A few months ago, I got the
great idea to learn how to play the violin. I grew up playing a little bit of
piano and trumpet; I sang in the choir in high school and in seminary, so I’m pretty familiar
with reading music. And so I figured, how hard could the violin really be? So
I got a hold of a violin, and realized pretty quickly that if I was going to
progress in this instrument, I was going to need to take some lessons: I didn’t
even know if I was holding the thing correctly.
And I have to admit, those first few violin lessons, were
very humbling. I admitted to my violin teacher that I was a bit uncomfortable: you know, a grown adult, a priest, several college degrees, and I could barely get
through “Mary Had a Little Lamb” without the violin sounding like I was
torturing some poor cat.
Now, several months later, I’ve progressed a little. Father
Klasinski may disagree, but it doesn’t quite sound like I’m tormenting small
animals in my room when I practice. But, I really have to admit, those first
few weeks, were very humbling, and very uncomfortable. The violin didn’t care
about my degrees, about the time I spent visiting the sick, or teaching in the
classroom. And to sit with this professional violin player was kind of embarrassing.
I felt like a little child.
But, I’m so glad I risked a little embarrassment, because
now I’m able to enjoy practicing and playing one of my favorite musical
instruments.
You may have had a similar experience: learning a new
language, a new skill, always involves a little bit of humiliation. But when we
willingly undergo that humiliation, that makes all the difference. One wonders
if there can be any real growth without humiliation—we have to be willing to
become like little children.
Sometimes I think little children are much more courageous than
adults. They don’t worry about what people think of them, they just engage. They’ll
try new things because they look fun. They play without self-regard. They
quickly make new friends—they are able to do things that many adults would be
humiliated over doing—but that’s the key to their joy isn’t it…not fearing
humiliation.
Not only is this true in making a new friend, learning a new
skill, enjoying a new hobby, facing humiliation is also important for new
growth in the spiritual life.
Would we honor Saint Francis as a great Saint if he had
allowed his fears of what others thought of him to control his life? If he
worried about being considered “overly religious”? Or Saint Clare? What if she
let social pressures keep her from leaving behind her family wealth to pursue
radical holiness. Or St. Paul, what if he had left his fear of unknown lands
keep him from his missionary journeys. So many of the great Saints risk
humiliation, they risk failure, they risk mockery, in order to pursue true
greatness.
I think this fear is why many of our young people do not
consider entering the religious life or going to the seminary. What will they
think of me if I joined the monastery. But, I think each of us, in the
Christian life, have to ask ourselves, do we want to be great in the eyes of
the world, or in the eyes of God?
I pray that fear of the unknown, this fear of humiliation,
the fear of being considered “overly religious” -- does not keep anyone here from
joining the choir or becoming a Eucharistic minister or volunteering your time
in charitable service.
In today’s Gospel of the Pharisee and the tax collector,
Jesus praises the humility of the tax collector while denouncing the arrogance
of the Pharisee. The Pharisee was unwilling to humble himself before God. The
Pharisee goes into the Temple, but the words he offers are more of an exercise
in self-congratulation than prayer.
Real prayer, the prayer of the tax collector, is like
learning that musical instrument, learning that new language, that new skill,
it’s about making ourselves vulnerable before God, recognizing that before God,
I’m a child, I barely know how to walk, to talk, stand.
Some people say, they don’t like to pray because they really
don’t know how to pray. Wonderful. That’s the first step! That’s the right
attitude! In the Gospel, Jesus condemns those who just sort of babble, who
offer this long list of prayers without having the right disposition of heart.
The Pharisee failed to pray because he maintained this shell
of pride around his heart. He thought that prayer was standing up in the temple
and talking about how great he was, instead of kneeling like the tax collector
and recognizing how great God is.
You can see it in the difference in the postures of the two
men. The Pharisee stands proud, arrogant, the tax collector kneels, doesn’t
even lift his head to heaven, he beats his breast praying, “O God, be merciful
to me a sinner”. Be merciful to me. Have mercy. We say those words at the
beginning of every Mass. Lord, have mercy. We begin Mass with those words so
that we may have a true posture of prayer throughout the whole Mass.
It’s not easy to admit that we are sinners. It requires to
break the shell of our pride. That’s why I love that gesture of beating the breast
during the Confiteor and first Eucharistic prayer: it’s like breaking down the
barrier I’ve placed between my heart and God’s heart.
As hard as it is, as hard as it is to go Sacramental
Confession after a particularly embarrassing sin, humbling ourselves before God
is often the beginning of something great. Humility allows God’s power to begin
to change us, fill us, and bring us true joy.
Jesus’ ended the parable by teaching, “for whoever exalts
himself will be humbled, and the one who humbles himself will be exalted.” The
Christian who recognizes his need for God’s mercy, shall receive that mercy;
while those who go throughout life convinced of their own self-righteousness,
shall be humbled when Christ returns as judge. There can be no spiritual growth
without humility, there can be no salvation without recognizing one’s need for
a savior.
As Jesus comes to us again today, in word and sacrament, may
our posture before him be that of the humble tax collector, and may that
posture of humility be the beginning of new spiritual growth, a flowering of
new spiritual gifts, a new chapter of service for the glory of God and
salvation of souls.
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