A friend recently went through a mortifying experience. She said her heart was burning in such agony she wanted to crawl under a wet blanket … until she realized that what was smoldering within her was pride. That took me aback: I rarely think of the flame of shame as a measure of anything more than discomfort. But she’s right. It’s pride.
My friend told me that instead of hiding, she prayed the litany of humility. Curious what that could be, I looked it up.
From the desire of being honored, Deliver me, Jesus.
From the desire of being praised, Deliver me, Jesus.
From the desire of being preferred to others, Deliver me, Jesus.
From the desire of being consulted, Deliver me, Jesus.
From the desire of being approved, Deliver me, Jesus.
From the fear of being humiliated, Deliver me, Jesus …
It goes on and on. And it makes me squirm. You see, most of the time praise and approval are exactly what I crave. I’m all-too-OK with letting people think highly of me. And deep down, all the situations from which I desire deliverance include every single way in which Jesus humbled himself: through pain, suffering, ridicule, false accusation and public humiliation. I seem to have it backwards.
And so I’m staggering through this prayer for humility, asking God to shape my heart into something more gentle, more loving, more God-centered than me-centered. If you want, I’ll tell you how it goes … as long as you don’t tell me how well I’m doing!
