Reflection 14: The virtue of Humility
Beloved Pilgrims,
As we continue our journey, today’s reflection brings us into the grace of Holy Thursday. The Scriptures lead us to a sacred table where Jesus shares a final meal with His disciples and then takes a simple act, washing their feet, that reveals the depth of His love and the shape of His way.
There is something deeply human and deeply divine about this moment. Jesus, the one they call Master and Lord, bends low to serve. With water and a towel, He honors each of them. It’s a gesture that speaks not only of love, but of humility, something we are invited to reflect on with care and sincerity today.
Every reflection in this journey has offered its own grace. Today, we listen for what humility might be asking of us, how it might shape the way we love, lead, and live.
I’m so grateful we’re walking this path together.
With humble blessings,
Swaady
Jesus Washing Peter’s Feet, (1852-56) by Ford Madox Brown
“When he had finished washing their feet, he put on his clothes and returned to his place. “Do you understand what I have done for you?” he asked them. “You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. Very truly I tell you, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them.”
The story:
On the evening before His crucifixion, Jesus gathered with His disciples in the Upper Room to celebrate the Passover meal. During the meal, He took bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to them saying: “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” (Luke 22:19). Then He took a cup of wine, saying: “This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood.” (Luke 22:20). This moment marks the institution of the Eucharist, where Jesus offers Himself as spiritual sustenance and the fulfillment of the Passover lamb.
Before the meal, Jesus rose from the table, removed His outer garments, and washed the feet of His disciples—a task reserved for the lowliest servant. When Peter protested, Jesus replied: “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” (John 13:8). Jesus then said: “I have given you an example, that you also should do just as I have done to you.” (John 13:15). This humble act revealed the heart of divine servanthood and the call to love through humility.
During the meal, Jesus revealed that one of the disciples would betray Him. When asked who, He said: “He who has dipped his hand in the dish with me will betray me.” (Matthew 26:23). Judas Iscariot then left to complete his betrayal. Later, Jesus turned to Peter and told him: “Before the rooster crows today, you will deny me three times.” (Luke 22:61). These moments expose the fragility of human loyalty and the loneliness Jesus would face.
After washing their feet, Jesus gave a new commandment (Latin: mandatum, from which "Maundy" comes): “Love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples.” (John 13:34–35). This commandment elevates love from feeling to action, from affection to sacrificial service.
After the supper, Jesus led His disciples to the Garden of Gethsemane. There, He prayed in anguish, saying: “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” (Luke 22:42). Jesus’ sweat fell like drops of blood, a sign of profound spiritual agony. While He prayed, the disciples fell asleep. Judas arrived with soldiers and betrayed Jesus with a kiss. Jesus, knowing all that was to come, submitted without resistance, saying: “Shall I not drink the cup the Father has given me?” (John 18:11). This moment marks the beginning of the Passion and Jesus' journey toward the Cross.
We live in a culture built on appearance, curating, comparing, and constantly measuring our worth through the eyes of others. Daniel Boorstin once noted that the graphic revolution has created a new kind of power: the ability to make even average people doing average things famous. Through platforms like Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, Twitter, and TikTok, we now exist in a world where visibility itself is confused for value.
We are becoming a culture infatuated with celebrity. Fame was once earned through heroic deeds or meaningful contribution. Now, it can be gained simply by being noticed. So many of our choices, whether we admit it or not, are shaped by a silent question that governs our emotions, our relationships, and even our spiritual practices: “What will people think about me?”
This question, left unexamined, becomes a tyrant. It fuels the compulsion to impress. It breeds the ache of comparison. It robs us of contentment, replacing it with the relentless pursuit of being seen, praised, or envied. The question, “What will people think of me?” has more influence over us than we might like to admit. It affects how we think, how we feel, and even how we relate to God.
This internal pressure often stems from something Scripture names clearly: the pride of life, the longing to be seen, admired, and affirmed by others. “For everything in the world—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—comes not from the Father but from the world.” (1 John 2:16). It is not always easy to grasp the complexity of the human heart. Why do we care so deeply about how others perceive us? Why are we so quick to measure our worth against the lives of others? Why is it so hard to simply rest in who we are and what we’ve been given?
