Humility as Greatness
Point after point resonated with me, and I thought, I have to ask him for a copy of this! But (since that would've been weird) I contented myself with scribbling a few notes on the back of a paint swatch from my purse while trying to remember as much as possible. So now I'm writing it down (with some liberal paraphrasing, of course, since my brain doesn't do the verbatim thing) before my memory bank dumps the remainder.
First, our priest talked about the two women meeting, specifically Mary's words after her cousin's famous "Hail, full of grace!" greeting. In response to Elizabeth, Mary calls herself a lowly servant, but follows it by saying, "from this day all generations shall call me blessed."
"At first it seems contradictory," said our priest, "that she should be saying these things back to back. But if we look at it more carefully, we see it's an example of perfect humility. Mary didn't deny who she was--a simple, lowly, handmaid--but she also didn't deny the gifts and purpose God gave her to share with the world, or how important they were."
Our priest followed with a number of thoughts (again, largely paraphrased from my memory), about what this all means for us. Some things he said:
In its purest form, humility is simply the exact truth. It is the truth of who we are and who were were created to be.
It's not a comparison or an exaggeration of who we are or aren't. Humility is not regarding ourselves as less than others by measuring ourselves against worldly standards, many of which are superficial and arbitrary standards that don't carry a lick of importance in the long run (aka eternity). Humility is not putting ourselves down so as to fish for compliments, which, in a sense, is misguided pride or false humility--i.e., relying on others to validate or affirm our pre-existing worth in unnecessary ways.
True humility will never superficially add to or take away from our worth.
Instead, true humility is recognizing our immovable, inherent worth, which comes from God and cannot be changed or lessened or taken from us, regardless of how others perceive us or treat us or how we view ourselves. No human being can define eternal worth - only God can (and He already has).
Humility is knowing that as humans we are lowly and broken, affected and influenced by the existence of evil and darkness in our world--while also knowing that we, along with our gifts and strengths, are unique and eternally important. And that our gifts are meant to be acknowledged and used for something bigger than ourselves.
"Humility is not timidity. It is not mediocrity. It is recognizing and acknowledging the gifts God has given us, and not being afraid to use them for the greater glory of God," said our priest.
Those words hit me square between the eyes:
It is not timidity.
It is not mediocrity.
He also cited all of the great saints and peacemakers throughout history, saying that none of them ever denied their gifts or talents or scope of influence. Instead, they simply accepted it, recognizing their call to greatness while still giving credit where credit was due--and using their gifts to benefit the rest of the world, regardless of others' praise or criticism.
This made me think immediately of Mother Teresa, who will officially be named a saint in the next year. She was certainly not timid. She was anything but mediocre. But she was the epitome of humility; at least the greatest living example I've known in my lifetime.
This concept of true humility also struck me when I saw an interesting meme this week. It was something most of us can relate to, I think, and it said, "her accomplishment is not your failure." Conversely, I think the opposite is true; another's failure is not our accomplishment.
While I would like to say that I'm mature enough to avoid thinking along these lines, the truth is that I (along with probably 99% of humanity) tend to pass a million tiny judgements every day based on comparison versus humility. We carry this almost ingrained, subtle jealousy that informs our opinions and inner dialogue when reacting to another's seemingly flawless appearance or job success or functional relationships, while we often regard ourselves as wanting in comparison. On the flip side, we sometimes feel ourselves lifted when we catch sight of others' shortcomings, or become vindictive when we feel someone has wronged us, and we point our noses a little higher when we perceive that someone is not quite as refined as us, or at the very least think "well that sucks, I'm sure glad it's not me!" even as we feel sorry for their misfortune. It's hard to toe the line and stand firm in the middle. It seems impossible at times to possess that perfectly balanced sense of humility, to maintain a tight enough grip on the truth, so as to be completely unfazed by the world's pull of "better" or "worse," or quiet ourselves long enough to listen for that inner voice of truth and wisdom and motivation.
Fittingly, I found a quote by Mother Teresa (because of course) that sums it up perfectly:
Humility is knowing that as humans we are lowly and broken, affected and influenced by the existence of evil and darkness in our world--while also knowing that we, along with our gifts and strengths, are unique and eternally important. And that our gifts are meant to be acknowledged and used for something bigger than ourselves.
"Humility is not timidity. It is not mediocrity. It is recognizing and acknowledging the gifts God has given us, and not being afraid to use them for the greater glory of God," said our priest.
Those words hit me square between the eyes:
It is not timidity.
It is not mediocrity.
He also cited all of the great saints and peacemakers throughout history, saying that none of them ever denied their gifts or talents or scope of influence. Instead, they simply accepted it, recognizing their call to greatness while still giving credit where credit was due--and using their gifts to benefit the rest of the world, regardless of others' praise or criticism.
This made me think immediately of Mother Teresa, who will officially be named a saint in the next year. She was certainly not timid. She was anything but mediocre. But she was the epitome of humility; at least the greatest living example I've known in my lifetime.
This concept of true humility also struck me when I saw an interesting meme this week. It was something most of us can relate to, I think, and it said, "her accomplishment is not your failure." Conversely, I think the opposite is true; another's failure is not our accomplishment.
