Rebuilding Humility on the Jersey Shore

In the last few blog posts I have been thinking about humility, the lack of it in our culture and in ourselves, the importance of it when we find it.  Granted, humility is not the most popular topic to write about, but here's one more thing to say about it.

Last week, I went on a working mission trip to help with the long rebuilding of the New Jersey shore from hurricane Sandy which devastated the area over a year ago.  We stayed in a Presbyterian Church in Point Pleasant and were absolutely amazed by their hospitality and the great lengths this congregation has gone to feed and house volunteer groups week after week. Thank you, people of Point Pleasant Presbyterian Church.

This was my first experience with a mission trip of this nature.  I am a musician, a thinker, a reader, a preacher, a writer, a listener---but rebuilding a house is not one of my strong suits. Yet, here I was, ready to serve, convinced by fellow members in my congregation that there would be something I could do.

And there was!  Primarily as a learner.  This is where the humility part comes in.  For four of the five days I was down there I was on the painting crew.  Now, I have painted in my own home and done a passable job.  But here in Point Pleasant I was working with a volunteer who is a professional painter!  He is also retired from being a high school principal, so he knows how to teach and administrate.  Out on the work site he was teaching me the craft of painting.

You may wonder how much one needs to know in order to paint. You would be surprised. Thoughout the week he would walk by, observe what I was doing (or not doing) and ask in his quiet way, "May I offer a suggestion?"  Of course, I would answer with a yes.  And then he would tell me more about how to hold a brush, the best way to roll the paint on the wall, in what order to paint a paneled door, how to edge the trim and much more.  Sometimes when I heard "May I offer a suggestion?" I would be momentarily disappointed; it meant that I was still not doing something right!  That's where some humility needed to come in; it takes humility to be a learner.  As the week progressed, I  began to value each new painting tip I learned.  I was doing better work for the people we were serving and someday I would be doing better work in my own home.

But I also learned to value the question itself.  My painting coach didn't come to me and tell me how to do something.  Instead, he very simply asked if he could suggest something, which I think implies a respectful way to teach, more of an invitation.  For the learning to continue, I would need to agree to my own learning.  By answering "yes" I accept the invitation and become a participant in the process, not just an object to be corrected.  It appears to be a more humble way to teach.  What would he have done if I said, no?  I didn't test that.  My guess is he would simply have shrugged his shoulders and said calmly, "Okay, let me know when I can help."

It seems to me that Jesus' preferred way of teaching was also by invitation: he invited people into ways of being participants in the kingdom of God. He did this by telling stories like the one about the Samaritan who crossed the road to help an injured stranger or by suggesting metaphors like being "salt" and "light" in the world to describe how our living can make a difference to others.  Hopefully we answer "yes" on most days. Teaching, learning, rebuilding on the Jersey shore and being a  follower of Jesus happen best when accompanied by a sprinkling of humility.

Humility in the face of all saints

Tomorrow we celebrate All Saints Day, although technically the festival of All Saints was November 1.  We Lutherans are not very good at going to mid-week services, so we postpone the celebration until Sunday. This year the list of our congregation's saints who have died and entered the "church triumphant" is especially long.  In fact, it is heart-rending.  We will read their names in our prayers of the church and a bell will toll after each name is read.  The bell tolls deep.  We miss their faithful presence.

In my last two posts here and  here, I have written, reflected and wrestled with humility...or the lack thereof. I told you I would let you know if I found it.  I have.

On October 30, a congregation member died suddenly.  Over the past few days I have been preparing for the All Saints Day message in which I have reflected on the gifts of the ten brothers and sisters who have died in the Lord this past year.  But I have also begun preparing for the funeral of this faithful and beloved sister in Christ who has most recently departed and whose name will be read last tomorrow.  It is fair to say that I have been humbled.

There is a tendency for many to say only good things about the one who has died as if we have to prove that they are worthy of God's notice.   As if we will jinx their future or dishonor their memory if we admit some of the ways that they may have failed us.  What short shrift we give God's graciousness and forgiveness!

Nevertheless, I am humbled when I hear of the gracious things my departed brothers and sisters have done that I have known nothing about.  When I discover that they, quietly and behind the scenes, have been serving their neighbor (and therefore the Lord) in ways that few people know about, I can only describe my response as humility. How much they had to teach me and I didn't know.  Perhaps I didn't  know about it because I wasn't listening carefully with enough of my own humility. I also suspect, though, that they didn't care about the "left hand knowing what the right hand was doing."  There is something about many in the passing generation that doesn't need to be praised, that knows we do what is right and loving because we can (by God's grace), not because anyone is looking.

And so I now name humility as a frequent part of the generation that preceded me. If that is true, then I only have a few more years to learn from them.  Or perhaps humility is  the final stage of development for any generation that is entering their last years.  Maybe I too will do things with humility by the time I am 85. Nevertheless, I know this: I still have a lot to learn about walking humbly with one's God.  And every time I preside at a funeral, the more I realize time is running out for what I have yet to learn.