For a while I would joke that I don’t pray for humility as a teacher because it comes to me whether I pray for it or not. And yet, just to prove that life isn’t always as humbling as I may need, the Lord decided to show me that when I pray for things (mostly, it seems, humility) that He delivers what I need, albeit not in the way I want.
On Ash Wednesday, I was listening to a Lenten reflection and prayed along to the Litany of Humility. It is a prayer I love and hate and, probably, need to pray more often. Right on cue, the Lord delivered a humbling situation the following day. A student was giving unsolicited advice about how I might improve his life by not assigning study guides or making him work on it (instead of the math homework he found more pressing) during my class period. I listened for a while, attempting initially to get him to understand that while he might not need it, there are other students who do. The conversation concluded when I recommended that perhaps he pursue a career in teaching since he would be able to be the perfect teacher for students. He, clueless perhaps to the implications because he isn’t really that cruel, commented that he didn’t want to be a teacher but was going to “aim higher.”
I sat there for a moment as a lighthearted moment grew sour.
He didn’t want to be a teacher (which I didn’t really expect to be the deep desire of his heart), but he wanted to “aim higher.”
And it was humbling.
I remembered, annoyed, that just the previous evening I had prayed the Litany of Humility. This is why I don’t pray that prayer, I thought, as I pondered what to do in the wake of a fifteen year old boy telling me my current career choice was way below what he hoped for himself. I sat there at my desk, pride bristling, wanting to offer one of a thousand caustic barbs barreling to the front of my mind. But I didn’t say any of them as I thought, But this probably why I need to pray this prayer more often.
If I were humble, I wouldn’t be annoyed by the careless words of a teenager. I wouldn’t want to offer a bit of my sharpened tongue. I wouldn’t, as a small form of revenge, sidestep answering a question he had on the study guide he just complained about yet which I had thoughtfully crafted as a way to help my students be successful.
And yet I all of these things happened. I was annoyed, I wanted to offer a biting word, and I chose not to give a straight answer to his question.
Unfortunately, the path to sanctity is never as easy as I imagine it should be. It is a relentless, painful grinding away of the hard edges we have and I don’t think there is really any other way it can happen.
My lofty dreams run smack into concrete reality and I am left with a shocking glimpse, partial though it may be, of where I actually am in the journey of becoming something slightly resembling holy. I am never nearly as far along as I imagine. Because left to my own delusional imaginings, I see myself joyfully skipping to my own martyrdom without a single worry or concern, unyielding to the various forms of torture they might try to use. But my reality is that a headache forces me to remember I can’t just yell at my students because I don’t feel well. A person turns onto the road in front of me and drives 28 mph in a 35 and I am left annoyed at the inconvenience of moving as a semi-glacial pace. A kid tells me he plans to “aim higher” than being a teacher and I am once again aware of how far I have to go before I can say I have a heart that is “meek and humble” like the Lord’s heart.
For all of the discomfort and failures and unwelcomed realities it can provide, I really do appreciate Lent. In the ultramarathon of life, it is nice to have a 40 day long sprint to focus on following the Lord more intentionally. Of course, I always feel a little more bright-eyed when I’m only three days in and feel decent about my Lenten penances. The true purpose of Lent, however, isn’t to be successful or do everything just right for the next 40 days or to arrive at Easter feeling particularly pleased with myself. Instead, it is to become laser-focused on how much I need God’s grace to do the smallest penances and how good it is to deny myself for love of the Lord. Lent is a time of calling to mind again the desire for my life to be more about the Lord and less about me. It is a time of aiming higher than my own present wants and desires, seeking the heavenly even while wading through the earthly.
I suppose I should be grateful to that aggravating student of mine with his unthinking dismissal of my job and jabbing of my overinflated pride. He kickstarted my Lent with a little self-reflection and the unsavory reminder that I do not yet have the meek and humble heart of Our Lord. But, hopefully, by the end of Lent, this rough-hewn heart will be a just a little bit more like the Lord’s tender, humble heart.
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Photo by Andrea Leopardi on Unsplash
Seeking After His Heart 