30th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Cycle C
Sir 35: 12-14,16-18
2 Tim 4:6-8, 16-18
Lk 18:9-14
This week we complete St. Luke’s trilogy of stories on prayer. Two weeks ago we heard the story of the ten lepers who were cured by Jesus. Only one returned to give thanks to God. We learned that it is necessary to offer prayers of thanksgiving for all the gifts God has given us. Last week we heard the parable of the corrupt judge, and learned that we must be persistent when we ask God to give us what we need. Today we learn about probably the most important form of prayer of all, praying for forgiveness. Praying for forgiveness is most important because unless we receive forgiveness, we really can’t ask God for what we need and cannot thank him for his gifts to us. Because it is through God’s mercy that he gives us the ability to ask and the ability to offer thanks.
It’s a lot like with our own relationships. If you are on the outs with a friend or relative, you shut down communication with them. You avoid being with them. You begin to think bitter thoughts about them, and you erect barriers between you. You wouldn’t dream of asking them for anything or thanking them for anything, because the relationship is broken. In order for the relationship to be healed there must be mercy. You must show mercy to them and vice versa. Only when that step is made can the barriers come down and you can resume a healthy, happy relationship.
Think of how that tax collector must have felt. His chosen profession and lifestyle had cut him off from his countrymen and from God. Everyone thought of him as a sinner and a traitor because he collaborated with the Romans in cheating people. He must have been torn in two. On the one hand he enjoyed all the things he had because of his ill-gotten wealth. But on the other hand he must have hated himself for betraying his people and his own conscience. That is why he crept into the temple area quietly and couldn’t even raise his eyes to heaven in prayer. But he knew his real situation and his true problem. He didn’t try to justify himself to God. All he did was throw himself on God’s mercy. Who knows, maybe he left there with a change of heart. He had taken that first step of conversion. His prayer left the door open for change.
The Pharisee, on the other hand, thought he had it all figured out. He couldn’t see how he was cutting himself off from those around him just as much as the tax collector was. He was building barriers to others and to God just as much as the tax collector was. The Pharisee did try to justify himself, and in doing so was deceiving himself. We can guess that he left the temple not open to conversion but more firmly fixed in his arrogance. He asked for no mercy because he didn’t recognize his need for it, and so he received none. He was not praying to God, he was praying to himself. His prayer had no value because it had no power to change him.
Why do we pray? Why do we feel the need to communicate with God? God doesn’t need our words or thoughts to know what’s in our hearts. God knows who we are and what we need even before we do. But I think that God likes to hear us say it. Why do we feel the need to tell those we love that we love them? And why do we like to hear them tell us they love us? We know they do, but we still like to hear it. We need reassurance that we are loved.
We pray to God because we need to say it and we need to believe that he likes to hear it. When we love someone it’s natural to communicate with them. We need to know that we’re ok with God. We need to know that we have ultimate value, that we are accepted by our creator, even though we don’t really deserve it. We need to have that hope and know that there’s a purpose to life, with all its joys and sufferings. It is through our prayer that we keep our relationship with God in focus.
But does God answer prayers? Ah, the great question. When we ask it we are usually referring to prayers of petition. We ask God for something and then sit back and wait to see if we get it. Sometimes we do get what we ask for, but rarely does God answer us boldly and loudly, so we can easily recognize it. Rarely do we get that miracle we’ve been hoping for. But then, we never got that pony we asked our parents for for Christmas, did we? And I think we oftentimes make excuses for not getting what we asked for. “God knows best, and I guess I really didn’t need it. So I guess I’ll try to word it a bit differently next time.” Or, we look back and try hard to see how God really did answer our prayers. “Yeah, that was it, right there. It really did work out ok in the end, even if it wasn’t the way I expected it or planned it.” We desperately need to believe that God hears us.
But what about those prayers of hopelessness when we are enveloped in deep suffering and poverty of body and spirit? When we are not asking for things but just for an end to our pain? What about the millions of people who go to bed hungry every night, who aren’t asking for a better job or a new car but just to survive? Sometimes their prayers are never answered with the alleviation of their suffering. Does that mean they weren’t answered? Does that mean that God has abandoned them?