While I would like to say that I'm mature enough to avoid thinking along these lines, the truth is that I (along with probably 99% of humanity) tend to pass a million tiny judgements every day based on comparison versus humility. We carry this almost ingrained, subtle jealousy that informs our opinions and inner dialogue when reacting to another's seemingly flawless appearance or job success or functional relationships, while we often regard ourselves as wanting in comparison. On the flip side, we sometimes feel ourselves lifted when we catch sight of others' shortcomings, or become vindictive when we feel someone has wronged us, and we point our noses a little higher when we perceive that someone is not quite as refined as us, or at the very least think "well that sucks, I'm sure glad it's not me!" even as we feel sorry for their misfortune. It's hard to toe the line and stand firm in the middle. It seems impossible at times to possess that perfectly balanced sense of humility, to maintain a tight enough grip on the truth, so as to be completely unfazed by the world's pull of "better" or "worse," or quiet ourselves long enough to listen for that inner voice of truth and wisdom and motivation.
Fittingly, I found a quote by Mother Teresa (because of course) that sums it up perfectly:
"If you are humble nothing will touch you, neither praise nor disgrace, because you know what you are."
This real view of humility means we should be able to both recognize each other's innate humanness and be able to name and accept our gifts (as well as others' gifts) in good grace. Not by dwelling on their faults, and not in competition with their good points, but in understanding that all of the good comes from something greater than ourselves, and together our individual gifts should actually compliment one another--for the benefit of humanity.
I think where I struggle most (well let's be real, I still struggle with it all) is being able to recognize and accept and "own" my gifts like the three holy women mentioned above.
If I'm honest, I spend a lot of time second guessing my strengths that seem somewhat ordinary, or wondering if I'm really that great at anything in particular. If people do say something complimentary to me, I often feel the need to downplay it so I don't seem vain--which, as we've established above, is itself a sort of false humility. But in a sense, I also wonder if I downplay it because I really don't believe the compliments fully, because (no matter how easy it is for me to see it in others) I doubt that full worth already assigned to me from the moment I was created.
This real view of humility means we should be able to both recognize each other's innate humanness and be able to name and accept our gifts (as well as others' gifts) in good grace. Not by dwelling on their faults, and not in competition with their good points, but in understanding that all of the good comes from something greater than ourselves, and together our individual gifts should actually compliment one another--for the benefit of humanity.
I think where I struggle most (well let's be real, I still struggle with it all) is being able to recognize and accept and "own" my gifts like the three holy women mentioned above.
If I'm honest, I spend a lot of time second guessing my strengths that seem somewhat ordinary, or wondering if I'm really that great at anything in particular. If people do say something complimentary to me, I often feel the need to downplay it so I don't seem vain--which, as we've established above, is itself a sort of false humility. But in a sense, I also wonder if I downplay it because I really don't believe the compliments fully, because (no matter how easy it is for me to see it in others) I doubt that full worth already assigned to me from the moment I was created.
I know so many others who struggle with the same; our current culture certainly makes it easy to doubt ourselves with so many misguided ideals of what defines our worth. I think I'm realizing that coming to the source of our worth, over and over again, is the only way to combat the continual subliminal messages of "less than" that our world projects. Because no matter how "ordinary" certain strengths of mine might seem, I'm also chewing on the truth that no one will ever have quite the same combination of gifts and life experience as me. And as such, the impact I was designed to make on this world is something that can never be replicated--no matter how many people go before or exist after me. Same goes for everyone else out there.
So in this season of gift giving, I'm going to try and "own" my gifts and the truth of who I am a little better, in order to give them a little better--holding up as my example the perfect model of humility, that once-unknown lowly handmaid, who without fanfare saw the truth and called it like it was.
So in this season of gift giving, I'm going to try and "own" my gifts and the truth of who I am a little better, in order to give them a little better--holding up as my example the perfect model of humility, that once-unknown lowly handmaid, who without fanfare saw the truth and called it like it was.
It's definitely a practice in humility to actually name some of those gifts, let alone accept the full weight of worth behind them, but I know that's an important step to being able to live the truth. After all, living "authentically," (as is all the rage these days, hashtag authentic life) means owning both the messiness and the greatness of who we are, both in equal truth.
So I'll say it: my desire to connect, my ability to listen, the sheer amount that I care for others, my ear for music, my love of both taking in and jotting down the written word--all of these things are gifts that come from above, and all can, and should, be used for greatness.
And my job, which will certainly take some time, is to work on better knowing and understanding the Giver of these gifts in order to discern just what sort of greatness He thinks I can apply them to.
But in the short term, I've been duly reminded of my God-given mission to be fully who He needs me to be, humbly living the truth of who I am, with all my inherent human flaws and inherent gifts. Just like the great but humble saints, just like all of us are called to do-- without pride or apology, without timidity, without mediocrity -- each cultivating those gifts on our unique paths to greatness.
So I'll say it: my desire to connect, my ability to listen, the sheer amount that I care for others, my ear for music, my love of both taking in and jotting down the written word--all of these things are gifts that come from above, and all can, and should, be used for greatness.
And my job, which will certainly take some time, is to work on better knowing and understanding the Giver of these gifts in order to discern just what sort of greatness He thinks I can apply them to.
But in the short term, I've been duly reminded of my God-given mission to be fully who He needs me to be, humbly living the truth of who I am, with all my inherent human flaws and inherent gifts. Just like the great but humble saints, just like all of us are called to do-- without pride or apology, without timidity, without mediocrity -- each cultivating those gifts on our unique paths to greatness.
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