Sermon by Rev. Hardy H. Kim
The Second Sunday in Lent
March 8, 2009
THE GIFTS OF GOD FOR THE FAMILY OF FAITH
“HUMILITY”
Scripture: Jeremiah
1:1-10, 1 Corinthians 13:4-13
It
is truly a pleasure and a privilege to be here before you today. It hasn’t been that long since I joined the
community of faith at First Presbyterian Church in
So
as I was thinking about my first opportunity to preach before you, I was
thinking about how I could get things going on the right foot. I tried thinking about how I might reach out
and offer some insight for your lives… how I might bring forth some special
wisdom to inform and enlighten your daily spiritual living as we journey
through Lent… what could I offer that would truly empower and inspire you for
the facing of these troubled and difficult times?
And
that is why, I have to tell you, I was thrilled when I was told that I would be
preaching on the theme of HUMILITY! What
an exciting and attention grabbing idea for my first sermon here! What better, more inspiring, more energizing
message could there be for a community facing difficult financial and personal
circumstances than a message about humility?
Worried
about the economy and what the financial markets are doing to your life savings
and your home values? Nothing that a
good understanding of humility can’t deal with!
Afraid you might lose your job?
Having trouble finding a job?
Well, what are you waiting for?
Just focus on humility! Can’t
sleep at night because you feel helpless before problems that are global in
scope and involve numbers in the trillions?
Well then, let me tell you about your need to embrace humility…
Okay,
I’m sorry. I’ll try and be professional
and pull it together… Let’s just say, if
I could have picked a topic to kick-off the ongoing conversation I hope to
start with you today, HUMILITY probably wouldn’t have been it.
Yet,
here we are – humility is one of the spiritual gifts that we receive as an
aspect of the love that God offers us through Jesus Christ. Paul describes these gifts for us in his
letter to the early church in
If
we look up the word humility in the dictionary, this is what we find:
“the
quality or condition of being humble; modest opinion
or
estimate of one's own importance, rank, etc.”
or
“The
state or quality of being humble; freedom from pride
and
arrogance; lowliness of mind; a modest
estimate of
one's
own worth; a sense of one's own unworthiness through
imperfection
and sinfulness; self-abasement; humbleness.”
There are many synonyms for
humility: “lowliness; meekness; submissiveness; modesty; diffidence.” For antonyms, simply one word: “pride.”
We
get a little more detail about the significance of humility if we look it up in
Wikipedia:
“Humility, or being humble,
is the defining characteristic
of
an unpretentious and modest person…. Because
the
concept
of humility addresses intrinsic self-worth, it is
emphasized
in the realm of religious practice and ethics
where
the notion is often made more precise and extensive.
Humility
as a religious or spiritual virtue is different from
the
act of humiliation or shaming though the former may
follow
as a consequence of the latter.”
So,
as far as we can tell from a first glance, the
ordinary concept of “humility” is generally associated with not thinking very
well of ourselves—or at least not thinking that we’re better than others. Not one of your more uplifting spiritual
gifts, is it? Yet, this online
encyclopedia entry hints that all of these things are not the same thing as a
religious or spiritual understanding of humility. We know exactly what the opposite of humility
is supposed to be – pride. Even in our
passage from 1 Corinthians today we see that Paul has described the spiritual
gift of humility by saying what it is not: not “boastful or arrogant.” Yet if a Christian understanding of humility
is to be more than just the opposite of pride (which isn’t always a bad thing),
what might it be?
Catholic
theologians have defined humility as, "A quality by which a person, considering his
own defects, has a humble opinion of himself and willingly submits himself to
God and to others for God's sake." St.
Thomas Aquinas wrote that the virtue of humility, “consists in keeping oneself
within one's own bounds, not reaching out to things above one, but submitting
to one's superior.”
While
these articulations of humility are helpful, they still seem to view humility
as simply the opposite of pride, and not some positive quality in and of
itself. That is why the following
definition, offered by Frederick Buechner, a well known author and Presbyterian
minister, seems so helpful to me. It
comes from his book, Wishful Thinking: a
Seekers’ ABC, where he lists, in dictionary form, his musings on different
concepts that are important to Christian faith.
