Sermon October 27, Proper 25C

I want to talk about humility.

Humility has a hard time of it in our culture. 

In the wider American culture, we hear about the importance of standing up for ourselves, for self-esteem.  We get an implicit message to look out for number one, and we can hear a lot of scorn for those who don’t measure up.  American culture seems to be built on the idea of exalting ourselves, moving up the ladder, standing out.  And we Americans have a long history of comparing ourselves to other countries and saying, “I thank you, God, that we are not like those others.  We have freedom and democracy; we have the biggest economy in the world; our sports teams are the best.”

In church, on the other hand, we hear that we should be humble, but that often gets translated to mean we should think of ourselves as worse than others, less deserving, less important.   Too often it becomes a prescription for letting ourselves be abused, for hiding our gifts, for putting our light under a basket.

I don’t think either of these options is quite what Jesus had in mind in this parable.  And I don’t think either of them gets at the power and grace of humility.

The Pharisee has a lot to be grateful for.  He abides by the law, he gives to God what is prescribed.  But he makes two mistakes.  First, Luke suggests that he thinks he’s done this himself.  Now, Luke may be wrong here; the Pharisee does indeed thank God for letting him be this way.   But the second mistake is clear.  

He doesn’t give thanks for doing what is prescribed, or for the richness of his life.  He compares himself to others, judging them less than himself.  That’s the nub of it.  It he had just said, “God, I thank you for making me someone who does these things,”  that might be simple gratitude.  But when he turns his eye toward his neighbor, when he compares, he’s turned his vision from God.

Notice that the tax collector doesn’t say he’s worse than others.  He doesn’t say, “Lord, have mercy on me, the worst sinner in town.”  His sin is enough for him.  He’s talking to God, he’s looking at God with both eyes.  He’s not worrying about anyone else.  He’s not comparing.

Comparison is always dangerous.  If I compare myself to you, I lose.  If I find that you’re better than I am, I despair.  If I find that I’m better, I’ve lost touch with you.  Either way I lose.

God’s question is never, how do you compare to others?  It’s not, what is your class rank?

God’s question is, are you being who I made you to be?  Are you doing what I called you to do?

Each of us is unique.  Each of us is bundle of traits and capacities, frailties and strengths.  We each have plenty to work on, and plenty to work with.  My sins are my own, as are my gifts.

Humility means seeing myself as I am.  It means honest assessment.  It means contrition when I fall short, and thanksgiving when I grow and thrive.  There’s no place in there for comparison.

The earliest Christians understood that Jesus came to show us how to be human and divine, to be what God intended.  This didn’t mean arrogance; it meant gratitude and wonder.  Paul gives us an example of this in his letter.  He has fought the good fight, and he trusts that he will receive the crown of righteousness.  But he is not the center of the story.  He gives glory to God for his stamina and faithfulness.

Now, Paul may seem a strange example of humility.  He does indeed spend time comparing himself to other apostles and missionaries, and he can boast with the best of them.  He’s an imperfect vessel, like the rest of us.  But at his best, he knows that everything he has done is through God’s spirit.  His aim is to leave communities devoted, not to Paul, but to God in Christ.

That should be our aim as well.  In our lives, in our churches and in our work and family life, we are called to be all that we can be; to be the glory of God, as human beings fully alive.  We are called to testify to the power working in our lives.  That has nothing to do with my list of achievements or worthy tasks, though they may result from it.  It has to do with the quality of my being, the state of my soul.

When I am really trying to live in this way, I continually trip over the places where I fail.  My prayer life grows stale, I work too hard, I get grumpy and rude and impatient.  I try to run the show, and the next thing you know I’m running over the people around me.  Then I have to turn and ask for mercy.  I need to get on my knees and cry and say, “Lord, help me.”

I wonder what happens after the two men finish their prayers.  The Pharisee has already lost his connection, but what about the tax collector?  Jesus says he is justified, but there’s more to Christian life than justification.  What we call sanctification, growing into the full stature of Christ, means turning from our sin and trying to amend our ways.  Does the tax collector change his ways?

Humility doesn’t mean justifying my weakness, my repeated failures to change my ways.  That’s not humility; that’s a subtle form of lazy pride.  Jesus doesn’t give us a free pass.  Over and over, after he forgives and heals people, he says, “Go and sin no more.”  That’s the road ahead of us.

Wherever you are in your life and your relationship with God, honest assessment is essential.  Humility means facing the truth, good and bad, and asking for mercy and strength.  Then it means turning from focussing on your sins and aiming at serving and contributing to the world around you.  It means letting yourself be poured out as a libation, an offering to God, and rejoicing at what God is up to.

To God be the glory forever and ever.   Amen.