The Not-So-Secret Path to Humility
After years of practice, I have developed a quite sophisticated approach to achieving deep-seated humility. It is a cycle I have repeated so many times that I can recite it now for you from memory.
It begins, ironically enough, with success. I do something well at work, perhaps direct a project or prepare a memo that allows my company to, in some small way, move forward in its effort to achieve its goals. I am rightly recognized for my significant contribution, and lauded for my excellent work. In response, rather than give thanks to the Giver of all good things, I grow proud.
From this point on, the outcome is predetermined.
The next step is to place me in a situation where my opinion might be sought or my help might be needed in another application. Mindful of my superior contribution in the last effort, I am prepared to make my opinion known robustly. I anticipate everyone will be eager to hear my thoughts. After all, I reason, they are still mindful of the Great Management Resources Allocation Memo of August 22. The glow of that effort only faded enough that they can now gaze upon my visage without the need of smoked glass, certain as they are that they are about to witness lightning striking twice, I presume.
But something happens. I render my opinion, yet the crowds do not fall prostrate to my brilliance. They do not suspend action to marvel at my insight. In fact, they continue talking and discussing, almost as if I hadn’t even spoken! Surprised, but undaunted by this seeming setback, I simply wait for another opportunity to express my thoughts when the assembled crowd might not be so pre-occupied with the severity of the issue that they miss the simplicity of my solution. The opportunity comes and the advice – solicited or unsolicited, it doesn’t matter – is proffered, yet the same lack of response is loudly emitted.
This is a critical juncture in the effort to humility. If I were to choose a spiritually mature response, I would simply step onto the humility tram, admit my inadequacies, thank God for his grace and the opportunity to begin anew, and arrive safely at Humble City no worse for the wear. But such a trip would be too dull for my tastes. Instead, I choose a much more dangerous path, one fraught with excitement, uncertainty and the inevitable exhilaration of public embarrassment. I turn inward, and convince myself that I am right and “they” are wrong. It is a simple construct, yet it is effective in restoring my fragile ego. Sincere in my belief that “they” are fools, I see “them” demonstrate their wrongness again and again. Expecting to see foolish behaviors, I imagine I see them in abundance. While their actions may have a basis in a brilliant strategy, from my vantage point, I see only idiocy. I grow more convinced of my right-ness and grow so self-righteous in my own mind that I can barely see the benefits of even working with these inept dolts.
The next step varies by tactic, but the result is always the same. I achieve humility forcefully – with a loud and public “thud.” I may gossip to someone about how a certain manager is unfit for his role, not realizing how quickly that word will get back to the manager in question. I may sniff in a meeting that the recommended action is clearly folly, only to have everyone stare at me blankly, wondering what life is like on my planet. I may deem the project unnecessary and so neglect to perform my role on the team, resulting in everyone easily recognizing how my obstinance is jeopardizing the entire effort.
Too late, I realize that, even if “they” are less than perfect, I have made the situation far worse. Now I feel really bad. I realize how I have let others down because I was so caught up in my own story and lost their trust and respect. But mostly I feel bad because I have fallen so far from the standard that Jesus set for His followers. I am now a full-time resident of Humble City. This time, however, I have arrived battered and hurt.
The amazing thing about this is that I was reading 2 Chronicles the other day (some people drop names of executives they’ve met with, I drop Old Testament book names) and found my story. Except it happened to Hezekiah. Here was a guy who just kept doing good things for God. Example after example of good and Godly works. But late in his life, when he should be resting in the knowledge of his time in God’s good graces, he misses the opportunity to give thanks to God for his healing. (2 Chron 32:15-26)
But Hezekiah gave no return for the benefit he received, because his heart was proud; therefore wrath came on him and on Judah and Jerusalem. However, Hezekiah humbled the pride of his heart, both he and the inhabitants of Jerusalem, so that the wrath of the LORD did not come on them in the days of Hezekiah.
Fortunately, Hezekiah realizes his pride, repents and humbles himself.