St. Paul experienced this. Many times he prayed that he be relieved of an unknown physical ailment, only to get the answer that sorry, he had to put up with it. He came to the conclusion that it was only when he was weak and had to rely totally on God that he was actually stronger. But that still didn’t make him feel any better. And today we heard that even after an entire career of bringing the Good News to people the world over, he was still alone and abandoned by them in his time of need. Just like Jesus. But even when he looked back on his life’s race and saw all the times he’d stumbled and fell, he still kept his eyes on the finish line. He never lost hope.
God does not guarantee that when we ask for things from Him we will necessarily get what we request. He only guarantees that we will receive His mercy and through that mercy, hope. Prayer is always answered with mercy.
And mercy is all about hope. Can you imagine what the world would be like if God were not merciful towards us? What if he left us to our own devices in our evil and sinfulness? Without God’s mercy there would be no good on the earth. Because we sin we need to ask for and receive forgiveness. If God in his mercy does not forgive us we are doomed to destroy ourselves. Without the possibility of forgiveness we would go insane. Without God’s mercy we would have no hope. Because the opposite of mercy is despair.
But what is mercy? True mercy is not a dominance and submission thing, where a superior is judging us and cuts us a break out of the goodness of his heart. Mercy is treating people as they should be treated just because of who they are, children of God. Mercy is acknowledging the inherent dignity of every human person, and then giving everyone what they need to live as true persons.
True mercy actually requires the one giving it to humble himself or herself. It is when another lowers himself to our level and accepts us as equals. Think of the greatest act of mercy in all history. God himself humbled himself to become one of us, and to die for us out of mercy for us.
And true mercy also requires the one who receives it to accept it with humility. Not in humiliation, but with an understanding that even though our actions require forgiveness, we still have great value. Mercy is accepting our true place in the scheme of things and knowing what our true relationship is with our creator. Have mercy on us sinners. We need to accept that we are only the creatures, and we don’t have all the answers. Sometimes it all makes sense and oftentimes it doesn’t. But that doesn’t mean we give up in frustration.
Because we wait with joyful hope for the coming of our savior, Jesus Christ.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Righteous Men
26th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Cycle C
Am 6:1a,4-7
1 Tim 6:11-16
Lk 16:19-31
Here we are, in the middle of Ordinary Time, those dog days of the liturgical year when nothing special is happening. The 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time. I guess the only thing noteworthy about today is that this is one of those rare occasions when the 26th Sunday in Ordinary time falls on the 26th of the month. No big whoop.
But for me, the 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time has special significance, and is a bittersweet remembrance of two of my closest friends. For me, the 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time is time to reflect on that reading from first Timothy we heard just now, and how two very special men of God lived out St. Paul’s admonition to Timothy, and how I often fall so very short of that charge.
On the 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time in 2004, Deacon Gerry Shea taught a Sunday school lesson, served at two Masses at St. Thomas More parish in Sandy, preaching on these very readings we heard today, performed a baptism after Mass, and then fell dead of a deep tissue thrombosis as he was getting ready to go to the Octoberfest at Snowbird. Gerry had been a deacon for eight months.
On the 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time the following year, Deacon Aniceto Armendariz served at the 7 pm Spanish Mass here in this beautiful church, surrounded by the people he loved so very much. Afterwards, on his way home to Heber with his wife, Alma, he was gunned down in a senseless murder just outside of the Jordanelle reservoir. He was 44 years old.
The 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time is far from ordinary, because of these two extraordinary gentlemen. Their lives of service to God’s people are perfect examples of the devotion, faith, love, patience and gentleness in the pursuit of righteousness that St. Paul urges upon Timothy. And it’s not just because they were deacons. Both Gerry and Aniceto lived righteous lives long before they were ordained. Their ordinations simply gave a structure to their commitment. In many ways they were just like the rest of us, because we are all called to be righteous men and women of God. We are all called to be heroes.
