Sermon by Tom Are Jr. | March 24, 2024 | Fourth Presbyterian Church

Palm/Passion Sunday
March 24, 2024

The King of Humility

Tom Are Jr.
Interim Pastor

Matthew 21:1–11
Philippians 4:8–9

So, Paul sounds a bit arrogant here. He writes, “Keep on doing the things you have learned and heard and seen in me, and the God of peace will be with you.” Doesn’t that sound arrogant?

I think there are two reasons Paul sounds arrogant here. One is because I think Paul, well, he can be arrogant.

But also, in Paul’s day there was an assumption that is less widely shared today. In Paul’s day the assumption was if you are going to live a mature life, if you are going to live a life of character, you will need examples. You will need to see spiritual maturity in others. Character doesn’t exist in the world of ideas; no, you will need to see mature faith lived out. It was a spiritual practice to pay attention to the faithfulness in others and try to emulate that in your own life.

I have many mentors in my life. People of character who teach me. Now, we can never find a perfect example. No one is an exemplar of all goodness. But we don’t need that. We just need to see the good in others and learn from the good.

I was getting a haircut, and as the guy finished he asked, “Remind me, you part your hair on the right?” I smiled. Yeah, have since I was a kid. Oh, there was a two-month period in the ’70s when I tried that Jackson Brown/ David Cassidy thing — parted it in the middle — but that didn’t last. I part it on the right because as a six-year-old I watched my dad, with the aid of a little Vitalis, part it on the right. So, I parted my hair on the right, and on Sundays Mom would even let me use some of his Vitalis. I thought then, like I think now, he was a great man. I wanted to be just like him.

Do you have people in your life like that? People you would love to be like? I’ll come back to that.

Jesus rides into Jerusalem. People sang. They ripped palm branches from the trees and created a green carpet for the long-awaited one. They lifted their children to their shoulders, and they shouted hosanna. By all accounts, what they noticed most about Jesus was his humility. Humility is an infrequent virtue these days. It is hard to achieve, it seems to me. Particularly when you are the center of a parade. But by every account, what they saw in him was humility.

I was in Ghana, West Africa. Presbyterians began our mission work in Ghana more than 175 years ago. We have hospitals, schools, and many Presbyterian congregations there. Carol and I visited a small village. Before I knew what was happening, the elders of the congregation decided that they would make me chief of the youth. We gathered at the church. To make one chief is quite a process. They brought me the chief’s stool and the chief’s robe. There was no crown, but I was dressed with beads in my hair and around my neck. Large bracelets on my wrists and powder in my face. The women were singing; the men were dancing. It was a party. I thought we had just had a little fun. Then we left the church. I walked through the village, and people who had not been at the church started bending down before me. They started singing. One guy grabbed a broom and swept the path in front of me.

I was thinking, “This is ridiculous” … and I was also thinking, “I could get used to this.” Afterwards I asked Carol, “So what did you think?” I’m not going to tell you everything she said, but I don’t recall her saying, “I so admired your humility.”

By every account, when Jesus rode into Jerusalem, what they noticed was his humility.

In his book, The Road to Character, David Brooks recalls sitting in his car listening to a rebroadcast of a radio program that originally aired the day World War II ended. War correspondent Ernie Pyle said, “We won this war because our men are brave and because of many other things. … We did not win because destiny created us better than all other people. I hope that in victory we are more grateful than proud.”

Brooks turned off the radio and walked into his home where an NFL football game was on. There was a short pass to a wide receiver, who was quickly tackled for a two-yard gain. And then the defensive back stood and beat his chest and did a “self-puffing victory dance.” Brooks said, “It occurred to me that I had just watched more self-celebration after a two-yard gain than I heard after the United States won World War II (David Brooks, The Road to Character, pp. 3–4).

OK, there were parades after the war, but I take his point. We live in a day where humility is a rare thing. And humility is a hard thing. I think it’s hard because it is so misunderstood.

For the longest time I assumed that humble people just don’t think highly of themselves. In Jon Meacham’s biography of George H. W. Bush, Meacham says, after hearing a campaign ad Bush’s mother would call him and say, “George, stop talking about yourself. It’s about them. It’s not about you” (Jon Meacham, Destiny and Power: The American Odyssey of George Herbert Walker Bush).