If it can happen to Hezekiah, why should I be surprised that my story is any different?
What’s your story?
It begins, ironically enough, with success. I do something well at work, perhaps direct a project or prepare a memo that allows my company to, in some small way, move forward in its effort to achieve its goals. I am rightly recognized for my significant contribution, and lauded for my excellent work. In response, rather than give thanks to the Giver of all good things, I grow proud.
From this point on, the outcome is predetermined.
The next step is to place me in a situation where my opinion might be sought or my help might be needed in another application. Mindful of my superior contribution in the last effort, I am prepared to make my opinion known robustly. I anticipate everyone will be eager to hear my thoughts. After all, I reason, they are still mindful of the Great Management Resources Allocation Memo of August 22. The glow of that effort only faded enough that they can now gaze upon my visage without the need of smoked glass, certain as they are that they are about to witness lightning striking twice, I presume.
But something happens. I render my opinion, yet the crowds do not fall prostrate to my brilliance. They do not suspend action to marvel at my insight. In fact, they continue talking and discussing, almost as if I hadn’t even spoken! Surprised, but undaunted by this seeming setback, I simply wait for another opportunity to express my thoughts when the assembled crowd might not be so pre-occupied with the severity of the issue that they miss the simplicity of my solution. The opportunity comes and the advice – solicited or unsolicited, it doesn’t matter – is proffered, yet the same lack of response is loudly emitted.
This is a critical juncture in the effort to humility. If I were to choose a spiritually mature response, I would simply step onto the humility tram, admit my inadequacies, thank God for his grace and the opportunity to begin anew, and arrive safely at Humble City no worse for the wear. But such a trip would be too dull for my tastes. Instead, I choose a much more dangerous path, one fraught with excitement, uncertainty and the inevitable exhilaration of public embarrassment. I turn inward, and convince myself that I am right and “they” are wrong. It is a simple construct, yet it is effective in restoring my fragile ego. Sincere in my belief that “they” are fools, I see “them” demonstrate their wrongness again and again. Expecting to see foolish behaviors, I imagine I see them in abundance. While their actions may have a basis in a brilliant strategy, from my vantage point, I see only idiocy. I grow more convinced of my right-ness and grow so self-righteous in my own mind that I can barely see the benefits of even working with these inept dolts.
The next step varies by tactic, but the result is always the same. I achieve humility forcefully – with a loud and public “thud.” I may gossip to someone about how a certain manager is unfit for his role, not realizing how quickly that word will get back to the manager in question. I may sniff in a meeting that the recommended action is clearly folly, only to have everyone stare at me blankly, wondering what life is like on my planet. I may deem the project unnecessary and so neglect to perform my role on the team, resulting in everyone easily recognizing how my obstinance is jeopardizing the entire effort.
Too late, I realize that, even if “they” are less than perfect, I have made the situation far worse. Now I feel really bad. I realize how I have let others down because I was so caught up in my own story and lost their trust and respect. But mostly I feel bad because I have fallen so far from the standard that Jesus set for His followers. I am now a full-time resident of Humble City. This time, however, I have arrived battered and hurt.
The amazing thing about this is that I was reading 2 Chronicles the other day (some people drop names of executives they’ve met with, I drop Old Testament book names) and found my story. Except it happened to Hezekiah. Here was a guy who just kept doing good things for God. Example after example of good and Godly works. But late in his life, when he should be resting in the knowledge of his time in God’s good graces, he misses the opportunity to give thanks to God for his healing. (2 Chron 32:15-26)
But Hezekiah gave no return for the benefit he received, because his heart was proud; therefore wrath came on him and on Judah and Jerusalem. However, Hezekiah humbled the pride of his heart, both he and the inhabitants of Jerusalem, so that the wrath of the LORD did not come on them in the days of Hezekiah.
Fortunately, Hezekiah realizes his pride, repents and humbles himself.
If it can happen to Hezekiah, why should I be surprised that my story is any different?
What’s your story?
posted by Tom Petersen at 9:10 PM
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