Osler's Razor

Last week I wrote about the difference between pain and despair, a distinction that has become clearer as I have struggled through a move with the use of only one foot (which is admittedly a very small hardship).

Today I was in line behind a woman who fell into conversation with the woman in front of her. It turned out that they were both pastor's wives, and were comparing notes. The first woman described the growth of their ministry from a storefront into a burgeoning church with thousands of members. "It's very humbling," she said.

Really? Having thousands of people flock to your church is affirming, not humbling. I would think the opposite-- going from a church of thousands to a storefront with a handful of parishioners-- that would be humbling.

I have to admit that I have used the same term in the same way in the past. People would congratulate me on something that had gone well and, not sure how to respond, I would say "it's very humbling." But, really, it wasn't. After what happened to me in my own driveway last week, I won't use that phrase again in that way.

I'm not that good on crutches. It requires a certain sense of balance I haven't quite mastered, and I am often alone when I am trying to get around, which adds to my vulnerability. Getting in and out of the car is a special challenge when you can't put weight on your lead leg stepping out, and it is a challenge I have failed. Last week, I drove up to my house in a rainstorm. Because the garage was full of boxes, I parked on the steeply sloping driveway. Getting out of the car, I propped one crutch under my left arm, put my good right foot on the ground, and pushed off. I pushed too hard, though, and lost my balance going the other way, landing hard on my left side. With nothing to grab onto, I wasn't able to get up.

So there I was, lying in the dark, in the rain, in my own driveway, helpless. It is not a position I am used to. I called out for help, but no one heard. A few cars passed, splashing water up from the puddles in the street. I crawled back toward the car, but turned my broken ankle in a bad way and stopped in pain, and for a bit just lay there and felt the rain falling on me. I cried. It was only a few moments, but that... that was humbling.

I would never intend to put myself in that position, and it embarrasses me to describe it here. I have spent the past day or so debating whether or not to lay naked that helpless moment.

But... God did the same to Christ. Jesus was not "humbled" by great achievements. He was humbled by what would be truly humbling to any of us-- he was born in great poverty among animals, he was insulted by the pharisees, he was sent out by Herod wearing a purple robe and crown of thorns to mock him, and he died naked on a cross as people watched his agony. My tiny bit of humiliation was nothing, nothing, compared to what God put on his own son, or so many of his other children around me.

If one of you ever come up to me to mention something I have done that worked out well, I will look you in the eye and say "thank you for saying that." I may give credit to those others who often do most of the work. But I will not, ever again, say that I am humbled by an accomplishment.