“If you should ask me what are the ways of God, I would tell you that the first is humility, the second is humility, and the third is still humility.” –St. Augustine
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[I'm reading a lovely book, The Lessons of St. Francis by John Michael Talbot, and want to share the joy I receive from it with everybody, so I'll share this here as well.]
Certain blessings should be shared with the entire world and this book that has graced my eyes is such. I finished the fifth chapter, which was on humility, and am compelled to share my delight with you.
St. Francis, despite being adored and even called a “second Christ,” was a very humble man. Never did he exalt himself above others. He relentlessly pursued the lower direction in all his endeavors. When he established his monastic order, he immediately resigned from its leadership and bestowed it upon mere children of the faith: “Among the other things the kindness of God has generously granted me, it has granted me this grace that I would obey a novice of one hour, if he were given me as my guardian, as carefully as I would obey the oldest and most discreet person.” He was never a bishop or church leader of any kind. Though he was a vocal critic of the corruption inside the church, he never abandoned it to form his own denomination -”The perfect one!” as so many reformers must’ve thought- but rather worked to repair it from the inside.
As I read of Francis’ life, it reminded me of how proud some church leaders can be. They want things done their own way and would NEVER submit their sovereignty to a higher human leadership. When problems arise in their church, they abandon it like a teenage boy who discovered his girlfriend missed her period. Such pride has splintered the church throughout the millennia and such pride continues to in the upcoming millennium. Thousands of different denominations. Thousands of different churches. Yes, the Catholics exaggerate the chaos among the many different denominations but the Protestants exaggerate the unity. Though we claim to be one body of Christ, when we’re away from the political arena, we treat the other limbs as alien. My evidence? I’ve attended a few churches that do not recognize the baptisms of other churches. I don’t see humility in such divisiveness, but only pride as men fight for their right to independence and autonomy over the unity and welfare of the entire body.
On a more personal level, I am reminded of the depths of my own pride. Pride is sneaky, but it is everywhere and it is disgusting. It hungers for glory and worship. It ruins all that is beautiful. I saw the repugnant nature of pride in a creative writing poetry course a few years ago. There was a very lovely poet there, more lovely than I. Though all her poetry concerned itself with cowboys and sex, she had much talent. She was also arrogant though. She handled criticism poorly and exploited every opportunity to flaunt her talent with her audience. She quickly revealed that we were not her peers but merely ears to swallow the torrent of her glory. Nobody left that class with affection toward her or her poetry. Contrariwise, I, of lesser talent, had much more respect and praise.
Yet I am honestly no better. I demand attention and glory as much as she did. I demand the spotlight and only willingly rescind it when such self-sacrifice will reap more glory. I’m simply more subtle. I’m excessive in my pride. “I’m a good friend,” I say. “I listen. I help whenever I can.” But I am selfish in my charity. I help others to reap rewards and praise. I’m not a good friend. If I was, I would celebrate the success of my loved ones without resentment, but the truth is that whenever my friends succeed, I always interrogate God about my own lack of success. I argue that I deserve it as much as they do. Actually, I insist that I deserve it more than they do because I still foolishly believe I’m better than they are sometimes. Such arrogance is hardly friendly and certainly not loving. I’m much more humble now, but I still suffer major bouts of pride. The evidence is in the frustration and anger I hold against others because of their slights and offenses against me. Only in more lucid moments do I confess that I have committed the same insults against them. I’m not great. I’m far from a good friend. I’m just proud. It’s disgusting.
Humility looks like weakness through the worldly paradigm that insists that the victors are assertive and forceful, but considering how peaceful and joyful St. Francis was, considering the longevity of his lasting legacy in comparison to the forgotten anonymous faces of those who jeered him, considering Christ’s own submission, it’s undeniable that humility is far more powerful, effective, and victorious than pride.