I can relate to that. I had a Southern grandmother who was pretty sure the quickest way to damnation was to be arrogant. Nobody likes a braggart, she would say. Don’t draw attention to yourself; that’s arrogant. Don’t get too big for your breeches, son. It’s not about you. Watch yourself.

I have assumed that was humility. But there is a certain irony when we assume we will achieve humility by watching ourselves. How can I be humble if I am thinking about myself all the time?

It doesn’t tell us what Jesus was thinking when he rode into Jerusalem, but I doubt it was “You guys stop that. You shouldn’t have a parade for little ole me. I’m just the savior of the world. Now stop it.”

I don’t think humility is achieved by thinking less of yourself. God does not need you to think less of yourself. Humility is the fruit that blooms not by thinking less of ourselves but by thinking highly of others. When we see the good, the honorable, the beautiful in another, it humbles us.

I shared this in a “Rhythm and Word” video last month: When I was in eighth grade, the catcher for the Atlanta Braves lived in our basement for a couple months. When you are in eighth grade and you have a Major League ballplayer living in the basement, the Second Coming of Jesus would be anticlimactic!

One night, about midnight, a little sports car pulled into the driveway. Johnny Oates got out of his car. No mitt. No uniform. No cleats. Absolutely nothing to let my neighbors know that a Major League ballplayer was in my driveway.

He came in with his suitcase. He sat with my dad and me at the kitchen table, and we ate a piece of pie. I asked him what it was like to play on the same team with Hank Aaron. What it was like to catch Phil Niekro’s knuckleball. What it was like to throw Lou Brock out at second. It was a magical night. Until my dad turned into my dad. “John, you know Tom is quite a ballplayer.” I thought, “Ohhhh, Dad.” “He and Joe Barnes turned a double play last week in church league softball. “Dad,” I said. “Stop. He’s not impressed with church league softball” — although a double play is pretty rare — “but Dad, just stop talking, Dad.”

Here’s the thing. Had anyone else been at that table, I would have been happy to walk them through the details of that double play. If you are interested, I could … no, sorry. So, why not then?

I didn’t want to talk about it that night because I was humbled. I was humbled not because I felt inadequate or unimportant. Not at all; I felt great. I was humbled, because to my eighth-grade mind, I was sitting with someone important.

When we see worth in another it right-sizes us. That’s humility. Humility is not a virtue we achieve head on. It results from seeing the good in someone else.

I have known people like that. They make you want to be just like them.

These days it seems we are surrounded by folks who relish pointing out what is wrong with everyone else. It takes no courage or insight to point out what is wrong, because all of us are flawed. All of us are lacking in some fashion. But to look for the good, that is holy work.

The world could use a bit more of it.

It was the first time I visited Jennifer at her home, the home in which she raised her four wonderful daughters. It would be the last time, as well. She didn’t have long to live. She wanted to talk about what scriptures to read. About what hymns to sing. We talked about her children … not just her daughters. For thirty years she taught the two-year-old Sunday school class. I don’t know a lot about teaching two-year-olds, but I don’t think a degree in theology is required. It’s mostly hugs and smiles and more hugs. She was great at that. And when they cried so loudly most would want to run from the room, Jennifer just gave more hugs.

As we visited, she began to become fatigued. Her illness was weighing heavy. She drifted off to sleep in her chair, so I showed myself to the door.

But as I reached my car, I heard her call me. “Tom,” she said. I turned and was surprised to see she had mustered her energy and was standing in the doorway. She was smiling a smile that could give light to the sun. There was no way in that moment to tell she was only a few hours from death. She said, “Tom, I meant to tell you … Tom, I love you. Did I tell you I love you?”

“I love you too,” I said.

We don’t say that often enough.

I had taken a lot of notes on scriptures and hymns and stories to tell, and that was all important. But nothing was more important than that moment at the door. She had that gift to see the good in others. I was her pastor, but she lived her faith in a way that, well, made me want to be just like her. She made you want to keep on doing the things that we had heard and seen and known in her.

As Jesus rode into Jerusalem, what they noticed was his humility. Which if I understand the text, means they noticed that he saw them, really saw them, and he loved what he saw. That’s the reason he comes into this city: he loves the city, he loves them, he can’t stay away, even if it costs him, and he knows it will cost him everything, but still he comes.

That’s what humility looks like.

And when you see that kind of humility, well, it has a power. It makes you want to be just like that.