Listen to what he says:
“Humility
is often confused with the polite self-deprecation
of
saying you’re not much of a bridge player when you know
perfectly
well you are. Conscious or otherwise,
this kind of
humility
is a form of gamesmanship.
If
you really aren’t much of a bridge
player, you’re apt to be
rather
proud of yourself for admitting it so humbly.
This
kind
of humility is a form of low comedy.
True
humility doesn’t consist of thinking ill of yourself but of
not
thinking of yourself much differently from the way you’d
be
apt to think of anybody else. It is the
capacity for being no
more
and no less pleased when you play your own hand well
than
when your opponents do.”
Put Buechner’s way, then, humility seems
to be an ability to see ourselves in proper perspective; to put ourselves in
our proper place; to value ourselves appropriately. But is that so easy to do?
In
these days, as we continue our Lenten preparations for the celebration of
Easter, I’m sure that there are many of us who feel the spiritual testing of
the season more than they have in many years past. If we are facing the loss of financial
security, jobs, or even homes; if these stresses are compounded by illness,
personal trials or depression; if we in this church family feel so struck down
by the budget crisis that has been brought on by instability in the world
around us that we’re not sure we’ll be able to celebrate Easter with happy
hearts… in any of these situations—we certainly don’t need a reminder to
practice a spiritual discipline of not thinking too highly of ourselves. We might even ask ourselves, “What good does
it do to see ourselves in proper perspective?
The view’s not so good.”
For,
now, any of us who had any illusions that we could, by our own will, ability or
strength, secure our own safety and happiness—if we believed that we were wise
enough in the ways of the world to ensure that we, and those we love, would
always come out ok—we have surely been brought back down to earth. We, all of us, might be feeling as if we’ve
been “put in our place;” and not too gently either. Can anyone say that they haven’t been made aware
of their own limits, their own weaknesses over the last year or so? Many of us individually, and all of us as a
community, have been taught humility recently.
Very few of us, I would venture, thinks more highly of him or herself
than is warranted. What further good can
come to us, then, in a message about humility?
I
spent a lot of time thinking about the usefulness of humility in the context of
my own life while preparing for this sermon. I reflected back on experiences of being made
to see myself from the proper perspective, and I have to admit that most of the
times when I’ve been forced to see myself honestly, it hasn’t been
pleasant. Most of the more memorable
times that this has happened—the times when I thought I was so much smarter,
wiser, stronger, better prepared, better liked, than I actually was—being
restored to a proper perspective on myself felt much more like the
unpleasantness of being “put in my place,” or the “humiliation,” that comes
after we’ve failed in living into proper humility than anything spiritually
edifying.
But
there is one example where I was forced to see myself from a proper perspective
that I actually remember with happiness.
In fact, I even remember it with joy and, dare I say it, a good deal of
pride. It has to do with my time playing
on my high school soccer team:
Our
high school soccer team was not the best team there was out there… we didn’t
win any championships, we didn’t have any particularly inspirational stories of
obstacles overcome. We won a few more
games than we lost and my senior year we even beat our cross-town rivals in the
playoffs but, other than that, our story is unremarkable. The thing that made playing on this team
special to me, as I look back on it, was our coach.
His
name was Guido Regelbrugge. He had, in
his younger days, played soccer in his native country of
Coach
R. was also the French teacher to many of us—and if he was your teacher he was
probably the strictest and most demanding teacher you had. He never pretended to be your friend or to
try and win you over by being nice. He
always made it clear who was the teacher, and who was the student. If you made a mistake, if you didn’t do your
homework or study hard enough, you would know it. It was the same on the practice field and
after games. He didn’t mince words and
he wasn’t shy with his honest opinion.
Coach
R. was my French teacher for 4 years and my soccer coach for three. During my senior year I even started every
game for the team in the midfield.
Though he had been my coach during my sophomore and junior years as
well, when I made it into the starting lineup I began to get a lot more direct
feedback from him about my play. This,
as I remember, was not necessarily a pleasant thing… especially in the
beginning, as I was adjusting to my more important role on the team. For a while it seemed like every time I had
the ball or tried to make a play, I wasn’t doing the right thing. It was after the first couple of games, and
right before another, that Coach R. came to me and spoke words that I will
probably remember for the rest of my life.
