A Lesson in Humility

Homily for the Twenty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time

One tradition in the Hebrew scriptures, especially in the wisdom literature, frequently highlights the irony of inverted expectations. Thus, Jesus Ben Sira teaches that love is experienced in giving, rather than receiving; that greatness is revealed in humility; that wisdom is a better listener than talker. The Psalms tell us that God becomes the dwelling of the homeless, the liberty of prisoners, and refreshing rain for dry hearts.

The Letter to the Hebrews has the same tinge of paradox. While many might think God is as unapproachable as the highest mountain, or an all-consuming furnace of rage, or an abyss of impenetrable darkness, or a booming voice so terrible one might wish it had never been heard, the God of the Letter to the Hebrews is a loving parent. Fear of the Lord does not mean when  we use that word to describe our feelings in a scary situation. Fear of the Lord is simply standing in awe of God’s goodness. God’s mountain is Zion, full of life, bright with light, ringing with festivity. God’s sound is the voice of Jesus, through whom our maimed limbs will become whole again.

Luke’s Jesus is fully a child of this oral tradition of paradoxical reversals that so often appears in the Scriptures. His own wisdom teaching, offered at a banquet of elite lawyers and pharisees, actually draws upon the advice in Proverbs 25:7 – that it is better to be invited, “‘Come up here,’ than be humiliated in the presence of the prince.” Jesus’ own parable portrays people seeking the place of honor who are eventually asked to move, now blushing, to a lower place.

This seems like a bit of advice from Dale Carnegie on how to win friends and influence people: If you want to look good, put on the mask of humility. However, it is clear that Jesus is not offering mere courtly etiquette. He is talking about an existential reality. Those who exalt themselves, whether covertly or openly, will be humbled, and all who humble themselves shall be exalted.

It is not only guests who have the problem of ego-enhancement. The host does too. Elite house parties, whether hosted in Greek and Roman times or in our own day, are honored by the best and brightest who attend. Such worldly wisdom is reversed by Jesus as well. It is better, Jesus says, that we invite the unwanted and discarded to our dinners and be happy when they cannot repay us, for our payment will be in heaven.

This poses a still deeper paradox. Is Jesus suggesting that we act humbly only for the reason that we might be exalted? Is he advising us to use the poor as our stepping stone to heaven’s highest places?

No, Jesus is speaking to a group of people who have set traps to catch him, who seem to understand only the logic of self-enhancement. Even on their own terms, their tactics are self-defeating. No matter what tactic of self-promotion they try, they will fail.

Pretending to be the least will not yield greatness in the kingdom of heaven. Luke is not presenting a stratagem to win approval. He is describing again something already expressed by Mary herself in her “Magnificat,” in the first chapter of this Gospel. God routs the proud of heart, dethrones the worldly prince, and exalts the lowly. In such matters, faking it will not do the trick.

This principle is inherent to the Sacrament of the Eucharist. Jesus did not choose a lavish banquet through which to offer himself to us. Although the Eucharist is a “Thanksgiving banquet,” the table of the Lord is not laden with our favorite foods. Rather, Jesus chose the basic elements of the Hebrew diet; namely, unleavened bread and wine. The church has chosen to complete this heavenly banquet by adding water to the wine, a practice that was practiced in the time of Jesus. Jesus comes to us humbly in an unknown unleavened wafer and thereby illustrates true humility for all of us.

(John Kavanaugh, SJ, is the author of most of this homily.)