A Homily for the Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time
Readings: Zephaniah 2:3; 3:12-13 1 Corinthians 1:26-31 Matthew 5:1-12a
A portrait hangs in the nave of Westminster Abbey, and if a picture is indeed worth a thousand words, this one preaches a veritable sermon on the absence of humility!
A painting of King Richard II, it is the first contemporary portrait of an English monarch. Richard himself commissioned the piece in the 1390s, making it one of the first portraits ever painted above the Alps.
Although Italian artists had introduced perspective and background a century before, Richard floats in a golden background, reminiscent of saints as depicted in Eastern iconography. The young monarch, swathed in crimson and ermine, sits enthroned with scepter and orb on the day of his coronation.
Originally placed in the choir of the abbey, the king’s massive gold coronation portrait would have been an imposing presence in the many candlelit services of the church. This is clearly what Richard wanted. According to a medieval friar, who reported on the actual court of the king:
On solemn festivals when by custom [Richard II] performed kingly rituals, he would order a throne to be prepared for him in his chamber on which he liked to sit ostentatiously from after dinner until vespers, talking to no one but watching everyone; and when his eye fell on anyone, regardless of rank, that person had to bend his knee towards the king…
Was Richard claiming divinity? He certainly saw himself as closely aligned with God. The same young king commissioned a diptych, a picture in two parts, one for each side of his personal altar. On the left, Richard adores the Christ child. On the right, the infant who receives this homage is surrounded by angels. They wear Richard’s own livery, a white hind, on their breasts. Evidently, Richard not only saw his power as deriving from the deity. He also thought it extended into celestial domains.
Credit: Wikipedia
Richard II is a lesson in how not to do humility. Indeed, it was during his reign that the old forms of royal address were first replaced with Gallic usage. Richard was not to be addressed as “My King.” Instead, his courtiers were instructed to say, “Your Majesty.”
Here’s the irony! Richard lost the throne, only the second English monarch to do so. Edward II had previously stepped aside in favor of his son, but it was Richard’s cousin, Henry Bolingbrook, who had to wrest the throne from this childless king when Richard was still in his 30s.
Then as now, English monarchs were carefully groomed to rule. In the Middle Ages, that preparation was largely military. Future kings were expected to prove themselves as princes who knew how to fight and win. But Richard came to the throne at age 10, after the passing of his grandfather, King Edward III, and the unexpected death of his father, the prince of Wales. Both were great warriors.
Although Richard once showed courage in personally confronting a rebel mob, he always avoided accompanying his troops in battle. Indeed, instead of fighting King Charles VI of France, England’s greatest contemporary adversary, Richard tried to broker deals with French power, even if that meant selling out England’s interests in favor of Richard’s personal aspirations. And those ambitions included seeking the death of anyone who tried to reform or rein in Richard’s administration.
Yes, if a picture is worth a thousand words, this one preaches a veritable sermon on the absence of humility!
When the downfall of Jerusalem was looming, the prophet Zephaniah insisted that humility might yet be a path to God.
Seek the LORD, all you humble of the earth,
who have observed his law;
seek justice, seek humility;
perhaps you may be sheltered
on the day of the LORD’s anger (2:3).
Then as now, there are those who equate humility with weakness. So why does Jesus himself say that “the poor in spirit” and the meek are to be blessed? What is so wonderful about humility?
I was recently praying with my old friend Pseudo-Dionysius. Talk about humility! This great father of the church remains anonymous, though his neo-Platonic take on the Gospels became a veritable foundation for the Catholic faith. Regarding contemplative prayer, when we attempt to simply ponder the presence of God, Pseudo-Dionysius insists that we recognize God to be more true, more certain than we are.
The most divine knowledge of God, that which comes through unknowing, is achieved in a union far beyond mind, when mind turns away from all things, even from itself, and when it is made one with the dazzling rays, being then and there enlightened by the inscrutable depth of wisdom (The Divine Names, 827B).
This is an example of what is called apophatic or negative theology, here put into the service of prayer. It reads a bit like Hindu or Buddhist thought, suggesting that we and our worries are illusions. This is not what Pseudo-Dionysius is saying, but he does remind us that we are not the ultimate reality, that something lies beyond us.
Modern thought is premised on the notion that the most self-evident reality is the thinking mind, our own selves. Pseudo-Dionysius says that in contemplative prayer, we should remember that we are but shadows surrounded by an incessant, inscrutable light.
Of course, when sincerely offered, all prayer does the same: It says that something lies beyond us. Yet unlike Eastern thought, Christian prayer is offered in the confidence that the inaccessible light has lovingly claimed us as its own. We are not illusions. Better to say, we are little lights of love, looking for the way home.
This is precisely the preaching that St. Paul penned to his errant congregation in Corinth. The rich and powerful Christians of that prosperous port city were disdaining their fellow believers who were poor. What did Paul tell them?
God chose the foolish of the world to shame the wise,
and God chose the weak of the world to shame the strong,
and God chose the lowly and despised of the world,
those who count for nothing,
to reduce to nothing those who are something,
so that no human being might boast before God.
It is due to him that you are in Christ Jesus
who became for us wisdom from God,
as well as righteousness, sanctification, and redemption,
so that, as it is written,
“Whoever boasts, should boast in the Lord” (1 Cor 1:27-31).
Measuring 7 by 3.5 feet, Richard II’s portrait is larger than life. And that is how Richard saw the matter. He was king. He was larger than life.
To be humble is to constantly remember that we are not the measure of all things. Indeed, we must exit ourselves—both in love of others and in prayer—to even catch a glimmer of the love that lies beyond us, calling to us, enveloping us. Or as Iris Murdoch, the great Catholic philosopher and novelist, put it, “Love is the extremely difficult realization that something other than oneself is real.”
Politics
Faith
Culture
Vatican
Scripture
Podcasts