or sin itself.  It is the fact that we have shared history and vulnerability with them.

There is nothing more hurtful that someone turning on you, perhaps not even realizing that they have done so, or putting you in a position where you are or appear weak and vulnerable.  It makes you chary of them.  Forgiveness can be asked for and perhaps even offered, but often at a surface level (at least for me).  There is - and perhaps this is me - a remaining sort of fear and reluctance, a holding back of returning to the space we shared.  

Strangers are different, of course.  They are people we may meet once in our life or see occasionally, and they have no more personal insight into us than we do of them.  It becomes perhaps easier simply because it is less of a personal transaction.  Like the mosquito that bites us, we move on.

---

What, then, does all this have to do with humility?

To be humble is to be willing to forgive - not just the strangers that glance off our lives, but our brothers and sisters, those with whom we have personal relationships and history. These seem to be the ones Christ is speaking to.

We forgive, of course, because the person asks (and yes, I understand there are not sincere apologies.  But that does not seem to be a distinction that Christ makes).  But we also forgive - or at least, we should forgive, as many times as it is asked of us because it is Christ's command to do so. 

And because we have been greatly forgiven of our own sins.  We have done to Christ through our sins far more than any brother or sister or stranger has done to us.

If we are to forgive - totally, repeatedly - we must be humble.

---

The point of this meditation is not to trumpet my own accomplishment - I assure you, this was more of an outlier than a regular event.  The point, instead, is the reaction of the strangers that I met, the apparent shock of having someone not over-react and indeed be understanding of the situation and in that sense, forgive.

Imagine what our relationships would look like - our personal relationships - if we could forgive with the same complete sincerity of heart:  I forgive you completely.  This leaves no space between us.  I will completely forgive you the next time as well.

Even to Seventy times Seven.

* = And to be clear, I am not discussing things like physical abuse or ongoing mental abuse or crimes.  That is a different thing; and Christ had different things to say about that.

 

A Year Of Humility (XXXIV): Thy Kingdom Come

 "Thy Kingdom come,
Thy Will be done,
On earth as it is in Heaven." - Matthew 6:10

The Lord's Prayer is probably one of the earliest prayers I ever learned, outside of a bedroom prayer that we said every night.  It has, over the years, had greater and lesser repetition in my prayer lexicon:  some churches (mainline Protestant) recited it every service, other (non-denominational) occasionally or even not at all, reserving it for sermons on "How to pray like Jesus".  But it remains there, embedded in my mind, a plaque on the wall of my inner sanctum like the 10 Commandments that were posted on either side of the altar in the Episcopalian church of my youth.

"Thy Kingdom Come". That is a phrase that just sort of rolls of the tongue in this prayer, wedged in between the Hallowed-ness of God and our day sustenance and forgiving others, things that would seem to be far more relevant to our daily lives.  And how often have I muttered those words and just thought "Wow, if God's kingdom came and His will would be done, that would just be...swell."

I wonder, do we truly understand what that means?

For myself, God's Will (as revealed in His word, the sermons and writings of His servants, and that occasional nudge of His Spirit) is not something I am always so good at obeying.  I can often treat it as optional or even outright ignore it.  But that is not what Jesus says:  Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven.

How is it done in Heaven? Immediately.  Completely. Without the option of holding back or thought of cost to self.

Do I want that?  Do I really want that?

Sure, it is easy enough to think that I would love to see that upon evil, upon the sin in the world, on those who abuse and mock Him.    At some point, says the New Testament, every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Jesus is Lord.  Ah, says the lesser part of my self, the vindication.

But what about me in that moment?

Do I confess Him as Lord?  I do, or at least I believe I do to the best of my ability. But then comes the question "Why do you confess me as Lord and do not do what I ask?"  The question was leveled at the Israelites more than once and by Jesus as well (Luke 6:46) ; it should equally be leveled at me.

Am I quick to obey?  Do I pivot as soon as asked?  Do I act selflessly when asked to follow or act?  Or do I try to negotiate with God about what obedience means and how far I have to obey and if a thing can be put off entirely?

Thy will be done, indeed.

A Year Of Humility (XXXIII): Simplicity

 One of the things that has surprised me as I have written about humility for an extended period of time is the number and variety of ways that humility manifests itself in so many other aspects of our lives:  because of humility, other things happen and/or manifest themselves.

Another one that inserted itself into my consciousness this week was simplicity.

Simplicity is something which minds and voices far more melodious and mellifluous than mine have spoken on with great authority.  I can only speak to the effects of simplicity on my own life; theirs the reasoning of it and benefits behind it.

If I think on it, simplicity is often connected with humility although perhaps somewhat by accident:  those that live simple lives are often humble, and we in the West at least (but also, I think elsewhere) associate those that sworn to live humble lives of service - such as monks and nuns - are associated with simplicity.

I sit here, writing this on a Saturday morning, hardly in a setting of simplicity by simple examination.  I live in an urban area as I have for most of my adult life, which is by default is neither associated with simplicity or humility. I have a home, which has things - many things, it could be argued - that I really do not need or need only in specific situations.  

And yet, my life at this moment radiates a certain simplicity - and with it, a humility that is unexpected.

