"Half of the harm that is done in this world is due to people who want to feel important." T.S. Eliot
I would love to think I am an observant person, but I know I am not. At least not by nature. I can pay attention when I want to. I am punctilious when it comes to finances and balancing my checkbook. I once had a parishioner who was a retired banker.
He said, “When I worked at the bank, every teller had to balance out at the end of the day to the penny. Now if they’re within ten bucks, they’re satisfied.”
It drove him nuts. It would bug me no end, too. It isn’t that I am perfect. Far from it. But if there is an error, I like to know where it is. I don’t mind correcting mistakes, and am always perplexed by folks who cannot admit to their own errors or limitations. There’s nothing wrong with being human.
Being human means we don’t know everything. I sometimes mis-speak. I sometimes lose my place. I was covering for our priest last Sunday while he was away, and as I was engaged in conducting the Mass, I lost my place. I’ve been doing this for forty years, but suddenly, my mind wandered for a split second as I elevated either the bread or the wine, and as I set it back on the altar, closing my eyes whilst reverencing God, I found myself lost in the mystery of it all.
I opened my eyes and that etch-a-sketch I call my brain was blank! I looked at the altar missal and couldn’t remember if I had lifted the bread or the wine. I couldn’t remember if I had been reciting the prayer from the left or the right hand page or from which paragraph I’d been working, or where on the page I’d been reading! I was flummoxed, baffled, and bewildered.
Bewildered. What a wonderful word. I was lost in the wilds of our worship. I was also thoroughly embarrassed to have this many years of experience and to find myself so lost in the liturgy, even if only for a moment. Swallowing my pride, I simply picked up where I’m sure I left off, and “got ‘er done, dude” as the Duke might have phrased it.
Life goes on. I don’t know of anyone who wants to see perfection in their neighbor. Those who act perfect are truly acting. Those who look so sharp or lovely on the outside are often just as goofed up on the inside as the rest of us mere mortals.
Humility isn’t about being “less than,” of course. It is about being “right sized” (as a friend explains it). Maybe I can’t do everything, but I can do something. I can’t do everything perfectly, but I can do what I can do to the best of my ability. Humility, it is said, is not about mediocrity. It is somewhat ironic that both pride and humility, properly understood, are about feeling good with the results of what one has done. We don’t want to confuse pride with arrogance, nor do we want to confuse humility with worthlessness.
Sometimes people wonder what God’s plan for them is. I’ll admit I don’t belong to that school of thought. I don’t believe God has a specific plan written up for each and every one of us. I don’t believe God works that way. I believe God is sometimes absolutely shocked by some of the things we say and do to one another.
I do not believe God witnesses domestic abuse, children and teachers shot and killed in school, hostages murdered by terrorists, and assorted acts of genocide, famine, and warfare taking place across this globe, and then responding, “Right on time. I love it when a plan comes together.”
What I do believe is that we are created in the image of the Divine, called to love and care for one another and the planet we inhabit, and work to relieve suffering, ensure domestic tranquility, strive for justice, and leave the earth a better place than when we arrived. IF there is a “God’s plan,” then I would suggest that might be it.
Of course, that’s just my humble opinion here in this, our valley.
Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)
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