Texts: Psalm 84; Luke 18: 9-14

A few weeks ago, I attended the annual Fall Convocation at Yale Divinity School. I think it was the first one I had attended since leaving Connecticut in 1992, but since an old friend of mine was getting the William Sloane Coffin Award for Peace and Justice and I had not seen her since she left New Haven for Kentucky sometime in the late 70s, I took the day off and went to New Haven. Several others received awards as well and as usual, those receiving awards spoke of being humbled by their award.

This pattern of speaking seems to come with awards, no matter what kind of award is being given; whether it’s an award for perfect attendance in school or a Tony for a great performance on the stage. Methinks, to paraphrase Shakespeare, the awardees do protest too much. Most people who get awards think they deserve them and most people who are passed over for awards are absolutely convinced that they should have received it. In the end, we really do think a lot of ourselves.

The problem is, of course, that most of us, in fact the overwhelming majority of us, are really only doorkeepers. The composition of this Psalm is attributed to the “sons --note the plural here -- of Korah.” The name Korah first appears in Hebrew Scripture as the third son of Esau, but the Korah referred to whose sons are the author of this Psalm and many others appears in the Book of Numbers as one of the men who rose up against Moses, the cause cited as being the Lord condemned Israel to wander in the wilderness for forty years. The image is stark; the Lord of the Pentateuch wipes them all out, including wives and children of the others, but the sons of Korah somehow are spared. Tradition gives them management of Hebron, named as one of the cities of refuge. Because it is the site of the Tomb of the Patriarchs, held by Muslims and Orthodox Jews as the burial place of Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebecca, Jacob and Leah, it is a city of enormous contention today. They rose to prominence in temple service; eleven of the Psalms are attributed to them. There’s also a Christian soft rock musical group that calls itself “Sons of Korah,” made up of three theology students from Australia, but even though they write music for other Psalms, it has not included the Psalms attributed. Be that as it may. What’s most interesting is the comparison in the Psalm: “rather than dwell in the tents of wickedness.” The question for us is whether we really would be doorkeepers than have positions of power and influence among those who have little or no concern for God’s call to live a righteous life.

Humility does not mean as William Temple wrote, thinking less of yourself than of other people or even having a low opinion of yourself. Rather, as he put it, it means “the freedom from thinking about yourself at all.” Or, as a more acerbic writer put it, humility is like underwear; essential, but indecent if it shows.

Although the majority of us may profess that we would rather be doorkeepers, the question is whether we really live this way. What does it mean to live a life of humility? For our culture really holds that humility as Mordred sings in Camelot, “means to be hurt; it’s not the earth the meek inherit, it’s the dirt.” We laugh when we hear this, but unfortunately in a world of power politics, it’s not far from the truth. Jesus’ promise that the meek will inherit the earth will only occur if we live the promise as if the kingdom already exists, not an easy thing to do for as Christians we live with our feet squarely planted in two worlds: one of the way of Jesus and one of the way of the world.

Living as if the kingdom is already here means living in tension with everything promised by the so-called “real world.” It means not accepting the way that our consumer culture tells us we must live. It means rejecting the values of materialism and power politics. It means casting our lot with the weak. What it does not mean is that we become doormats rather than doorkeepers. It does not mean that we are to accept the exercise of power when it is used for illegitimate ends and in illegitimate ways; in other words, we should resist power used illegitimately.

When we use the word “power,” most of us think in the standard political terms. I’d like to suggest something different. Power refers to the relationships we have with others on an individual and societal basis as well as with ourselves. We are constantly told that what counts is what we have, that our value is measured by our possessions. Moving beyond our possessions is not easy; in fact, it’s really pretty difficult. Moving beyond our own pride goes along with it as well.

Most of us like to think we got to where we are by hard work. It’s the myth of rugged individualism in our American culture. That myth gets reinforced every election season as we listen to our candidates drone on about the value of this or that. We need to recognize that so-called rugged individualism as the cornerstone of American society is a myth; it’s not how any of us got to where we are. I’m not denigrating the value of hard work but what I am suggesting is that most of us got to where we are because we had a helping hand from someone somewhere along the way. It could have been a teacher who encouraged us, the scholarship that helped someone return to school, a big sister or brother who showed the way. None of us is a little automaton but a part of a larger community, a larger society. We all depend on each other. A doorkeeper opened the door for us; we should open the door for others.

In the end, being humble really means accepting our limitations as well as the limitations of others. What we often consider as accidents or serendipity are but instruments of God’s grace in our lives. The chance meeting with a friend, the word that may change our lives are small indicia of how we are ultimately dependent on others. That’s the point of humility, the recognition that we are in the end not lone rangers but part of a community that sustains us.

Let us pray: Holy One, who extends your grace into our lives, help us extend that grace to others, remembering that we are but limited creatures who need to live together in community. Amen.