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"Mother Teresa and Humility"

Matthew 23:1-12
November 2, 2008 (All Saints Sunday)

1-3 Now Jesus turned to address his disciples, along with the crowd that had gathered
with them. "The religion scholars and Pharisees are competent teachers in God's Law.
You won't go wrong in following their teachings on Moses. But be careful about
following them. They talk a good line, but they don't live it. They don't take it into their
hearts and live it out in their behavior. It's all spit-and-polish veneer.
4-7"Instead of giving you God's Law as food and drink by which you can banquet on
God, they package it in bundles of rules, loading you down like pack animals. They
seem to take pleasure in watching you stagger under these loads, and wouldn't think of
lifting a finger to help. Their lives are perpetual fashion shows, embroidered prayer
shawls one day and flowery prayers the next. They love to sit at the head table at
church dinners, basking in the most prominent positions, preening in the radiance of
public flattery, receiving honorary degrees, and getting called 'Doctor' and 'Reverend.'
8-10"Don't let people do that to you, put you on a pedestal like that. You all have a
single Teacher, and you are all classmates. Don't set people up as experts over your
life, letting them tell you what to do. Save that authority for God; let him tell you what to
do. No one else should carry the title of 'Father'; you have only one Father, and he's in
heaven. And don't let people maneuver you into taking charge of them. There is only
one Life-Leader for you and them—Christ.
11-12"Do you want to stand out? Then step down. Be a servant. If you puff yourself up,
you'll get the wind knocked out of you. But if you're content to simply be yourself, your
life will count for plenty.

“On Dec. 11, 1979, Mother Teresa, the "Saint of the Gutters," went to Oslo. Dressed in
her signature blue-bordered sari and shod in sandals despite below-zero
temperatures, the former Agnes Bojaxhiu received that ultimate worldly accolade, the
Nobel Peace Prize. In her acceptance lecture, Teresa, whose Missionaries of Charity
had grown from a one-woman folly in Calcutta in 1948 into a global beacon of self-
abnegating care, delivered the kind of message the world had come to expect from her.
"It is not enough for us to say, 'I love God, but I do not love my neighbor,'" she said,
since in dying on the Cross, God had "[made] himself the hungry one — the naked one
— the homeless one." Jesus' hunger, she said, is what "you and I must find" and
alleviate. She condemned abortion and bemoaned youthful drug addiction in the West.
Finally, she suggested that the upcoming Christmas holiday should remind the world
"that radiating joy is real" because Christ is everywhere — "Christ in our hearts, Christ
in the poor we meet, Christ in the smile we give and in the smile that we receive."
Yet less than three months earlier, in a letter to a spiritual confidant, the Rev. Michael
van der Peet, that is only now being made public, she wrote with weary familiarity of a
different Christ, an absent one. "Jesus has a very special love for you," she assured
Van der Peet. "[But] as for me, the silence and the emptiness is so great, that I look
and do not see, — Listen and do not hear — the tongue moves [in prayer] but does not
speak ... I want you to pray for me — that I let Him have [a] free hand."

The two statements, 11 weeks apart, are extravagantly dissonant. The first is typical of
the woman the world thought it knew. The second sounds as though it had wandered in
from some 1950s existentialist drama. Together they suggest a startling portrait in self-
contradiction — that one of the great human icons of the past 100 years, whose
remarkable deeds seemed inextricably connected to her closeness to God and who
was routinely observed in silent and seemingly peaceful prayer by her associates as
well as the television camera, was living out a very different spiritual reality privately, an
arid landscape from which the deity had disappeared (Time August 23, 2007)

The words I just read to you come from an August 2007 issue of Time Magazine, and
when it was published it caused quite a media firestorm, as you can well imagine, as
Mother Teresa had just years earlier been fast-tracked for canonization as a saint in
the Catholic Church. It came as a shock to me, that’s for sure, because I have certainly
always admired her work, and even her deep spirituality, which seemed to be the well
spring that she drew upon to do her great work in the Calcutta and elsewhere. And you
know what? I think I admire her even more now, knowing what she went through,
knowing what dry and arid spiritual land she had plowed those many years—50 years,
the article said.   That dry period began almost at the very moment she began her work
in Calcutta in the late forties, though there was a five week period in the late fifties
where she gained back some of that feeling of connection to God, and yet it was
fleeting, and the silence and emptiness returned. The reason why I admire her more
now is for two reasons: one, because I’ve known those kinds of dry times in my
relationship with God, and so it’s good to know that someone as seemingly spiritual
powerful as Mother Teresa experienced that as well, and even more deeply and
painfully than anything I have ever experienced. But secondly, it’s really amazing to
think about how faithful she remained to God through her work, even though she found
herself feeling so disconnected to the One she was serving. To wake up morning and
morning, to do this sacred work, to wash the bodies of those dying in Calcutta, to still
believe that she was not just washing the body of a stranger, but the body of the living
Christ—to do that even in the midst of such spiritual pain…I am just stunned and
amazed at the depth of such faith.