Gerry Shea was a military man. Air Force. He was a lawyer, a JAG. He served many years in Central America during the 80s and then came home to Utah to work with his wife in the financial services field. Gerry was an unassuming man, sort of ordinary looking. Quiet and thoughtful. His wife was the outgoing one, and Gerry had no problem with that. We often wondered why he thought he was being called to be a deacon. During formation he sat in the last row and rarely participated, except to mutter smart aleck comments under his breath. He was also the only single candidate, since his wife had died of cancer a few years before. It was hard on Gerry to go through formation by himself, without the support of his wife alongside him.
The practical stuff of the diaconate was hard for Gerry. He rarely got the liturgies right when he presided. He never could find his way around the prayer books. He was a wonderful poet but just an ok preacher, and he never seemed very comfortable in the role. He was a wonderful teacher. For two years he drove up from Sandy every week so that he could teach in our RCIA program. He prepared for hours for every class, and had every word he wanted to say figured out ahead of time, as if he were preparing a brief for court. But he could be absent minded. One time he read the wrong gospel during Mass. Another time his cell phone rang while he was preaching. Gerry was the accidental deacon.
What Gerry loved most was working with teens. He was very involved in confirmation preparation and the ACTS program in the diocese, and he would often spend hours counseling kids. He even brought one young man into his home when he had been thrown out by his parents. That teenager gave an amazing testimony to Gerry at his funeral. Gerry worked very hard to be a deacon.
Aniceto, on the other hand, was a natural. A charismatic figure, he was a born leader. Aniceto came to this country from his native Chihuahua while still a teenager, working in the oil fields of Brownsville, Texas. He moved to the Park City area with his family ten years ago, and began work as an electrician. He may have helped build your home. In his native Mexico he had been active in his parish, especially in a program called Evangelization, where he helped identify and train leaders from the local community. It was natural that he took that same experience and applied it in Park City. He quickly became a very strong leader in the Hispanic community, both inside and outside the church.
Aniceto undertook all this even though he knew very little English. He had to work twice as hard to understand the complex concepts that go with Catholic theology and teaching. As a deacon at St. Mary’s Aniceto did a variety of sacramental work. He baptized babies, prepared couples for marriage and then presided at their weddings, he preached powerfully on Sundays, and presided at funerals. He basically ran the Hispanic ministry. When he arrived there were perhaps 10 to 15 Hispanic families at Sunday Mass. Today there are between 500 to 600 families.
Aniceto was one of those unique individuals who could effectively bridge the differences among cultures. He assisted immigrants in finding their way through the daunting government red tape we natives take for granted. He was one of the founding workers of the People’s Health Center. He founded the Santa Cruz Driving School and an after school program for local kids. He helped local law enforcement and officials in their dealings with the Hispanic community. He did all this not for the rewards, which were few, but because he truly loved people. Everyone seemed to know him. He was simply “Aniceto”.
Aniceto was a very gentle, patient man. In eleven years I never saw him angry. He was a wonderful father and husband. He worked hard, paid his taxes, built and owned two homes, sent his three sons to college and planned to send his daughter. In short, he was like all of us.
Two very different men from very different backgrounds and with very different gifts, from both ends of the spectrum, but both just as committed to God’s people. It’s funny how God carries out his plan for us, and who he chooses to lead us. Just as Ordinary Time is far from ordinary, what made Gerry and Aniceto extraordinary was that in so many ways they were so very ordinary. Their story is the story of hundreds of people like them who live here in Utah. Perhaps their greatest legacy will be that they helped so many people to be like them. And that can only make our community stronger. Maybe we’ll fill the hole they’ve left us with the people they’ve left behind. Maybe we’ll fill it with ourselves.
Cycle C
Am 6:1a,4-7
1 Tim 6:11-16
Lk 16:19-31
Here we are, in the middle of Ordinary Time, those dog days of the liturgical year when nothing special is happening. The 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time. I guess the only thing noteworthy about today is that this is one of those rare occasions when the 26th Sunday in Ordinary time falls on the 26th of the month. No big whoop.
But for me, the 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time has special significance, and is a bittersweet remembrance of two of my closest friends. For me, the 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time is time to reflect on that reading from first Timothy we heard just now, and how two very special men of God lived out St. Paul’s admonition to Timothy, and how I often fall so very short of that charge.
