The Pattern of Humility
Preached at Dickey Memorial Presbyterian Church on November 19, 2023.
Scripture
Philippians 2:1-13 (NRSVUE)
If, then, there is any comfort in Christ, any consolation from love, any partnership in the Spirit, any tender affection and sympathy, make my joy complete: be of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from selfish ambition or empty conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests but to the interests of others. Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,
who, though he existed in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God
as something to be grasped,
but emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave,
assuming human likeness.
And being found in appearance as a human,
he humbled himself
and became obedient to the point of death—
even death on a cross.
Therefore God exalted him even more highly
and gave him the name
that is above every other name,
so that at the name given to Jesus
every knee should bend,
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue should confess
that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.
Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence but much more now in my absence, work on your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for his good pleasure.
Sermon
If you haven’t heard yet, Lynn and Judy have both made some exciting decisions lately, and are both picking up their lives and moving to Charlestown. Once they move, they’ll be glowing from the manicures and yoga and maybe even a few handsome widowers.
But as I suspect everyone here knows, moving can be the absolute worst, especially if you’re doing it on your own. One of the things that is especially challenging is seeing all the memories of a physical space. “That was my favorite spot to cozy up with a good book.” Or “That was the room where I recovered from COVID,” or “I got a life-changing phone call at that kitchen table.” Sometimes, the challenge is just getting rid of stuff. “I spent good money on that box-VHS set, I’d hate for it to go unwatched.” “It took me forever to clean that couch when I got it, why should I get rid of it?” When we make those decisions, there’s something inside us that starts going off. There’s almost a sense of indignation, a feeling that it’s not entirely fair or right to get rid of something or sell it.
It might be even easier to see these feelings for those who are affected by hoarding behaviors or disorders. It’s not uncommon in pastoral ministry to see circumstances where people live in unhealthy and frightening living conditions due to its mental health challenges. Even when someone sees the need to address their behaviors and start removing debris, the feelings come out sideways. What if I need this broken chair? I can still wear these contaminated blouses. Or someone else can use these. Those are real feelings, deep feelings, debilitating feelings.
But in all of these situations–downsizing, moving, treatment for hoarding behaviors–the solution is counterintuitive. Yes, that stack of old paperback books can still bring joy to someone, but will it lead you to a happier living situation? Or a healthier environment? Or a better move? Of course not. The answer is to give it away with gratitude. Yes, you spent a lot of money on that broken lighting fixture, but will you ever fix it? Or will someone else ever buy it? Or will you ever use it? Probably not. The answer is to grieve those well-intentioned plans and let it go.
That “letting go,” of something valuable, even when it’s rightly yours, is a little bit like humility. Even though you spent good money for it, and it’s “not fair” that someone is taking it for free, that’s a little bit of humility. Maybe those examples are what it might mean to “be humbled” and “become humbled.” Giving up, letting go, especially when it’s not just.
At least, that’s what I think the writers of Philippians are showing us. And it might be what makes the incarnation so beautiful, so powerful, so revolutionary. In the epistle, we hear that Christ Jesus has “equality” with God: the very glory and honor and power of the Creator, who established the foundations of time itself through mere desire for it. Jesus is worshiped by angels and seraphim and cherubim, surrounded by reverent adulation and eternal cries. Light and darkness enshroud the Christ, swirling about in clouds, fire, great winds, and ferocious thunder. That person, a person of the Godhead and the Godhead itself, empties himself, in an instant.
From that silence, purity, eternal perfection, is a world of clutter, noise, and utter complexity. Jesus is born, of Nazareth, to a colonized family that is dirty and displaced. Jesus lets go of everything that is rightly his–glory and honor and praise, forever and ever–and becomes a fragile body, worthless to society writ large. All that was justly his, was let go. It wasn’t right, it didn’t make sense, and it wasn’t just. And as the epistle hints at, the death of Christ is profane, unnecessary, and disregarded. Christ and his body was made an object of Rome’s sickening pleasure, shallow violence, and derisive power. What I’m about to say might sound flippant, but it’s not meant to be. The feelings that we are holding about those unjust events–Christ’s incarnation and crucifixion–are similar to the ones we feel when we’re downsizing, moving, or confronting our hoarding behaviors. Something being given away unfairly and unjustly. Unnecessarily, maybe. It’s the feeling of “being humbled” or “becoming humbled.” But the epistle gives us a kicker: “Christ humbled himself.” Christ isn’t coerced or incentivized to humble himself. He does so willingly, counterintuitively. Because he loves us and God’s world. Because he loves our humanity, especially our bodies. Henry Nouwen wrote that Christ became incarnate to destroy division, bringing us home to our own bodies. [1]
The Episcopal priest and scholar Jane Lancaster Patterson, whose commentary has been incredibly helpful for this sermon, described the cross as a “moral pattern.” Here’s what she says: “[This moral pattern] is repeatable endlessly in every context, a pattern fueled by the powerful grace of God, multiplying human effort.” [2] I think that’s what the incarnation is, too. In the moral pattern, the powerful give up what is “justly” theirs. It’s when the moving boxes come out for power, packing up all the things we thought were ours, but are actually God’s. This moral pattern is what Mary sings about in the Magnificat: “He has brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted up the lowly.” [3] And in Philippians, this moral pattern of humility, where the powerful give up what is theirs, is what undergirds the church’s life and discernment. “Work on your own salvation with fear and trembling,” as the epistle says, inviting the community to discern and envision the future through the moral pattern of humility. It’s as if it’s saying, “Here is your framework, your lens, now go and figure things out.” It’s simultaneously the starting point and the end point.