Now, before we go into today’s Bible text, I just want to make sure that you don’t think I
am implying that Mother Teresa was like one of the Pharisees and the religions
scholars being mentioned here in this text from Matthew—far from it. What Jesus
speaks of here is something of a warning to people like me and her, leaders in the
church—we’ll get to that in a second, the need for humility amongst those of us who
lead congregations. But I do have to say something, though, something that I wished
Mother Teresa had done for all of us fellow pilgrims, and that was to tell us the truth
about those dry times in the desert, to trust us enough to let us hear her great struggle
with faith, and the life of faith. We know that she did not want many of the letters that
later came out to be preserved, but the Catholic Church forbid their destruction, and I
am glad they did. But it does show that she didn’t want to reveal that side of herself,
that side that really wondered where God and Christ were in the midst of those 50
years in that long, lonely desert, even as she served those she believed were Christ’s
real and actual presence in this world, the poor and deserted. I suspect she felt the
need to put on a mask for our sake, to protect us from our own doubts, ironically, or to
make sure that we wouldn’t lose faith just because she felt like she was on the verge of
losing her own faith. Maybe she thought it was noble to hide her inner spiritual life from
us, or maybe, maybe her pride got in the way, maybe she couldn’t allow us to see her
as being that human, that ordinary a person of faith.

I wonder if the problem for her was the same problem that many of us have, especially
those of us in ministry struggle with: that of being humble, of being free from false pride
and arrogance, of knowing one’s place and one’s limits. I mean, that is what Jesus is
pointing to in this passage, pointing to the pride and arrogance of the religious leaders
of his day, those who seem more interested in giving people the right rules than they
were in following those rules. We call them hypocrites, people who say one thing and
do another, though I have to admit that I think all of us are hypocrites to seem degree.
We all fail our words, we all fail to live up to what we believe and think we ought to do in
this life, but a few of us, of course, get to tell others how they should live their lives, are
actually empowered by their communities to do that very thing, like religious leaders
then, and religious leaders today. It gets under people’s skin to find out to find out that
Jimmy Swaggart was fooling around with a prostitute even as he was condemning
prostitution, though we tend to give ourselves a little bit more a break when we fail our
own words—mostly because we don’t go around telling other people how to live their
lives, like he did. I think you can feel that anger in some of what Jesus says here, and
most of us can relate to that feeling of disappointment, anger, and even a bit of self-
righteousness when we find out that Jimmy Swaggart is out there doing the very things
he’s condemning.

But, again, I am not saying that Mother Teresa was a hypocrite—what I am saying,
though, is that perhaps she lacked some humility, like many of us leaders in the church
do, including me. When she felt she could not tell us the truth about that desert she
was in spiritually, when she felt that she had to protect us from the truth of her real
actual experience of God during that time in her life, it robbed us of her humanity, and it
robbed us of the truth about what it really means to follow after the way of Jesus, that it
may mean difficulty, that it may mean feeling estranged from the very God one is
serving, that it may mean that despite your leadership you too are as human and as
prone to shadows as the persons you are seeking to lead. We religious leaders love
the attention—shoot, you know, you show up every week to worship God, and to listen
to what I have to say about God—and if you don’t think that isn’t intoxicating for most
preachers, then you’re fooling yourself. That’s what is Jesus is warning about here, us
leader types, but it’s a warning for all of us, of course—that to follow after the way of
the Master is to let go of wanting to be the center of attention, of being number one, of
being on top, and, instead, doing the very thing Mother Teresa did with her life—“do
you want to stand out?” the text has Jesus saying here, “then step down. Be a
servant. If you put yourself up, you’ll get the wind knocked out of you. But if you’re
content to simply be yourself, your life will count for plenty.”