On the 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time in 2004, Deacon Gerry Shea taught a Sunday school lesson, served at two Masses at St. Thomas More parish in Sandy, preaching on these very readings we heard today, performed a baptism after Mass, and then fell dead of a deep tissue thrombosis as he was getting ready to go to the Octoberfest at Snowbird. Gerry had been a deacon for eight months.
On the 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time the following year, Deacon Aniceto Armendariz served at the 7 pm Spanish Mass here in this beautiful church, surrounded by the people he loved so very much. Afterwards, on his way home to Heber with his wife, Alma, he was gunned down in a senseless murder just outside of the Jordanelle reservoir. He was 44 years old.
The 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time is far from ordinary, because of these two extraordinary gentlemen. Their lives of service to God’s people are perfect examples of the devotion, faith, love, patience and gentleness in the pursuit of righteousness that St. Paul urges upon Timothy. And it’s not just because they were deacons. Both Gerry and Aniceto lived righteous lives long before they were ordained. Their ordinations simply gave a structure to their commitment. In many ways they were just like the rest of us, because we are all called to be righteous men and women of God. We are all called to be heroes.
Gerry Shea was a military man. Air Force. He was a lawyer, a JAG. He served many years in Central America during the 80s and then came home to Utah to work with his wife in the financial services field. Gerry was an unassuming man, sort of ordinary looking. Quiet and thoughtful. His wife was the outgoing one, and Gerry had no problem with that. We often wondered why he thought he was being called to be a deacon. During formation he sat in the last row and rarely participated, except to mutter smart aleck comments under his breath. He was also the only single candidate, since his wife had died of cancer a few years before. It was hard on Gerry to go through formation by himself, without the support of his wife alongside him.
The practical stuff of the diaconate was hard for Gerry. He rarely got the liturgies right when he presided. He never could find his way around the prayer books. He was a wonderful poet but just an ok preacher, and he never seemed very comfortable in the role. He was a wonderful teacher. For two years he drove up from Sandy every week so that he could teach in our RCIA program. He prepared for hours for every class, and had every word he wanted to say figured out ahead of time, as if he were preparing a brief for court. But he could be absent minded. One time he read the wrong gospel during Mass. Another time his cell phone rang while he was preaching. Gerry was the accidental deacon.
What Gerry loved most was working with teens. He was very involved in confirmation preparation and the ACTS program in the diocese, and he would often spend hours counseling kids. He even brought one young man into his home when he had been thrown out by his parents. That teenager gave an amazing testimony to Gerry at his funeral. Gerry worked very hard to be a deacon.
Aniceto, on the other hand, was a natural. A charismatic figure, he was a born leader. Aniceto came to this country from his native Chihuahua while still a teenager, working in the oil fields of Brownsville, Texas. He moved to the Park City area with his family ten years ago, and began work as an electrician. He may have helped build your home. In his native Mexico he had been active in his parish, especially in a program called Evangelization, where he helped identify and train leaders from the local community. It was natural that he took that same experience and applied it in Park City. He quickly became a very strong leader in the Hispanic community, both inside and outside the church.
Aniceto undertook all this even though he knew very little English. He had to work twice as hard to understand the complex concepts that go with Catholic theology and teaching. As a deacon at St. Mary’s Aniceto did a variety of sacramental work. He baptized babies, prepared couples for marriage and then presided at their weddings, he preached powerfully on Sundays, and presided at funerals. He basically ran the Hispanic ministry. When he arrived there were perhaps 10 to 15 Hispanic families at Sunday Mass. Today there are between 500 to 600 families.
Aniceto was one of those unique individuals who could effectively bridge the differences among cultures. He assisted immigrants in finding their way through the daunting government red tape we natives take for granted. He was one of the founding workers of the People’s Health Center. He founded the Santa Cruz Driving School and an after school program for local kids. He helped local law enforcement and officials in their dealings with the Hispanic community. He did all this not for the rewards, which were few, but because he truly loved people. Everyone seemed to know him. He was simply “Aniceto”.