“Hardy,” he said, “Nikos, Chris, John,… these guys are soccer
players. Hardy,… you’re not a soccer
player. But,” he continued quickly to
say, “I know that you’re going to run harder and hustle more than anyone else
on the field. So I don’t want you to
worry about making the plays or scoring the goals. The other guys will take care of that. See that guy over there? Just make sure he doesn’t get the ball or
take any shots.”
It
isn’t easy hearing the truth about yourself; especially if it isn’t that good. Just like anyone else, I wanted to be the one
making the sweet plays and firing the shots that put us ahead. I wasn’t happy to hear the words, “you’re not
a soccer player,” spoken to me by my high school coach and the teacher I liked
most. But the fact was that Coach R. was
right. And even though his blunt
assessment of the situation stung a little, I think I acknowledged the truth of
his words as soon as he spoke them. For,
you see, as soon as he “put me in my place” by speaking the truth about who I
was—no more, no less—I was free. Free to
become a greater part of my team than I had ever been.
In
the past I had been troubled by anxiety over not being able to make the right
pass or beat my opponent with the ball, I had been tentative in committing
myself to a challenge for fear that I might be putting myself out of
position. But with Coach R.’s honest truth
backing me up, I was able to know my role and to play it confidently, with all
the strength and passion I could muster.
Soon enough, Coach R. and I even had a regular routine for the beginning
of each game. He would come up to me
after warm-up and put his arm around my shoulder to whisper some words of
encouragement and to fine-tune the game plan, just as he would with many of his
other players. With Nikos or with John
he might talk about how we would move the ball and attack; with Chris he would
give pointers on directing the defense; with me, well, he would just point to
the player he had scouted as their best playmaker, slap the back of my head and
say, “Go get him.”
I
know it doesn’t sound like much. My
achievements on the soccer field may not be much to brag about. But even now, when I think back upon the time
I spent playing on that team for Coach R., I can feel again the satisfaction
that came after I had run, as hard as I could, for 90 minutes straight—win or
lose—knowing that I had done everything I could, no more and no less, for my
team.
Most
of us here are North American Christians who are used to thinking about faith
as a personal exercise. So it’s no
wonder that humility is a spiritual gift we’ve often failed to appreciate as
little more than a necessary, but unpleasant, preliminary step to receiving
blessing. In fact, if we think of faith
and life from an individualistic standpoint, it’s hard to see humility as
anything that is useful for our lives at all… Sure, we dislike a lack of
humility in others, and we hope that we can be humble (so that we can properly
hide the overwhelming pride we feel when we’re puffed up with our own goodness
or superiority). But if we look at the
practice of faith from an individual standpoint and truly try to live into
humility – to see ourselves as we truly are – then we will soon be overwhelmed
by the vast scope of our problems and the relative meagerness of our finite
resources and abilities.
But
what if humility was a way of understanding who we are as a part of a bigger
picture—one that included all those around us, all of creation, even God the
Creator? What would seeing ourselves
properly, as we truly and really are, mean then?
Consider
my experience of playing on my high school soccer team. If I am honest with myself and with you, I
must admit that I was a better musician and a much better student in high
school than I was an athlete. I received
a fair deal in the way of awards and recognition for my accomplishments in the
classroom and recital hall—and almost nothing for my efforts on the field. Yet all of the academic awards and prizes and
scholarships, all of the praise these things brought, they only ever built up
an ever heavier weight of unwelcome expectation; they only ever made me more
and more anxious for the time when I would, inevitably, fail the test, miss the
mark,… meet my limit.
If
you look at what I did on the soccer field: running, sweating, shouting,
pushing, shoving, grabbing, clutching, kicking and tackling… from an individual
standpoint it looks less than impressive, it looks feeble and comical—in fact, if
I did the same things off the field they would even be criminal! But for me, as someone who was part of that
team, who was valued for bringing exactly who he was to the game—no more and no
less—every moment of effort was joy and freedom.
In
our Old Testament reading today we heard another story of a young man who was
overmatched by the challenges that faced him.
Jeremiah was a prophet born to a marginalized social community on the
edges of the southern
God
calls to Jeremiah,
“’Before
I formed you in the womb I knew you,
and
before you were born I consecrated you;
I
appointed you a prophet to the nations.” (v. 5)
But
Jeremiah, seeing himself as he is, says,
“Ah,
Lord God! Truly I do not know how to
speak, for I am
only
a boy.” (v. 6)
And this could have been the end of it.