And Mother Teresa, she did that, she was a servant, but she didn’t trust us enough to
see the inside of her, to simply be herself with us, fully herself, she felt the need to
keep the image up rather than sharing with us the real truth of her experience. She
didn’t trust us enough to have faith if she told us the truth of her dark night of the soul,
a dark night that last almost fifty years. Now, we have to take some responsibility for
that as well—we humans have a tendency to put people on a pedestal, to wish and will
them to be perfect role models, to want them to the kind of people we want to be, when,
of course, no one can be us but us, and no one can be that perfect person we all hope
to be, the image we hold in our heads and hearts.   “Simply be yourself” Jesus says, be
where you are, in the place that you are, at the head of the corporation, or a janitor of
that corporation, and allow others to be themselves as well.

But, of course, the problem of humility is huge for us leader types, including myself—
being myself, admitting my failures, owning to my own dark night of the souls, owning
the shadows in my own heart. One of the good things about Douglas is that he’s pretty
good about keeping me honest with myself. When I was on vacation in Chicago a few
weeks ago, we went to church at a large Presbyterian church in Evanston, and almost
immediately, my arrogance and negativity came to front. I just hated the tone and tenor
of the service, and we eventually left before the service concluded, and almost as soon
as we walked out the door, I began complaining about this or that part of the service.
And, of course, good old Douglas listened for a bit, but then confronted me on how
judgmental and intolerant I sounded—not just sounded, but was, in that moment. And
he was right, of course, as I fumed during lunch.   A lack of humility, and acceptance of
others as where they are, and where you are, and not judging people above you, or
below you, that is hard thing—step down, step down, God was trying to tell me through
Douglas.

But the lack of humility can affect more than a particular leader—it can effect those
whom he or she leads tries to lead. Over the last six months, I’ve realized a couple of
things. One is that I am actually humbled by your continuous support of the ministry of
this place, and my ministry among you—I know how much you have sacrificed
financially personally to make a go of it, and I’d like to think it has been worth it, for both
you and me. But, secondly, I also think that the way I reacted to that wonder and
humility has been toxic for us, as well—for me, it’s been about trying to be prove to you
that I am worth it, that I am worth every dime, worth the gamble this church has made,
and so I’ve tried to be superman, to be super pastor, picking up the slack here and
there, doing a million things, putting on a different million programs, just to prove to you
that you made the right choice years ago in choosing to continue having a full-time
minister rather than a part-time pastor. And the arrogance, the lack of humility on my
part is that I thought I could do it all, that I was super pastor, that if it wasn’t being done,
then I could do it, or that it was easier for me to do it than to work on sharing that
ministry with you. I was and am wrong about that, and my lack of humility, thinking I was
capable of doing everything, rather than knowing that God has called each of you to
some sort of ministry in this place as well, that lack of humility on my part has robbed
some of you of your ministry, and I am sorry for that. I hope that during this
stewardship season you will also consider how you can serve God’s people in this
place and elsewhere.

Yet, we all have to work hard on the humility. Being humbled by God means seeing the
world differently, and it means waiting on God to show up on God’s time and God’s way,
and accepting ourselves and the journey we are on, something I suspect Mother
Teresa did in her better moments. Sue Lockard tells a story about her life that
beautifully illustrates what it means to be humbled by God.

When my children were infants and I rocked them to sleep, I sang to them and prayed
for them. I remember holding my 14-month-old son and praying for his future
relationships with his roommates, his friends, his wife. For years, I came back to the
same prayer. I know I must have wearied the Lord with my prayers; but Matthew 7:7
tells us to keep on asking, seeking and knocking.   When my son went off to college, I
couldn’t wait to hear about his roommate. “Well, Mom, he is a recovering drug addict.
He was sent here for a year of rehabilitation and is studying art, taking part in sports,
and trying to re-enter normal life.” I felt as if God had let me down, and my
disappointment came through. “I don’t understand. I have prayed for 18 years for you
to have a good roommate who would have a good influence in your life.” My son, wiser
than I, answered, “Maybe his mother was praying the same prayer.” My son knew that
he had been nurtured all his life and now had a chance to nurture a young man with
serious problems. (May–June 2008 issue of The Upper Room 13)

Being humble means stepping away, and letting go of the arrogance and desire to
control and then letting oneself be where one is at, and letting God do God’s work with
us, wherever we are, in whatever state, whether in the darkness or the sunshine.
Being humbled means letting God answer our prayers the best way possible, not
necessarily our way. Oddly enough, I think Mother Teresa got her prayers answered
ultimately, though it wasn’t the way she expected—the presence of God was always
laying right before her, every time she or one of her sisters cleaned the body of dying
woman, to give them some sort of human dignity right before their deaths.   It wasn’t the
way the way she wanted it or had expected God’s presence in her life, but that’s what it
means, in the end, to be humbled by God—letting God do it God’s way rather than our
way. Amen.