How I Was Wrong About Humility

If you've been a citizen of Western Evangelical Christianity for any length of time, you're probably well familiar with the concept of humility.

"God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble."

"Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord and He shall lift you up."

"For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted."

We've all heard those verses and many more. We've also heard countless stories from the pulpit about the rewards of humility, of not thinking more of ourselves than we should.

And we've all certainly heard about the destructive consequences of pride, the antithesis of humility. So I grew up trying to be humble, doing my best to avoid having pride in my heart.

This, unsurprisingly, led to me being unable to take a compliment, even if I did something well. It led to me being unrelentingly self-deprecating, partly for the laughs but mostly due to the fear of what would happen if I let myself be proud of who I am.

But what's really funny is that at the same time I was being taught the benefits of being humble, I was also being taught the importance of certainty. Somehow, religion taught me that certainty was synonymous with faith and therefore the enemy of doubt. If I was not certain, I had doubt. If I had doubt, my faith was weak.

It seemed that those Christians with the most certainty were celebrated as the most spiritual. I grew up with the idea that spiritual maturity meant you had more answers than questions, more certainty than doubt, more faith than unbelief.

I believe we've created a very destructive idea of what it is to be a "good Christian". People are taught to think little of themselves but to have a dogmatic certainty and an unwillingness to entertain doubt when it comes to their beliefs. Does that sound like the kind of person any of us want to be around? Someone ill-equipped to engage in dialogue due to the crushing weight of their insecurities and fears, taught that what matters most is to be proven right? To have their self-worth determined by their ability to silence the honest questions of their minds?

I think I'm learning that humility and certainty cannot easily co-exist, not in this context at least. I think a large part of humility is having the courage to say "I don't know". It's not a matter of just putting myself down, it's the decision to honestly engage my doubts. Maybe real humility has more kindness for ourselves and for others. Maybe real humility has more to do with the grace that allows us to wrestle with doubt, with the God who is bigger than all our best dogma and theology, with the ability to be proud of ourselves without becoming prideful, with the tenderness and compassion to walk with hurting people who need a friend and not another Bible verse.

Maybe real humility is the ability to accept Father's extravagant love without assuming we've earned it or resisting it because we feel unworthy. As we learn to accept his boundless love and grace given without condition or restraint, I think we then begin to learn how to love in the same way. We learn to love in a way that leaves room for questions and doubts; we find ourselves willing to step outside the confines of certainty to explore the greater space of mystery and wonder.

So maybe that's a really long answer to a question you never asked, but that's what I think about humility.

The Cost of Conformity

"And I have tried but I don't fit

Into this box you call a gift
When I could be wild and free
But god forbid then you might envy me"
~ Damien Rice, "The Box"

I tend to believe there's something in most of us that craves connection with other people.  While some may be happy being hermits, completely cut off from all human interaction, I think most prefer healthy community.  Heck, most of us probably prefer unhealthy community to being alone, or so I would assume based on observation.

There's something wonderful about belonging.  There's a joy in meeting someone and hitting it off right away with them. Maybe it's bonding over a favorite sports team or TV show, or maybe a shared life experience.  The means doesn't seem to matter as much as the resulting connection.

And maybe it's our desire for connection, to fit in, to be a part of something, that sometimes leads us into dangerous places.  There are times that this desire may override our better judgment and we find ourselves compromising much about ourselves simply to be accepted.

It can be a gradual transition sometimes.  We might not even know the cost of admission until it's already been paid.  We agree to put aside our independent thought, to join in on demonizing those who are "outside", or even to change the fundamental priorities of our lives. Before we know it, we can be the ones on the "inside" who are so intent on keeping others out. Sometimes we define our belonging to something simply by who is excluded.

Those in authority, the ones who are in charge of determining exactly who does belong, know exactly how much this sense of inclusion means to people.  Even good leaders, with the best of intentions, can find themselves manipulating others by appealing to their desire to be part of a larger group such as, say, churches, to pick a totally random and not at all premeditated example.

Even if it's not vocalized, if you attend a typical congregation long enough you'll start to understand what is accepted and what is not.  It may be what clothes you wear on Sunday morning, how vocal you can be if you're a woman, or exactly what kind of theology is okay to discuss.  The pressure to conform may barely be noticeable, but even a light pressure takes its toll over time.

Although you may not like censoring yourself, or you may feel uncomfortable when those outside your congregation are disparaged, it might seem like it's worth it just to belong.  Often those in leadership (again, many times with the best of intentions) will hold up examples of those who dared to leave and the calamities that befell them once they no longer were part of the congregation.

The message is quite clear - there is a cost to being able to belong to something. That cost is conformity, and it must be paid continuously.  Your acceptance into the group is conditional and can be taken away at a moment's notice if you do not toe the line.

Yet again, I want to stress something.  I believe most people in congregations really believe this is for your own good.  And that may make it even worse.  We seem willing to treat loved ones much worse than total strangers as long as we believe we're doing it "for their own good".

And so we conform to what is expected of us, choking back our objections, dampening down our desire for healthy life-giving community, and doing our best to ignore that little voice that insists there is something much, much better available for us.  We may even work really hard to be one of the best conformers, constantly comparing ourselves to others and judging those who don't fit in as well as we do.

But, inevitably, I believe we find that even the most strenuous conforming cannot satisfy us.  We eventually realize that the cost is much too great and the payoff never seems to materialize.

So how do we finally leave this culture of conformity?  Is the only escape to be chewed up and spit out as an empty husk?  Do we just work and work and work until we burn out and then those who once championed us now point to us and judge our failure from the pulpit?  Do we try to convince ourselves that we can survive on this treadmill day after day while being painfully aware that we're not moving at all?

Between our innate desire to belong and the years of fear-based indoctrination about the dangers of straying away, what hope is there for a way out?

As is so often the case, I believe the answer is love.  I think we are loved out of conformity.  It's when we find a love greater than our fear that we find the courage to jump ship and strike out for an unseen shore.

When real belonging and acceptance is offered, the conformity counterfeit can't compare (holy alliteration Batman).  When we begin to discover the depths of Father's love for us, love that is not conditional or threatened by our doubts and questions, no amount of manipulation can hold us back.

It is incredibly freeing.  So freeing, in fact, that you may find that you become a target.

You see, the conformity-based institutions are threatened by those who have no need for them.  Simply by existing, nay, thriving, apart from the institution, you undermine the fear they use to manipulate others into conformity.

Fear knows it will ultimately be defeated by love, and so is threatened by it. Conformity knows it will lose its power if real freedom is offered as an alternative, and sadly this means that those in authority will often lash out against those who dare to revel in the freedom they've found.

And as we move out of the realm of fear and conformity, it is wise to remember that it often takes a season for detoxification.  Even though we're being won by love, our impulses may sometimes reflect other motives.  When attacked by those still in a conformity-based structure, it is tempting to lash back at them.

But as love wins us deeper into its wonderful reality, I think it's easier to let that stuff go.  Any argument driven by proving yourself right only plays right into their hands.  As difficult as it can be, often the best thing we can do is to let go of our need to be right and simply allow space for Father to demonstrate his irresistible love.

It may not always be on our timeline, but I believe tendrils of love and grace are working their way through the walls of these fear-driven, conformity-based institutional structures.

I think the cracks are starting to show.

Life, uh, finds a way. :)