The ego, when untethered from God, always demands an audience. It is not enough to be. We must be better. We must be known. Most of us struggle to be content with our work, our gifts, our lives. We hide our failures. We exaggerate our strengths. We constantly compare ourselves with others, not merely to admire them, but to see where we stand. Have I done enough? Do I matter? Success alone does not satisfy unless it is seen.
We crave more than achievement. We crave acknowledgment. We want others to witness our worth. And when they don’t, something aches. We long to do well and to be applauded, known, and admired. We fear being unseen. We fear being ordinary. We fear being nobody. Dr. Tim Keller once said that the worst thing for a human being is not being disliked but being ignored. To feel insignificant. Invisible. Unnecessary. That is what truly breaks the heart.
We fear being unimportant and worthless in the eyes of others, and so, consciously or not, we seek something more than affirmation. We seek glory. A desire to prove to the world and to ourselves, “I matter.” This is the crisis of the human heart: we are starved for glory. In our starvation, we begin to believe the lie that our worth is measured by visibility, applause, or admiration. We hustle for our worth. We perform to be loved. We reach for crowns that glitter and do not last.
On Holy Thursday, Jesus bends to wash the feet of His disciples. The scene is disarming, not just for its tenderness, but for its radical inversion of power. In the ancient world, washing feet was a task for the lowliest servant. Yet here is the Messiah, kneeling with a towel around His waist, water in hand. This is not just an act of kindness. It is a revelation. A revelation of who God is and who we are called to be.
In a world where platforms are raised to showcase the self, where success is measured by visibility and worth is gauged by applause, humility has become a quiet scandal. It slips beneath the radar of modern metrics, unquantifiable, unmarketable, and essential to the soul’s growth.
The humble are no longer tormented by the need to be admired. They are content in their skin, anchored in their identity, and at peace with their portion. They are delivered from the exhausting pursuit of being impressive. They know something deeper: all that I am and all that I have is a gift.
Humility helps you recognize that nothing in your life is truly self-made. Everything you possess, your talents, your story, your strength, your opportunities, flows from grace. From God. From others. From those who mentored you, encouraged you, fed you, carried you. Pride says: I did this myself. Humility says: I am grateful beyond measure.
This gratitude softens us. It keeps us grounded. It fills the heart with thanksgiving instead of anxiety. Humility is about being rooted in truth. It is the confidence of knowing who you are in God without needing the world to echo it back to you. Humility is the divine strength to be nothing and still know you are everything in the heart of God. This is why humility is liberation.
Humility is not self-deprecation. It is seeing yourself truthfully in light of divine grace. It is the spiritual clarity that comes when we are no longer obsessed with proving, performing, or protecting an image. Humility allows love to flow. It does not cling to titles, roles, or reputation. It makes room. It listens. It serves. It refuses to be inflated by praise or crushed by rejection. Its roots are not in ego. They are in God.
In our culture, pride often masquerades as confidence. Arrogance is dressed up as leadership. Self-promotion is rewarded. Self-effacement is dismissed. Jesus offers another way. To be humble is to trust that you are already beloved. You have nothing to prove. Nothing to defend. Nothing to grasp. From this still center, you can stoop low in love because you are already held high in the heart of God.
Imagine what would change if we prized humility the way we prize charisma. What kind of homes would we build? What kind of leaders would we follow? What kind of world could be shaped if we each practiced the kind of love that kneels?
The humble are at peace with who they are in the eyes of others. They are content with their place in the world and no longer ruled by the need to impress. They are the ones truly delivered from the exhausting need to declare, “I am important.”
Humility is not an accident. It is a decision. A choice we make and then pursue again and again. To be humble is to become whole.
Spiritual Assignment
Today, take time to notice where the desire for recognition still lives in you. Where do you feel the pull to be admired, acknowledged, or validated? Where does your heart resist serving quietly, without thanks or applause?
Ask yourself :
In what ways am I still seeking to prove that I matter?
Where am I comparing myself to others, hoping to come out ahead?
Whose approval feels necessary for me to feel at peace with who I am?
What might shift in your life if you no longer feared being overlooked?
What would become possible if you trusted that your worth was already established in God?
Let this day be an invitation to embrace the grace of smallness. To remember that humility is the journey of becoming who we truly are.
