It’s a classic moment in our family lore, though I rightfully roll my eyes when it’s retold. (Again.)
Before my husband was even my boyfriend, there was this potentially lovely moment when he disclosed his intentions. That’s right. He was actually doing what we want young men to do: Speaking plainly (there is no other way for my husband). Not playing games.
So imagine a spring night in the South, us just having returned from coffee on campus. We’ve come to a stop at the door to my dorm.
Him: I just wanted to let you know that I’m interested in getting to know you more.
Me, suddenly, inexplicably uncomfortable: Um. Yeah. Well, I hope you see more of Christ in me. I think it’s time for me to go inside now.
In case you’re lost in translation, no. He didn’t know what I meant either.
Neither did my mom on the phone a few days later: “What does that mean?”
I sputtered. This was the era of I Kissed Dating Goodbye (check out the author’s own rebuttal to his book on Slate). I was running hard after God. I had the (admittedly weird) thought that when I was attractive, I was drawing guys to myself and not to JESUS.
So there’s that.
The Problem with Praise
Fast forward to 2018, in which I have four children and an increasingly attractive husband--despite my misguided efforts to dissuade him in 1999. Compliments still internally create a deer-in-the-headlights phenomenon: OhmygoodnessIdon’twanttobeproudI wanttobehumblebutIthinkIshouldsay…
“Thanks!”
For a girl far more comfortable with self-deprecation, feeling good about something I’ve done or am can put me in a real tailspin.
Favorite misguided approach (yes, there’s a theme here): Minimalization. No big deal! Anyone would have done that.
Another go-to: Mysterious Christianese modesty. It’s all God!
One more: Self-deprecation. Here’s a pithy joke about how I’m actually a nerd!
But perhaps instead, I could consider that God isn’t just the Master of my weakness. He’s the Sultan of my Strength. (Yes. Okay. The “Sultan” part is weird.) But in all ssssseriousness:
You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;
you have loosed my sackcloth
and clothed me with gladness,
that my glory may sing your praise and not be silent.
O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever! (Psalm 30:11-12)
In this verse, I hear an echo of Paul’s words: What do you have that you did not receive? If then you received it, why do you boast as if you did not receive it? (1 Corinthians 4:7). I hear that any glory we have comes from God in the first place.
The problem isn’t with the glory, but where it’s headed.
One Direction
If that’s the case–and it is–I can celebrate and not minimize. In John 3:30–He must become greater, I must become less--I used to hear that I should be invisible. I don’t want to steal God’s honor, right? Absolutely correct. But John the Baptist, who said those words, certainly was no wallflower. His just directed his awe in the right place.
As Paul David Tripp writes in Awe: Why It Matters for Everything We Think, Say, and Do,
I came to see that I was wired for awe, that awe of something sits at the bottom of everything I say and do. But I wasn’t just wired for awe. I was wired for awe of God. No other awe satisfies the soul. No other awe can give my heart the peace, rest, and security that it seeks. I came to see that I needed to trace awe of God down to the most mundane of human decisions and activities.
….Perhaps we commit vertical larceny much more than we realize. Perhaps we quest for personal glory more than we think. Perhaps we take credit for what only God can do more often than we think we do. Perhaps, in subtle idolatry, we give credit to places and things when it really belongs to God.
….Horizontal awe is meant to do one thing: stimulate vertical.
You could say that when I’m in it for my own glory, I’m dreaming far too small. Don’t touch the glory.
Jeremy Taylor, a chaplain and writer in the 17th century, wrote 19 practical tips toward humility. I find a lot of wisdom in the first two:
First, do not think better of yourself because of any outward circumstance that happens to you.
….Second, Humility [sic] does not consist in criticizing yourself, or wearing ragged clothes, or walking around submissively wherever you go. Humility consists in a realistic opinion of yourself, namely, that you are an unworthy person.
And that’s where I can camp out when, through the kindness of God, I shine. I was unworthy–and He changed all that (see Galatians 2:20). Because of him, there’s beauty and life being prolifically created in me and through me every day. Over and over the Bible defines God as “my strength and my song”: My power; my beauty.
So there’s no need to minimize. We can be a city on a hill. We can shine–and direct the light singularly, scrupulously, in the right direction.
Not to us, O LORD, not to us, but to your name give glory, for the sake of your steadfast love and your faithfulness!
Psalm 115:1
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