“Christ isn’t coerced or incentivized to humble himself. He does so willingly, counterintuitively. Because he loves us and God’s world. Because he loves our humanity, especially our bodies.”
That leads us to a big realization: if the Church takes the incarnation and the humility of Christ’s saving life, death, and resurrection seriously, then it will live out of this pattern of willful humility. It will be marked by willingly giving, serving, and sacrificing, even when there is no rightful, just reason to do so. This was both good news and complicated news for the community in Philippi. They were likely economically disadvantaged and socially isolated. So this news was a bit of comfort. Just as God worked through Christ’s moral pattern of humility, God would surely work through their humble circumstances, too. Amassing power and wealth and privilege is contrary to the way of Christ, and the poverty of the Philippians wasn’t a spiritual or communal failure. But at the same time, this news was complicated. What does it mean for them to participate in this work of Christ Jesus? How are they supposed to ever live in this posture of humility when they are already of such little means and status? Is God saying to just roll over? What does the epistle say? “It is God who… [enables] you both to will and to work for God’s good pleasure.” God equips us for this work.
As a footnote, let me be clear: God never asks us to coerce those with lesser power into humility, and God never inflicts scarcity on this world. The community of Philippi was not “made poor” by God, nor were the writers of the epistle saying they needed to crucify themselves.
Instead, I think we need a critical understanding of power, wealth, and privilege. Contrary to social media, American politics, and all sides of our ideological spectrums, power is not a flat, static, unidimensional playing field. The machinations of power and influence are complex, and shift in relation to social contexts. One person’s access to power in one space may serve as their foil in another. Christianity in a global context might be a good example. In the United States, Christianity is an incredibly potent source of cultural, financial, and political capital, and moderates one’s social status. It drives political candidates to power and can often serve as a cudgel to silence others. But globally, the story is far more complex. In other countries across the globe, Christians are a religious minority. Persecution can and does exist abroad for Christians across a variety of domains, from the financial to the physical. These fluid and complicated dynamics are at play at virtually every level of power, from the personal to the structural. If oppression is intersectional, then so too are the tools of the oppressors.
For us who are reading this at Dickey Memorial Presbyterian Church, this epistle is also good news and complicated news. Living from humility doesn’t split us into “bad, powerful people,” and “good, struggling people.” This scripture isn’t drawing lines around us or putting red flags on some people’s heads and not others. It’s not keeping a tally of the pledges or offering plates. No, no, no, the Spirit is inviting us to each lean into our powerlessness and powerfulness in particular ways. There is no “one size fits all” set of instructions that say “white people do X-Y-Z” and “people of color do A-B-C,” because humbling ourselves is as diverse as the bodies we inhabit. Willingly giving up our power or privilege or time or talents is rooted in the intersections of who we are; the living web of our identity [4]. We see Joseph of Arimathea give a tomb for the crucified Jesus; Zacchaeus betrays the Roman empire, giving to those who were robbed; the woman of Bethany lavishly pour costly perfume upon Jesus. All of these actions give up what is justly theirs–financial power, structural power, personal power–to make things right. Each of them become traitors to the systems that have benefitted them, erecting the house of God through humility and holy betrayal. They are listening to the moral pattern of Christ’s incarnation and crucifixion, following the pattern of God’s own life and posture of humility.
I almost hate to say this, because it is something easy to preach and incredibly painful to fully believe: this moral pattern of humility is where the mission and ministry of Christ Jesus is made incarnate. It is not found in political influence, large voices, and big sticks, but Christ is incarnate in our frailty, relentless giving, and quiet, persistent service. No amount of programming or social media or financial padding will ever replace the heart and soul of a church that believes deeply in embodying that eternal love and ministry.
It’s time for Dickey Memorial Presbyterian Church–and every single one of us in these pews and at home on Zoom–to become captivated by that vision of the Gospel. To give up our power and privilege for the sake of our neighbors and the world. To look critically at who we are and the intersections we inhabit. To ask questions together about who we are, and who God is calling us to be. To find good answers, not easy ones, and to wrestle with complicated questions instead of straightforward ones. That is what will enliven the humanity woven throughout us and that is what will return us to the humility of the incarnation.
It takes every single one of us to do this work together. The epistle says this: “be of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind.” As someone who loves this congregation with one foot inside and one foot outside of it, that’s my prayer for you all, too. It’s not to believe the same things, or go about things the same way with the same ideas. To the contrary. But my prayer is for this congregation, Dickey Memorial Presbyterian Church, to live in the same Spirit of God, ministering with clarity and purpose, building a vision for Dickeyville and Baltimore County, moving forward with a shared heart that demonstrates the deep-rooted love and grace and humility that is already planted within each of you. That’s what will transform this community. That’s what will resonate with Dickeyville. That’s what will transfix us on Christ Jesus, the incarnate God, who humbled himself for our sake, this church’s sake, and this world’s sake. Amen.
Sources
[1] Henry Nouwen, The Inner Voice of Love: A Journey Through Anguish to Freedom.
[2] Jane Lancaster Patterson, https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-26/commentary-on-philippians-21-13-9
[3] Luke 1:52
[4] Miller-McLemore, "The Human Web and the State of Pastoral Theology," The Christian Century, April 7, 1993, p.367.