Aniceto was a very gentle, patient man. In eleven years I never saw him angry. He was a wonderful father and husband. He worked hard, paid his taxes, built and owned two homes, sent his three sons to college and planned to send his daughter. In short, he was like all of us.
Two very different men from very different backgrounds and with very different gifts, from both ends of the spectrum, but both just as committed to God’s people. It’s funny how God carries out his plan for us, and who he chooses to lead us. Just as Ordinary Time is far from ordinary, what made Gerry and Aniceto extraordinary was that in so many ways they were so very ordinary. Their story is the story of hundreds of people like them who live here in Utah. Perhaps their greatest legacy will be that they helped so many people to be like them. And that can only make our community stronger. Maybe we’ll fill the hole they’ve left us with the people they’ve left behind. Maybe we’ll fill it with ourselves.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Humble Pie
22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time
Cycle C
Sir 3:17-18,20, 28-29
Heb 12:18-19,22-24a
Lk 14:1,7-14
“Ever since you became a deacon, you’ve been a pompous jerk! I’ve had it with you and I’ve had it with St. Mary’s!” Actually, the language used was a bit saltier, but you get the idea. And that was the nicest thing he said.
Wow, I was stunned. All I could do was sit there and stare at the phone after he hung up on me. This was from one of my oldest and closest friends, and I was completely blindsided. Months and months of anger had just come rushing out. I became indignant. “I’m the jerk? I’m the jerk? All I’ve ever been is a good friend to you. Where do you get off talking to me like that? You’ve blown everything out of proportion. It’s you who’s out of line.” Then, after I’d cooled down a bit, I was magnanimous and understanding. “He’s been having a hard time lately. He’s probably having a bad day. I’ll give him a bit of time and then he’ll call back and apologize.” Then, as the conversation played itself over and over again in my mind, I figured, “You know, he may be right.” A lot of times I do act arrogantly. A lot of times I do think that being a deacon is special, that I know everything, and I’m sure that attitude comes out. And that is not what being a deacon is all about. It’s not what being a friend is all about. It’s not what being a Christian is all about. Finally, I was struck by shame and guilt, and saw things through his eyes. And I was sorry; very, very sorry.
It’s hard to be humble. It’s not how most of us were raised, and it’s not how we are taught to act by society. The meek shall inherit the earth. Right. Tell that to the shy kid on the playground who everyone picks on. Or tell that to the woman who just got passed over for promotion because a coworker was more aggressive. We’re taught to be self-sufficient, self-reliant, proud of our accomplishments. Some people just seem to have it, though. We can’t pin it down exactly, but we know it when we see it, just as we recognize arrogance and pride when we see it. We often pass it off as shyness or insecurity, and sometimes it is, but true humility is a sign of great strength.
Humility is not what you do, it’s what you are. It’s not a character trait that you can cultivate, it’s the attitude you have based upon how you view yourself in relation to other people. Humility is all about relationships. How we view ourselves in relation with others. Including God. Who’s in charge? Who’s the master and who’s the servant?
In a competitive society it’s especially hard to be humble. And we’re taught from an early age to “love ourselves”. There’s even a song about that. And most times we don’t act on it consciously. We don’t ever want to be seen as arrogant, and we can work hard at being humble, but if our attitude towards other people is one of superiority, if we don’t see ourselves as being servants of others rather than masters, that will come out in how we treat other people. It’s all about how we see ourselves and other people. And everyone can sense it, for good or for evil.
Every now and then we get a smackdown, right between the eyes, usually from those closest to us. Most of the time we don’t even realize that we’re hurting others by the little things we say, or by our indifference to other people’s situations, but they remember every slight and dig, real or imagined. And sometimes it all blows up in your face and you lose a friend. When that happens you have a choice to make: you can get all worked up yourself and blame it all on the other person, or you can calmly take stock of your life and humbly try to see if maybe they have a point. Those smackdowns can have great value if they shock us into seeing ourselves as we truly are and lead us to do something to change our attitudes.