Jeremiah was simply speaking out of his own humility. Who was he but a young boy from a provincial
northern town? What could he have to say
to kings who were maneuvering for power among the empires of the ancient Near
East?
But
for Jeremiah, the story did not end—because Jeremiah did not achieve the
fullness of humility before God by just acknowledging his own limits. There was one step more to take. God calls Jeremiah, in spite of his own
weakness, to see himself as a part of God’s story and not his own:
“’Do
not say, “I am only a boy”;
for
you shall speak whatever I command you.
Do
not be afraid of them,
for
I am with you to deliver you, says the LORD.” (vv. 7-8)
Jeremiah, the boy, as humble
as he is, is called by God. And having
been called by God, he is not left to his own devices. Who he is will be enough, God promises, as
long as he is willing to give who he is in service to the one who knew him,
formed him, consecrated him, and appointed him as a prophet to the nations. Jeremiah’s story, if seen alone and apart
from God’s STORY, is simply a story of a provincial and embittered youth living
on the fringes of
The
same is true for us today as well. The
humility to which we have been called during this Lenten season is not simply
an exercise in recognizing our own limitations.
It is not meant to be a deadening routine of just listing the ways in
which we fall short of having or being the things we need to address the
problems that face us.
When
Paul writes to us about humility, or about not being boastful or arrogant, he
is not calling us to these things because they themselves are the goal to be
achieved. Paul’s whole passage on the
gift of love and its different aspects, that we receive through Christ Jesus,
is found immediately after his exposition on the Church as the body of Christ;
one body, with different members. This
is not a simple coincidence! Humility,
as an aspect of love, is what allows us to properly see our place in the body
of Christ; it is what allows us to commit ourselves, just as we are—no more and
no less—in service to God.
I
have already admitted to you that, when I began the process of preparing for
this sermon, I was not very enthusiastic about the prospect of preaching on the
topic of humility. However, through my
process of reflecting on humility, I have come to believe that humility is not
as bad as it is sometimes presented. For
us, as Christians, humility is not simply a “modest opinion or estimate of
[our] own importance, [or] rank,” as the dictionary would have us believe. And it is not, as Buechner reminds us, simply
“gamesmanship” or “low comedy.”
For
those who would follow Christ, for women and men who would truly participate in
Christ’s journey through Lent, who would prepare themselves for participation
in Christ’s ministry, in his journey to the cross, in his death and, someday,
in his rising and glory, humility IS the key.
For, in order to take up humility we must give up the idea that we are
the main character in a story that is our own.
Embracing humility, in the end, is the way in which we place ourselves,
unworthy as we are, into God’s story.
When
we are able to live into the humility that God desires we are freed from the
doubt and despair that all of life’s troubles can bring. This freedom doesn’t mean that those problems
do not exist for us anymore—even if we commit ourselves to Christian humility
and can see ourselves as we truly are before God, we will still wake up
tomorrow to a world that is troubled by violence and instability, pain and
injustice, suffering and indifference; we in this church community will still
face a budget crisis and the challenge of living together with less. Yet if we can, in humility, place ourselves
in God’s story we will not need to doubt or despair because we will know that
it is not up to us alone to overcome the problems of the world. Our part is simply to be who we are—no more
and no less—in the service of Jesus Christ.
For
in doing so we will be doing no less than the very thing for which we praise
Jesus and call him Lord. We will be
taking up, as our Lenten devotion, the way of “Christ Jesus, who, though he was
in the form of God,
did
not regard equality with God as something to be exploited,
but
emptied himself, taking the form of a slave,
being
born in human likeness.
And
being found in human form, he humbled himself
and
became obedient to the point of death—
even
death on a cross.
Therefore
God also highly exalted him
and
gave him the name that is above every name,
so
that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend,
in
heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and
every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to
the glory of God the Father.”
May God grant us all the gift of this kind of humility, during this time of
Lent, as we prepare to bear witness to the glory of Christ who came and was
humble for our sake. And may this humility free us from all doubt and despair,
free us to be all that God created us to be—no more and no less—in Christ’s service. Amen.