This is the first weekend in over a month that I have not been training, traveling, or scurrying around trying to catch up on the weekends.  It is hot (for here, anyway) this weekend, so my plans largely involved "staying in".

I have had the simple luxury of slightly sleeping in, of multiple cups of good coffee not slammed down between meetings, of being able to read at a relaxed pace.  I have made cheese already with yogurt planned for tomorrow.  A the Cat has taken to napping on a box of photo albums in what is officially called The Rabbit's Room; J The Rabbit is here in her cage with the cage door open, not feeling the need to come out but aware that she can, cleaning herself (a sign of trust; no animal cleans themselves when they feel unsafe).  

These strike me as simple things in an age of media and frenzied activity and InterWeb wonder and the idea that "out there" is where enjoyment is.

But here is the funny thing as I sit and think about the situation: the sense of serenity and peace and, dare I say, humility, that comes from all of this.

Inherently there is nothing pride inducing about a cup of coffee or a napping cat or the words of Epictetus, of doing laundry or cleaning house (later today, of course).  They is nothing inherently glamourous or glorious about them, nothing that possess me to brag on them.

There is a connection I can intuit here but not fully make. This sense, at this moment...I do not fully have the words for it. It is the sense one has when it is raining and one is inside with a hot beverage and a book, watching it all.  It is the quiet awe that sits on one when, miles and miles from civilization, one looks upon a wilderness and wildness largely untouched by humans.

Perhaps it is the peace of simply being in the moment, of enjoying the sense of simple pleasures or simple concepts or even the sense of simply being.  But nothing about any of the moments suggests pride or ego or advertising to the world about myself and the greatness of me and my accomplishments.

I cannot fully define it. But if simplicity brings humility and this is indeed the outcome, I desire more of it.

A Year of Humility (XXXII): On Apologizing

 I have been wrong in my life more than I care to admit.

There are, at least that I can think of, at least two different ways to be wrong.

The first way is, for lack of a better term, simply being wrong. This can be due to a number of factors - lack of knowledge, lack of facts, lack of key information - but the outcome is the same:   we do or say the wrong thing.  We give the wrong answer.  We choose the wrong next action.  It can be born of pride, a great belief in our own knowledge or giftedness, or of innocent assumption that we knew something that we really did not know.

The second is choosing wrong.

Choosing wrong is not acting from a lack of knowledge or understanding, it is actively selecting to do wrong.  Sometimes the thing is subtle, like choosing to not let go of an argument or secretly watching someone founder that we hold a grudge against.  Sometimes the thing is not so subtle, when we know the correct action to take and we do not take or instead we actively choose the wrong answer.

Beyond the path back from this point, which most likely involves some level of asking for God's forgiveness and possibly the forgiveness of others, comes that most difficult of acts: apologizing.

Apologizing is easy if it is is in the first category; one can plead lack of knowledge or just a plain mistake.  Most of us have done this many times over the course of our lives - it is the higher level equivalent of "excuse me" after we bump in to someone (it turns out that such a simply apology as "excuse me" in a native language goes a long way towards smoothing uncomfortable situations over).

Apologizing in the second category can be much more difficult.

Why?  Because in the second category, to apologize is to admit that we actively choose wrong.  We chose the harsh words or anger or mocking or the thousand other sins that can infest our lives.  We knew better - than God, than His word, than others that may have tried to counsel us otherwise.  

In perhaps the most memorable example (not original to me), it was we that chose to drive the nails into Christ's hands and feet on the Cross.

What does any of this have to do with humility?  Because, in both cases, it takes humility to apologize.

To apologize - in either case - is to admit that there is something about me, greater or lesser, that is wrong.  That I do not know as much as I think, that I am not as skilled as I thought, that I did not read the relevant document, that I actively chose something that physically or psychically impacted others.

Sometimes - at least for me - apologizing is far more difficult than asking for forgiveness from God.  Apologizing to God is a personal transaction between myself and Him.  Apologizing to others involves the same concept - making ourselves humble enough to admit our mistakes - but doing it to our fellow humans, sometimes fellow humans of which we may vehemently disagree or even actively dislike.

The odd thing?  Apologizing - at least in my own life - always puts me in a better position.  Maybe not directly with the person that I apologized to, but often with others around them.  Why is that?  I wonder if it perhaps the demonstration of the fact that someone - a peer, or perhaps even someone who is in a position or place of greater responsibility - can be wrong and, seeing that they are wrong, have the strength of character to admit it.

The proud can never admit they are or were wrong.  It is only the humble, who see themselves accurately, that are able to do so.

A Year Of Humility (XXXI): Correct Yourself

What if one of the best roads to helping the Church was to work on ourselves?

I have to admit this is not a thought I am particularly fond of.  That might seem a surprising thought; after all, I seem to write a great deal about working on myself.  However, I suspect if I got one level down from that thought, I would realize it is not "working on myself" that is the issue in that sense, because what I think of as "self-work" and what God thinks of as "self-work" are two different things.

The "self-work" I enjoy most are the things that make me a better person, too often in all of the wrong ways - the ways of the world.  The "self-work" God wants are the ways that make me more like Him, the grinding down of my sin and selfishness in the relentless pursuit of making my soul the equivalent of a mirror that reflects Him.

Were we to do that, what would His church look like?