The greatest act of humility is repentance. You cannot be the master and ask someone for forgiveness. You cannot be arrogantly sorry. In order to ask for forgiveness you must subjugate yourself and your ego to the other. You have to dig deep within yourself and be truly honest in your assessment of your behavior. That’s what it means to be sincere. And once you see how you have hurt the other, you have to swallow your pride and ask for forgiveness, knowing full well that you may be rejected.
When we ask for forgiveness we are completely vulnerable. We are literally putting our heart in the other person’s hand, hoping that it won’t be stomped on, hoping we won’t be rejected. And sometimes we are. And even though we might think, “Well, God has forgiven me”, it still hurts, sometimes for years, sometimes for a lifetime.
Jesus told Peter that we must forgive our brother seventy times seven. What we must also do is repent seventy times seven. Just as we are called to forgive, we are also called to ask for forgiveness. I tell young parents that the most important thing they can do for their children is to forgive them. From the very beginning, forgive them. If only once do they come to you and say they’re sorry and you hesitate, or you offer some condition, or say, “I forgive you…but”, you have lost their trust. They need to trust that no matter what they do, you will accept them back. They must trust if they are to repent. They must trust in your forgiveness if they are to ever have hope. If they can’t trust in your forgiveness, how can they trust in their future spouse’s or even God’s? We all want to trust that we will be forgiven. Why wouldn’t you want people to trust in your forgiveness?
We act with humility when we forgive, just as it takes an act of humility to ask for forgiveness. Have you ever thought about how Jesus practiced humility? How could the all powerful God himself be humble? He did it by forgiving. He called everyone to repentance and then when they came to him he forgave them. Unconditionally. People trusted Jesus because he forgave. And he did more than that, he gave them proof that God forgives also. And he told us to do the same.
And so, for all the times I have acted arrogantly towards you, I am sorry.
For all the times I have acted flippantly and indifferently towards you and your situation, I am sorry.
For all the times I have used inappropriate language and jokes around you, I am sorry.
For all the times I have spoken without thinking, I am sorry.
For all the times I have not taken you seriously, I am sorry.
For all the times I have not truly listened to you, I am sorry.
For all the times I have failed to see your point of view, I am sorry.
For all the times I have thrown my authority around, I am sorry.
For all the times I have gotten on my soapbox and been holier-than-thou, I am sorry.
For all the times I have not returned your phone calls right away, I am sorry.
For all the times I’ve avoided you, I am sorry.
For all the times I have not been truthful with you, I am sorry.
For all the times I have not loved you as I should, I am sorry.
Ok, now it’s your turn.
Cycle C
Sir 3:17-18,20, 28-29
Heb 12:18-19,22-24a
Lk 14:1,7-14
“Ever since you became a deacon, you’ve been a pompous jerk! I’ve had it with you and I’ve had it with St. Mary’s!” Actually, the language used was a bit saltier, but you get the idea. And that was the nicest thing he said.
Wow, I was stunned. All I could do was sit there and stare at the phone after he hung up on me. This was from one of my oldest and closest friends, and I was completely blindsided. Months and months of anger had just come rushing out. I became indignant. “I’m the jerk? I’m the jerk? All I’ve ever been is a good friend to you. Where do you get off talking to me like that? You’ve blown everything out of proportion. It’s you who’s out of line.” Then, after I’d cooled down a bit, I was magnanimous and understanding. “He’s been having a hard time lately. He’s probably having a bad day. I’ll give him a bit of time and then he’ll call back and apologize.” Then, as the conversation played itself over and over again in my mind, I figured, “You know, he may be right.” A lot of times I do act arrogantly. A lot of times I do think that being a deacon is special, that I know everything, and I’m sure that attitude comes out. And that is not what being a deacon is all about. It’s not what being a friend is all about. It’s not what being a Christian is all about. Finally, I was struck by shame and guilt, and saw things through his eyes. And I was sorry; very, very sorry.
It’s hard to be humble. It’s not how most of us were raised, and it’s not how we are taught to act by society. The meek shall inherit the earth. Right. Tell that to the shy kid on the playground who everyone picks on. Or tell that to the woman who just got passed over for promotion because a coworker was more aggressive. We’re taught to be self-sufficient, self-reliant, proud of our accomplishments. Some people just seem to have it, though. We can’t pin it down exactly, but we know it when we see it, just as we recognize arrogance and pride when we see it. We often pass it off as shyness or insecurity, and sometimes it is, but true humility is a sign of great strength.
