Christ's priest or the priest's Christ

Probably every one of us has at some point wondered what we are to others: thin air, a servant, or perhaps a master or an object of adoration. And when it comes to our friends, do we not also ask ourselves, or ask them, whether we matter to them? If I am in a relationship with someone, he too always has the right to ask me who he is for me.

And so Christ asks: „But who do you say that I am?” It is certainly a question about the divinity of Jesus, but in practice it is a question about me and about my world of values. In a healthy hierarchy God comes first, and then everything tends to be in its right place. The disorder appears when my hierarchy of importance is distorted. And yet more than once I have had a sick picture of myself and have been so concentrated on myself that Jesus was left out altogether. Spirituality has given us many tools for describing this state, and it calls it the pride of life.

My priesthood as a sacrament undoubtedly rises above all other states of life – and from this a temptation can easily grow up in the heart to consider oneself greater than others. Once this sick pride in myself very nearly blew me sky-high. Such is the unhappy gravity of the human heart. Christ understands best my human inclination to this weakness – hence his own example: „So you also, when you have done all that is commanded you, say: «We are unworthy servants; we have only done what was our duty»” (Lk 17:10).

Following Fr Grudniok, I ought to remind myself every day of certain facts drawn from observation: pride does not pray, pride acknowledges no one above itself. Pride does not bend its head or its knees, it recognises no examination of conscience, it never has anything to be sorry for. Pride is self-sufficient, it reckons only with its own opinion. Pride separates one from God and from people, because it springs from a lie, from untruth, and builds on false premises. Pride looks down on everyone, whereas a human being must look at most things from below, from the position of a creature, from the position of a fallen nature: „Let the hills be made low, let the valleys be filled (...)”.

Happy are those who have not lost the capacity for a truthful look at themselves, at their mistakes, faults and shortcomings, those who are able to accept reproofs and warnings with gratitude. To recognise the illness is already half the cure. And the cancer of pride must be unmasked before it is too late. The ability to admit one's mistakes and the readiness to change one's thinking and acting is a great step towards genuine humility. St Teresa of Jesus once said: „The mistake of those who make no progress in the interior life lies in a lack of humility. For humility is the foundation of the whole building of the interior life, and the Lord will never let it rise too high if it lacks a firm foundation”.

Humility does not hunch a man over, it does not break his backbone, it does not bend him to the ground or make him lower his eyes in shame. A humble man, though always critical of himself, is nevertheless aware of his own dignity. And this is what I try to do: not to insist on my own way, to listen patiently, not to take offence at the slightest excuse, and best of all not to take offence at all. I need humility so that my hierarchy may be true, so that I myself may be healthy. For what use to anyone is a priest with a sick soul – except to be mocked and trampled on by people.

Fr Jacek Nawrot