The shaded box below is taken from Richard Foster’s book, Learning Humility, which some of us are studying at my church. We will meet the next five Wednesday evenings at 6 PM in the parlor—and via Zoom. If this writing resonates with you, it’s still not too late to join our class.
Do nothing out of selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves—Philippians 2:3 [NRSV].
I really hate to take issue with one of the great saints of the church, Bernard of Clairvaux. It is his well-known definition of humility that rankles me a bit. He wrote, “Humility is a virtue by which a man has a low opinion of himself because he knows himself well.” The phrase, “a low opinion of himself,” is what is hard for me to swallow. No doubt I am reacting to the long history of worm theology that has done so much damage in our day. And, of course, the modern psychological concern for a healthy self-esteem is an important factor also.
Likely I am not so much taking issue with the good doctor as I am trying to translate him into our contemporary context. If I can reinterpret just a bit, I think Bernard is trying to get at the importance of being able to enter into an accurate assessment of who we really are. This is the point of his underscoring the need to know ourselves well. I appreciate this phrase. And knowing ourselves well does indeed bring us down close to the earth: humus. [1]
I think this short blurb says much about what it means to be humble—and what it doesn’t.
Humility is not about shaming ourselves as being unworthy but rather seeing ourselves as we truly are.
This definition brings to my mind lyrics from a song by Brian McLaren:
We will not pretend to be better than we are.
We will not hide our failures or cover up our scars.
If we’re honest, we do a lot of pretending to be “better (or, maybe in the context of humility, worse) than we are” and “covering up our scars.” We wear “masks” to hide the true us from others—and even from God. We fear that: “If they knew the real me, they would reject me.”
To give an example, I personally struggle with criticism of things I do—e.g., of my writing. I tend to receive any criticism as: “Alan, you are not good enough.” It’s the shaming voice of the Enemy, I know, but it’s hard for me not to internalize it and take it personally.
For someone who thinks of themselves as both a writer and a prophet—two “callings” where critique and rejection are commonplace—it makes it hard to fully embrace who I believe God calls me to be. Instead, I usually “play it safe,” keeping most of my thoughts to myself, quietly editing and writing for NASA for over 20 years, and publishing occasionally on my blog or in a church newsletter or other venue. In those settings, the chances of critique and rejection are considerably reduced—though not nonexistent. Any time we choose to “go public” with even the smallest part of ourselves, we’re bound to receive feedback—not all of which will be positive.
While I’ve occasionally ventured out from these controlled settings, for the most part, I tend to speak my voice in settings that are familiar, comfortable—and where I’m reasonably certain that what I say will be accepted.
But that’s not me being humble, that’s me living in fear.
That’s me not trusting in who God is—and who God has made me to be. Scripture reminds me that God’s perfect love drives out fear (1 John 4:18) and I want to believe; but if I’m honest, I also struggle with unbelief (Mark 9:24)—which is a thoroughly human response. But as consequence of my choice to “play it safe” I settle for less than all I could be in Christ, and I’m not quite sure how to break the stalemate and break through to fully embrace my true self.
What about you? What thoughts do Foster’s words stir within you?
What does it look like for you to be humble—to come down to earth, to honestly assess who you are before God?
[1] From Learning Humility: A Year of Searching for a Vanishing Virtue (InterVaristy Press, 2022), Chapter 4, p. 42.
