It’s often in such small, ordinary gestures that true humility shows itself. I’ve always found myself drawn to people who carry within them that quiet, natural humility, the sort of folk who don’t seek the spotlight but whose lives quietly shine all the same. They don’t act for applause or recognition. They simply respond out of love… they get on with it.
It’s a humility you see in places like hospitals, where not only doctors and nurses, but porters, administration staff, cooks, and cleaners go about their work, rarely seeking praise. It’s not recognition that fuels their service, but a deep, steady sense that caring for others and doing their task faithfully is, in itself, meaningful. These are the values that guide their work. In a world that seems to thrive on appearances and comparisons, it’s easy to fall into the trap of measuring our worth by what we own or how we’re seen. We all know the neighbour who always seems to have the newest car on the drive, the latest phone in hand, the carefully curated social media post showing the perfect holiday, the perfect home, the perfect life. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying good things, of course, but when our hearts start to crave status, or the need to “keep up,” we begin to miss the real, deeper riches.And that’s exactly the heart of today’s Gospel. Two men go to the Temple to pray. One stands tall, sure of himself, thanking God that he isn’t like “other people.” The other stands at a distance, aware of his need for mercy, and says nothing but, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” Jesus tells us plainly… it was the second man, not the first, who “went home justified.”
It’s a parable about the heart. The tax collector knew he needed grace. The Pharisee, religious, respectable, confident, did not. His problem wasn’t that he did good things, but that arrogance had closed his heart. Arrogance can blind us to grace… humility opens us to it. The early Church often reflected that what condemns us isn’t the size of our faults but our refusal to seek forgiveness. God’s mercy is always vaster than our failings.The lesson is about honesty… Faith begins not in self-satisfaction but in the recognition of need. It isn’t about building a case for ourselves before God, but about learning to stand empty-handed, knowing that everything we have is a gift. That’s why today’s first reading from Sirach tells us that “the prayer of the humble pierces the clouds.” God doesn’t measure our success or public image but listens to the voice of those who truly know their need.
In the second reading, we hear St Paul’s voice near the end of his life. He isn’t boasting of achievements but quietly trusting: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” The reward he hopes for isn’t a trophy, it’s more like a moment of humility… seeing ourselves as we truly are, limited yet beloved, without pretence. The tax collector in today’s Gospel saw that truth and trusted that God’s mercy would meet him there.This kind of humility has sustained and shaped the Church across the centuries. Think of St Francis of Assisi, who left wealth and privilege to embrace poverty… not as a show, but as an act of trust in God’s providence. He became one of the most beloved saints, not because he sought greatness, but because he showed humility and loved deeply.
The Eucharist itself teaches us how to pray like the tax collector. Before receiving the Body and Blood of Christ, we say the words: Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word, and my soul shall be healed. The sacrament reminds us, each week, that God’s mercy and love is always waiting for us… like our outstretched hands, ready to receive.If you want to see this humility at work, you don’t have to look far. It often shows itself in the smallest, most ordinary acts… the neighbour who drives a friend to a hospital appointment… the friend who quietly leaves shopping at the door of an elderly person who can’t get out… the neighbour who wheels in next door’s bins because they know the family is away. These aren’t grand gestures, but simple, unnoticed acts of kindness. They reveal a heart turned outward, not inward… a life lived not for show, but for love.
Think of the welcomers at the church door, offering a smile and a kind word to all who enter, creating a space where everyone feels at home. Think of those who clean the church, tidy the parish hall, sweep the floor, polish the brass, or wash the linen, not to be noticed, but because they care. Of those who set out chairs, make tea, or quietly clear away at the end of an event. Of the elderly and housebound who faithfully pray for St Stephen’s, because love has formed a rhythm in their hearts. So much of the Church’s life is built, day by day, through these humble acts of love… grace at work in hearts that pray, serve, forgive, and quietly show up… hearts that, like the tax collector, simply and honestly standing before God. The invitation this Sunday is to let go of comparison. So much of modern life encourages us to measure ourselves against others, to “keep up with the Joneses.” But Jesus invites us to leave all that behind. The tax collector didn’t compare himself to anyone; he simply stood before God as he was, unpolished, but honest. That’s the beginning of real prayer.The humble are those who know they need mercy and who recognise that everyone else does too. When we live this way… when we let go of arrogance and welcome humility, we begin to glimpse the Kingdom of God already at work around us, already alive in the faces of those we meet. So today, for the week ahead may God grant us the grace to pray with honesty, to live with humility, and to walk gently with others. For the humble heart, Christ tells us, will not be sent away empty. Amen.