Humility is not what you do, it’s what you are. It’s not a character trait that you can cultivate, it’s the attitude you have based upon how you view yourself in relation to other people. Humility is all about relationships. How we view ourselves in relation with others. Including God. Who’s in charge? Who’s the master and who’s the servant?
In a competitive society it’s especially hard to be humble. And we’re taught from an early age to “love ourselves”. There’s even a song about that. And most times we don’t act on it consciously. We don’t ever want to be seen as arrogant, and we can work hard at being humble, but if our attitude towards other people is one of superiority, if we don’t see ourselves as being servants of others rather than masters, that will come out in how we treat other people. It’s all about how we see ourselves and other people. And everyone can sense it, for good or for evil.
Every now and then we get a smackdown, right between the eyes, usually from those closest to us. Most of the time we don’t even realize that we’re hurting others by the little things we say, or by our indifference to other people’s situations, but they remember every slight and dig, real or imagined. And sometimes it all blows up in your face and you lose a friend. When that happens you have a choice to make: you can get all worked up yourself and blame it all on the other person, or you can calmly take stock of your life and humbly try to see if maybe they have a point. Those smackdowns can have great value if they shock us into seeing ourselves as we truly are and lead us to do something to change our attitudes.
The greatest act of humility is repentance. You cannot be the master and ask someone for forgiveness. You cannot be arrogantly sorry. In order to ask for forgiveness you must subjugate yourself and your ego to the other. You have to dig deep within yourself and be truly honest in your assessment of your behavior. That’s what it means to be sincere. And once you see how you have hurt the other, you have to swallow your pride and ask for forgiveness, knowing full well that you may be rejected.
When we ask for forgiveness we are completely vulnerable. We are literally putting our heart in the other person’s hand, hoping that it won’t be stomped on, hoping we won’t be rejected. And sometimes we are. And even though we might think, “Well, God has forgiven me”, it still hurts, sometimes for years, sometimes for a lifetime.
Jesus told Peter that we must forgive our brother seventy times seven. What we must also do is repent seventy times seven. Just as we are called to forgive, we are also called to ask for forgiveness. I tell young parents that the most important thing they can do for their children is to forgive them. From the very beginning, forgive them. If only once do they come to you and say they’re sorry and you hesitate, or you offer some condition, or say, “I forgive you…but”, you have lost their trust. They need to trust that no matter what they do, you will accept them back. They must trust if they are to repent. They must trust in your forgiveness if they are to ever have hope. If they can’t trust in your forgiveness, how can they trust in their future spouse’s or even God’s? We all want to trust that we will be forgiven. Why wouldn’t you want people to trust in your forgiveness?
We act with humility when we forgive, just as it takes an act of humility to ask for forgiveness. Have you ever thought about how Jesus practiced humility? How could the all powerful God himself be humble? He did it by forgiving. He called everyone to repentance and then when they came to him he forgave them. Unconditionally. People trusted Jesus because he forgave. And he did more than that, he gave them proof that God forgives also. And he told us to do the same.
And so, for all the times I have acted arrogantly towards you, I am sorry.
For all the times I have acted flippantly and indifferently towards you and your situation, I am sorry.
For all the times I have used inappropriate language and jokes around you, I am sorry.
For all the times I have spoken without thinking, I am sorry.
For all the times I have not taken you seriously, I am sorry.
For all the times I have not truly listened to you, I am sorry.
For all the times I have failed to see your point of view, I am sorry.
For all the times I have thrown my authority around, I am sorry.
For all the times I have gotten on my soapbox and been holier-than-thou, I am sorry.
For all the times I have not returned your phone calls right away, I am sorry.
For all the times I’ve avoided you, I am sorry.
For all the times I have not been truthful with you, I am sorry.
For all the times I have not loved you as I should, I am sorry.
Ok, now it’s your turn.
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