HOLY WEAK: HOLINESS IN WEAKNESSES

“In order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. ⁸ Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. ⁹ But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. ¹⁰ That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Corinthians 12:6-10).

Paul’s confession to the Corinthian believers above has so much to say to us, Wesleyans. In particular, Paul offers a necessary corrective to some of the tendencies (based on unbiblical assumptions) found in our understanding and experience of holiness. If we are to treat Paul’s words as his personal testimony or confession, instead of looking at them as purely metaphorical or hypothetical assertions, then Paul provides us a glimpse of another side of the holy life that is too often neglected or overlooked. My personal journey with the Lord these days is still along the highway where I am struggling with humility as a concept and as an experience. Hence, perhaps by subjective predisposition, my eyes instinctively see the passage in light of the relationship between humility and holiness.

The passage stands out to me, because it made me realize my own arrogance. Now it may sound oxymoronic for someone striving to live a holy life to be living in conceited arrogance at the same time. But this is a reality, not just an abstract construct. It is a temptation for preachers, teachers, and Christian workers, because of the demand for holy testimony, to hide or even deny our weaknesses. It is perceived that it is unbecoming for the servant of God to be publicly admitting his or her thorn in the flesh, weaknesses, and struggles. It is unexpected or surprising for the minister to come to the altar to kneel down and pray in front of the laity. Hence, because of these social and ministerial pressures, we are forced to wear a mask which function both to announce our supposed spiritual-ness and to hide our own weaknesses. For us, and especially for us, Jesus has a message: “Woe to you… you hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of the bones of the dead and everything unclean” (Matt 23:27). Woe to us, indeed, when we intentionally wear beautiful Pharisaic external garments in order to hide (volitionally), or to the point of hiding (consequentially), our rotting leprous skins in need of treatment.

Perhaps it is only me, but maybe one of the hardest temptations for holiness people to overcome is to be truthful about ourselves and admit our own weaknesses. What is wrong with admitting and accepting our own weaknesses? Paul’s response is “None.” If we think that accepting our weaknesses runs contradictory to the understanding that holiness is therapeutic and ontologically transformational, then we are wrong. If we think that pastors should be super-pastors, supra-human, and infallible, we are blind. Let us face it: we are not super-pastors. In fact we become modern day trying-hard-but-epic-fail “super-apostles” if we deny our own weaknesses. Colourful neckties wrapped around labelled long sleeves cannot become the veil to conceal our weaknesses. Academic degrees, political position (whether ecclesiastical or whatsoever), economic status, and the like cannot make us invulnerable to human failings. And for me especially, even as a seminary professor, I must admit that I am in need of a pastor, a shepherd, a rebuker.

Denying our weaknesses is also an evidence of pride, and I do not need to expand how having pride is antithetical to the life of holiness. For is it not arrogance and pride when we wear a mask intentionally to hide our own weaknesses and unintentionally to announce our spiritual-ness? Is it not also an act of deceit if we deny who we really are and erect a pseudo-self or an illusory façade to make others value us more than how we really ought to be valued? Is it really worth it to deceive others for the sake of so-called professionalism?

The Lord promised to Paul, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (12:9). This means that God empowers us, showers his grace and blessings to us, protects us, guides us, teaches us, and holds our hands to guide us, precisely because we are weak. No wonder why Paul responds, “Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong” (12:9-10). Often times, the desire to be a blessing can eclipse the need to admit that we too need God’s blessings. We are walking on a slippery slope. The desire for recognition can darken the need to remain anonymous. The desire for power can supersede the need remain humble. The desire to be independent can overshadow the need to be dependent.

Paul reminds us to admit and rejoice in our weaknesses, for ultimately, it is not us who minister, but God himself ministering to us and through us. This is a crucial realization. It is not about us! How foolish and ungodly for us to think that God can only use us if we live in deceitfulness and pride! How unholy for us to assume that the success of the Lord's ministry depends on whether we are strong or weak. Let us wake up, Christians, from our dreamy slumber.

[Having knowledge of this is actually less comforting to my already struggling soul, for indeed, borrowing Henry Nouwen’s analogy, a clearer view of the destination only reveals the distance that separates me from it.]

ON HUMILITY

To my soul’s delight, I finished re-reading Thomas A’Kempis The Imitation of Christ last week. It has been seven years since I last read it, and although I can remember how my soul thoroughly enjoyed it, even keeping a journal with my reflections on each chapter, I confess that my un-Sheldonian brain did not retain much of its content. As I was reading A’Kempis again, I could not but think that the book is really for me. It has a way of piercing my soul, of hurting my spirit, and of breaking my heart. I wish all theology books are like this. It is true that many of the books I read elicit great brain synaptic activity, but so few can really give me sweet spiritual flogging.

