A Call to True Humility

 

After a large dinner at one of Hollywood’s stately mansions, a famous actor entertained the guests with stunning readings of Shakespeare. Then, as an encore, he offered to accept a request. A shy, older priest asked if he knew Psalm 23. The actor said, “Yes, I do and I will give it on one condition: that when I am finished you recite the very same psalm.”

 

The priest was a little embarrassed, but consented. The actor did a beautiful rendition… “The Lord is my shepherd, there is nothing I shall want…” The guests applauded loudly when the actor finished, and then it was the priest’s turn. He got up and said the same words, but this time there was no applause, just a hushed silence and the beginnings of a tear in several eyes.

 

The actor savored the silence for a few moments and then stood up. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I hope you realize what happened here tonight. I knew the words of the psalm, but this priest knows the Shepherd.”

 

During these special days, we have the opportunity, not just to hear words about Jesus, but to try to get to know Jesus better—by reflecting on what Jesus said and did, during the last moments of his earthly life. Because Jesus knew that he was going to die, what he said and did have a special power; they are a kind of parting gift of what Jesus considered most important, what he wanted to be valued in the minds and hearts of his followers.

 

And so, he washed feet, a lesson in humility. Jesus stooped down and did what people who are normally in lower stations of life would do—an act of courtesy and hospitality during a time of sandals and unpaved roads and messy feet. It was a lesson in humility.

 

The great Christian author C.S. Lewis wrote a satirical novel entitled The Screwtape Letters. The novel takes the form of letters of instruction between two devils, Screwtape, the older, master devil, and Wormwood, the junior tempter, who is still learning the trade. In one of the Letters, Lewis takes up the theme of humility and how an up and coming young devil should deal with it.

 

Screwtape writes, “I see only one thing to do at the moment. Your patient has become humble; have you drawn attention to this fact? All virtues are formidable to us once the human is aware that he has them, but this is especially true of humility. Catch him at the moment when he is really poor in spirit and smuggle into his mind the gratifying reflection, ‘By Jove! I’m being humble,’ and almost immediately pride—pride at his own humility—will appear. If he awakes to the danger and tries to smother this new form of pride, make him proud of his attempt—and so on through as many stages as you please….”

 

Many years ago, when I was a student at Holy Cross College, I went on an eight-day retreat at a beautiful seaside Jesuit retreat house in Gloucester. There are two things I remember about that retreat. One, that it was a silent retreat: we were to do no talking during those eight days except when we gathered for prayer. Try that sometime!

 

The other thing I remember was a lesson in the proper understanding of humility. Up until that time, I thought it good to downplay any compliment. Oh, it was really nothing! I think you overestimate me! I inherited it all from my father! Things like that.

 

The insight I gained was that those statements were really untrue. The fact of the matter is that I do indeed have certain abilities, certain things that I am good at. But true humility is not denying the talents, but to humbly acknowledge who gave me those abilities—namely God. In my actions and in my life, I was not to glorify myself. Rather, I was to give the glory and the honor to God, humbly acknowledging the Source of my life and my abilities. And that changes everything: how you see yourself, how you act, how you relate to others, and how you see yourself before God.

 

Notice Jesus’ act of humility. He doesn’t deny who he is (“I, who am teacher and Lord…”). He is the Savior, the mighty preacher, the wonderworker who was able to do all kinds of healings, the Son of God. He was all of that. But what was the pattern of life that he sets before us? It’s washing of feet, but it really is a lot more than that.

 

It is well set out in the second reading for Palm Sunday. Do you remember? “Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God something to be grasped. Rather, he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, coming in human likeness; and found human in appearance, he humbled himself, becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Because of this God greatly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, of those in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father” (Philippians 2:6-11).

 

Washing feet sure got the Apostles’ attention. Peter didn’t want any part of it. But by allowing Jesus to wash his feet, he got only to hear Jesus’ teaching, but to know the Shepherd—the one who lays down his life for the sheep, who gives his all in love, who empties himself to the last ounce of blood—and thus, bestows the way of humble service, not as a symbolic ritual but as a way of life.

 

So in memory of the Shepherd, we do this uncomfortable thing, this humble thing—not to take part in some kind of show, but to become more fully the one we imitate, to learn how it feels to bend down in service, to conquer our pride, and to be there especially for those who need us the most. Parents getting up in the middle of the night to feed a hungry infant know what it means. Workers at Food City who took care of our needs during the pandemic know what it means. Nurses who help people during the worst days of their life, day in and day out, know what it means. Members of this church who prepare meals to feed the hungry, who visit shut-ins, who bring Communion, who spend time with the lowly—they know what it means. And so, together, we wash feet, we know the Shepherd, we become shepherds, we know who we are.

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