Humility - the Ladder to Heaven

Homily for the Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

In one of his sermons, St. Bernard of Clairvaux imagines the Pharisee and the tax collector as two men setting out on a spiritual journey — both entering the temple, both praying, but each taking a very different path. The readings for today’s liturgy invite us to accompany them on that journey. The Pharisee begins with confidence, but his pride becomes a burden. He’s weighed down by self-righteousness, comparing himself to others, and boasting of his deeds. St. Bernard suggests that this traveler never truly leaves himself. He remains stuck in the Temple, circling his own ego. The Tax Collector, on the other hand, begins low — bowed, contrite, aware of his sin. But his humility becomes wings – wings that transport him to the Temple in heaven and into God’s presence. St. Bernard says that he ascends, not by his own merit, but by the mercy of God. His prayer is simple, but it pierces the heavens.

The reading from the Book of Sirach uses that phrase as a powerful metaphor. He writes: “The prayer of the lowly pierces the clouds.” Imagine your prayers ascending to heaven and breaking through the clouds of judgment, guilt and anxiety that sometimes make it difficult to remember that God truly loves us. While the tax collector beats his breast and repeats his act of contrition over and over, his prayer empowers him to ascend to the heavens.

If I had to pick a favorite psalm, it would definitely be Psalm 34, which the lectionary provides as our response to the reading from Sirach. Verse one of the psalm tells us that David composed it “when he feigned madness before Abimelech, who drove him out and he went away.” This line always causes me to chuckle because David feigned madness before Achish, not Abimelech. Apparently one of the monks who copied this manuscript made a mistake. Shame on him.

However, that tiny error doesn’t change the content of the psalm. I remember praying it shortly after a doctor told me that I was losing my hearing and could not guarantee that someday I would be profoundly deaf. As I listened to the doctor, my eyes began to fill with tears. I had never been so afraid before. However, as I prayed this psalm one day, I got to verse five and was suddenly unable to go any further, for that verse says: “I sought the Lord, and he answered me, delivered me from all my fears.” Once I recovered from this surprise, I reached verses eighteen and nineteen and was stopped again: “The righteous cry out, the LORD hears and he rescues them from all their afflictions. The LORD is close to the brokenhearted, saves those whose spirit is crushed.” What a powerful moment that was for me. I have since prayed this psalm every day as I wake up. Psalm 34 has been my companion as I make my way through life. I have clung to it, and even now, though hearing is a challenge, I hear enough to celebrate the Eucharist with you — and that, too, is a grace. Even if one day I lose my hearing completely, I know that God will remain close to me in that moment.

St. Paul tells us of one of his challenges in the second reading from his Second Letter to Timothy, the day that he was arraigned before a judge and condemned for his preaching. “At my first defense no one appeared on my behalf, but everyone deserted me… But the Lord stood by me and gave me strength, so that through me the proclamation might be completed and all the Gentiles might hear it. And I was rescued from the lion's mouth. The Lord will rescue me from every evil threat and will bring me safe to his heavenly kingdom.” His experience brings Sirach’s words to life: “The one who serves God willingly is heard; his petition reaches the heavens.” Humility wins again; boasting accomplishes nothing.

Sirach, David, St. Paul, St. Bernard and Jesus all teach the same lesson. Humility is the ladder to heaven. God hears the humble (Sirach, Psalm 34). God strengthens the weak (Timothy). God justifies the contrite (Luke). God lifts up the lowly (Bernard). The Scriptures today invite all of us to enter the Temple with these two men. Which one will you stand beside? Both of them speak to God, but only one leaves justified.

What does this mean to us? It means that God is not looking for perfect prayers — He’s looking for honest ones. It means that the way up is down; that humility is not weakness, but strength; that the heart bowed low is the heart God lifts high. It means that when we pray, we must leave comparison behind. We must stop measuring ourselves against others, and start measuring ourselves against mercy. It means that the temple — the place of encounter — is open to all. But only the humble enter fully and leave justified and blessed.