One of the major emphases of the book is humility. A’Kempis keeps on going back to this over-used term, and his incessant recrudescence to the theme actually makes the book quite repetitive. But this continuous recoiling is neither an accident, nor an evidence of A’Kempis’ unorganized thinking. Rather, that the theme pops out here and there demonstrates A’Kempis’ emphatic argument that humility is inseparably intertwined with every important Christian virtue.

This is quite profound, because it means that humility is a virtue that can neither stand on its own nor can be lived out in isolation from other Christian virtues. For instance, one, therefore, cannot attempt to live in humility without love, or without patience. In a sense, there is a circular relationship between humility and other virtues. Again, using love as illustration, firstly, one cannot love without humility (humility is a necessary requirement to be able to love); and secondly, one cannot live out humility without love (love is the necessary requirement to be able to live in humility). Hence, the seemingly simple admonition to be humble has several silent admonitions to be loving, patient, joyful in affliction, peaceful, understanding, kind, long-suffering, etc. No wonder humility is such a difficult thing to live out and achieve. It requires a web of several-other-also-difficult-virtues.

I can go on and on relating humility with other virtues or themes, but I am particularly interested in relating it with another emphasis by A’Kempis: selflessness. To be selfless is to be self-effacing, to live ek-sistence (living with the focus on the “other” – the “other” is everyone who is not “me”), or to exist as a centrifugal creature. It is here, when we relate humility with selflessness, that we see the utter difficulty of living a life of humility. Let’s face it: humanity by nature is selfish and self-centered. We are an I-man, an I-centred people, and I have yet to meet someone whose life can disprove me. (And the guy I see in the mirror is definitely the worst of all who are proud and self-centred.) But how do we know that we still fall short? Here are some questions we can ask:

1.      Do I always have the urge to tell others about me, my achievements, or my opinion?

2.      Do I notice how conversations I am a part of become a talk about me?

3.      Do I have a superiority complex, which can be grounded in my past and present achievements or positions (both real and imaginary)?

4.      Can I take rebukes, corrections or a stern advice?

5.      Do I aspire for recognition – great or small – for the things I do in the ministry?

The number of questions above is by no means exhaustive. The questions only represent a few of the many introspecting questions we can ask the Holy Spirit to tell us about ourselves. Actually, my personal responses to the questions are embarrassing.

For sure, it is insufficient for us to ask these questions and then move on without at least attempting to find the antidote to such a disease (or more like an epidemic, because the whole world in inflicted with it). The Spirit has planted in my heart, for a long time now, the conviction that I first look to Christ for answers. Thus, I could not but come to the biblical Jesus, who is portrayed by Paul as both the embodiment and exemplar of humility. In particular, the kenosis passage in Philippians 2 is very important, for it is here also that the interrelationship between self-emptying and humility is underscored. But here is a problem: is it possible for humanity to empty itself at the ontological level? Jesus’ self-emptying was not only a kenosis of function, capability or attributes. He became man (the male gender is intentional, because it is that which is historical – a fact that feminist and liberal theologians should get over with) in the most literal sense. He was neither a hologram of a male Jew, as Docetics believed, nor a poor copy of what is real, as Plato thought. Here we see the intensification of what self-emptying means. He poured out himself – not just what he has, but himself – and he lived his entire earthly life pro nobis, and thus for the “other.”

In one sense, the question “How can human beings abandon themselves at the ontological level?” is an abstract question that anticipates no response. The real, practical and important question is this: how can we be selfless at the ontological level when emptying ourselves at the economic, political, and functional levels of our existence is already exceedingly difficult? The fact is that it is easy to take pride in what we have or achieve – whether it be economic standing, political position (including ecclesiastical roles), or occupational station. We become too attached with these roles that we forget that they do not constitute who we really are. We deceive ourselves if we think and act as if these external loci of our identity constitute who we are. For instance, I can be called Dr. Dick Eugenio, but I cannot be too attached to the Dr. in front of my name, for at the end of the day, I am only Dick Eugenio. Similarly, I can be called Pastor Dick Eugenio, but the Pastor in front of my name is just an adjective describing the real person called Dick Eugenio. Here is my point: If I become too conceited that I am unwilling to drop these titles and masks, which are only external to who I really am, how much more will it be difficult for me to empty myself? If I am unwilling to be wealth-less, or to be superior-less, or to be bossy-less, how can I even begin to experience the process of being self-less? If I am unwilling to rid myself of things that are external to who I am, how can I begin to empty my own self?

Thus, the beginning of selflessness and humility is to uncover our true selves, the self who is buried underneath the pile of masks, gowns and hats we wear. First, we must strip ourselves – or begin to strip ourselves – of these external garments, then we can say that humility is making its way into ourselves.

[I cannot believe this is my first blog post in 2012. My last post was in October 2011. I suppose I can be excused. My daughter was born in September, I had my thesis defence in November, and APNTS is really juicing me out of energy. But again, my attempt to make excuses is most probably just another evidence of an endemic self-justifying pride.]