This is an excerpt from my book of exegetical prayers, The Bronze Serpent, which is being revised for publication.
“Clothe yourselves, all of you, with humility toward one another, for God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.” 1 Peter 5:5b
My God and my King, how beautiful is humility. How glorious is the scene of my Savior emptying himself of divine rights and privileges, taking on flesh and sacrificing himself as a substitute for sinners like me on a cross. It is the ultimate expression of humility. The conscious, volitional, purposeful lowering of himself to serve and bless. To wash dirty feet. To hang and bleed. To suffer and save.
Humility is beautiful and glorious. But it is also powerful. When my mind and heart begin to absorb the implications of the price of my redemption, my knees give way and my hands rise in worship. Jesus, the humility you displayed in my salvation motivates me with a deep, spiritual urge to experience the emptying of self for the sake of another.
And yet, like putting on a shirt that is way too small and that I cannot pull over my head, humility does not seem to fit my heart. Father, I realize that it is because my flesh is so big-headed and proud. Even my insecurities are, at the root, expressions of pridefulness. Wanting to be someone and having a name. Desiring the praise of men. Demanding my rights. Gossiping out of jealousy. Scheming a way to get noticed and recognized. Worrying about what people think about me.
Abba, my proud heart repulses me—especially the insecurities. I can identify with Paul when he cried out, “Who will save me from this body of death?” And then, as if pulling all of his mental faculties together and grasping for one last theological straw, he finds the cross. “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord… there is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus!” That is what I need. Yes, apart from Jesus and the sweet aroma of the gospel, I am a stinking corpse. But you have delivered me from myself. In the gospel you have declared me to legally righteous and personally loved.
Yes, grace flows downhill. You give grace to the humble. To those who know they are proud and hate it. To those who know they don’t measure up and in their weakness cry out for mercy. Grace is given to the publican who looks for a substitute, not the pharisee who is pleased with himself. As David experienced in his own brokenness, “A broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.”
So let me wear the robe of humility. Shape my heart so that it will fit and that I will gladly adorn a lesser concern for self and ever increasing delight in the cross. Teach me to wash feet. How to love and forgive and listen. Teach me how to die so that I might live.
As I die to self-righteousness and self-importance and self-concern, will you show me my heart, that I may be humbled. But as you humble me by revealing my sin and need, will you give me the faith to look to Jesus and to believe that he is the propitiation for my sins. There is no more justice to serve. No more wrath to endure. The price is paid. Grace flows downhill. Oh, may I remember this!
May I live in that place of need and of grace, knowing that one day you will lift me up, as you did Jesus. Yes, you have promised that grace will lead to glorification, and to the eternal and perfect praise of the One whose name is above every name. My humble and glorious savior, Jesus.
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