You, you are the light of the world. You are the light of the world. You are the salt of the earth. Jesus himself said that.
Jesus didn't say, "I am the light of the world." He said, "You are the light of the world."
And he didn't say, "You are the light of your family." He didn't say, "You are the light of Trinity Cathedral." Jesus said, "You are the light of the world." Isn't that something? You are the light of the world!
Years ago I was in a congregation that decided to put on a production of "Godspell." This was a community theater project, with amateur actors -- members of the congregation joined the cast, and members of the community participated. As happens in lots of places, the cast became like a close family. Whenever they would encounter each other, they came up with this greeting to use that was unique to this cast. They would exchange this greeting, no matter where they were. I would hear it in the halls of the church, but I would also hear it in the local market.
They would see each other, and they would say, "You are the light of the world!" That was one of the lines in the play that just stuck with the cast, so whenever they saw each other they would say, "You are the light of the world!" And they turned it into an argument. "No, no, no, you’re the light of the world!" "No, you're the light of the world!" I would hear this argument in the market and in the church, and I thought, isn't that great! I know that they're being playful, but what if they actually get it?
What if they actually realize that they are the light of the world?
Wouldn't that be something?
So Jesus is at this dinner party. He sees the guests at the dinner party climbing over each other in order to get to the head table, elbowing each other out of the way, because they want to sit as close to the head table as they can. They want the seats of honor.
Jesus looks at this, and says, "Stop it! Stop climbing for seats of honor! Stop it! If you try to exalt yourself, you're going to be humbled. Humble yourself. Be humble, then you'll be exalted. Be humble."
I want to preach about humility. Unfortunately, it's not a topic that I know much about. Isn’t that a humble thing to say? And that's the thing about humility; if you try to be good at it, if you work hard at being humble so you can say, "Wow, look at how humble I am!", then you're not humble. Humility is slippery like that. It's hard to figure out how to be humble.
My favorite story about humility comes from the Jewish tradition. It's the Day of Atonement, and the Rabbi is at the front of the Temple and he's beating his chest, crying out, "O Lord, I am nothing! I am nothing!" Standing next to him, the Cantor is also beating his chest, crying out, "O Lord, I am nothing! I am nothing!"
Way in the back of the Temple, they hear the small voice of the custodian, crying out, "O Lord, I am nothing! I am nothing!" The Cantor elbows the Rabbi and whispers to him, "Look who thinks he's nothing!"
It's hard to figure out how to be humble. I was in a Bible study once, and we were wrestling with this Gospel passage. We were asking ourselves, what is humility? One of the ways we wanted to approach it was by figuring out what the opposite of humility was. The first suggestion was pride. But then, as we started to talk about it, we realized that there is something beautiful and important about pride. There is something beautiful and important about setting your mind to a task, working hard, accomplishing it, and then afterwards being able to say, "Wow! We did this!"
So the group did not want to say that pride was the opposite of humility and therefore we need to get rid of pride. What we eventually came to was, it's not pride so much as arrogance; it's not pride itself, it is pride mixed with comparing ourselves to other people.
Arrogance is being pleased with who you are in terms of how much better you are than other people. Now, I have a hard time living my life without comparing myself to other people. I want to be good, and I want to feel good about who I am, and as a result I've got to be a better priest, I've got to be a better preacher, I've got to be a better father, I've got to be a better husband; I've got to be better in order for me to be good.
And I've got to be better not just as an individual, but also corporately. When I'm talking with other members of the Cathedral, and we’re discussing how great Trinity is, it's so easy to slip into, "You know, I'm so much happier here than at such-and-such Church," or, "Trinity is so much better than Church X, Y, or Z."
Living our lives in comparison; having to feel 'better than'. That is the opposite of humility. Arrogance. Needing to put other people, other places, other things, down.
Let me tell you a story about something that happened at LAX. This is hard to believe, but in this particular story, some flights were delayed at LAX, which never ever happens in real life, right? Then, these delayed flights were canceled, and everyone who was on these flights raced over to the customer service counter in order to try to get a flight out. A long line forms at the customer service desk. This one guy sees the line, walks all the way around it, and goes to the very front, right up to the counter.
He slams a hand down on the desk, and declares to the attendant, "I need you to get me a first-class seat on the first available flight to my destination!" The person behind the counter replies, "I'm sorry sir, but there's a long line. Get in line, and we'll get to you when we can." The man goes, "You don't understand! I don't care how much it costs, you need to give me a first-class seat right away!" The attendant says again, "I'm sorry sir, I will get to you as soon as I can, but you do need to get in line." The man says, "Do you know who I am??"
The attendant picks up the microphone and calmly addresses the entire concourse at LAX. "Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, but there is a man at the counter who doesn't know who he is. If you do know who he is, could you please come up and help us?"
That is the problem. The problem is that we don't know who we are. We don't know that we are the light of the world. We don't know that we are the salt of the earth. We don't know that. If I knew that, then I wouldn't have to compare myself to other people.
If I knew that, if I knew that I was the light of the world, and I went to this dinner party, I wouldn't care where I sat. I would be just as happy at the back table as I would be at the front table. If I knew that I was the light of the world, and that this light was in me, then all that I would want to do would be to share it, no matter what table I ended up at. All I would want to do is to love and to serve other people. I wouldn't care what other people thought; I wouldn't need the prestige or the honor. I wouldn't need to compare. I could just be.
I was reading a book by Joan Chittister, who is a Benedictine nun. I read this one particular paragraph, and I couldn't believe she had said what she said. I was sure I had read the paragraph wrong, so I had to read it again. I read it through five times before I could trust that she had really said that. What Joan was writing about was the importance of community, and the benefit of being in a community that contains people not of your choosing. Of being in a community with people who are different than you, whom you may not have voluntarily chosen to be in your community. Specifically in this paragraph, she was talking about what different kinds of people can teach one another, what older people can teach younger people, and what younger people can teach older people.
When she was talking about what younger people can learn from older people, she wrote that what the younger people can learn is that one day we will each be only what we are, and nothing more. Listen to it again -- One day, we will each be only what we are, and nothing more. That's what the young people can learn, meaning that they are not their jobs, they are not their beauty, they are not their health, they are not their vitality, they are not their accomplishments. They are only what they are.
Now, the thing that shocked me, the thing that made me read this paragraph five times, is that Joan was saying this as if it were a good thing! You know? Like, having all of this stuff stripped away, so that you are just you?
That is a good thing -- because now you can realize who you are. The light of the world. The salt of the earth. Just by being you.
Just by being me. Not Dean, not priest, not anything. Just me. Can you imagine what it would be like if we got that? If we realized that we are the light of the world just as we are?
Then, if you get that, you don't have to compete. Then, you are humble. Humility comes in knowing who you are -- Light of the world.
I wish I could internalize that just from hearing a sermon. You know? I wish that by listening to myself I could actually get it! I wish I could leave this Cathedral today and know that I am the light of the world, and have that identity permeate my whole existence.
It just doesn't sink in that quickly; which is why I need you. Which is why I need this church. Which is why I need prayer. Which is why I need the spiritual disciplines. Which is why I need to come here, week after week after week. I need to hear it again and again and again -- I am the light of the world! You are the light of the world! I need to hear it so it will sink in; so that I will realize and remember who I am, and I don't have to compare myself to anybody else. I can just be me.