Learning humility is a difficult undertaking and a lifelong venture. Today’s reflection considers the challenges of pursuing humility in a world obsessed with being right.

October 26, 2025: Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time
Sirach 35:12–14, 16–18
Psalm 34:2–3, 17–19, 23
2 Timothy 4:6–8, 16–18
Luke 18:9–14

As So Much Straw

A reflection by Carter Fahey

Before I came to faith, I thought I had it all figured out. I knew I had the “right” political opinions and religious beliefs (or lack thereof). It was a comfortable place to be–I could assure myself that I was a good person, and that anyone who disagreed with my core beliefs in any meaningful way was, at best, misguided, and at worst, bigoted or malicious.

At the time, I didn’t consider myself to be particularly prideful–quite the opposite. I thought of myself as reasonably humble; I recognized that I was (and am) incredibly lucky to have a loving family, access to a good education, supportive friends, and the material and intellectual resources to build informed opinions. I knew, and know, that I did not get here alone, so it seemed reasonable to conclude that I was not a prideful person. I was not thinking of myself as better than anyone else–certainly not more valuable or more intelligent–and I appreciated the equality and dignity of every person, so how could I be prideful?

In my certainty that I had all the right answers, I had fundamentally misunderstood pride and its inverse, humility. This uncomfortable truth was only revealed to me when I experienced something of God during my first Mass. Suddenly, I had reason to believe that one of my core tenets–that there was no God–was untrue. I was forcibly shaken from my comfortable certainty, and the resulting fallout touched every aspect of my life.

If I had been wrong about something so fundamental to my worldview, what did that mean for the rest of my beliefs? After so profound an experience, the only thing I could be certain about was God. Like St. Thomas Aquinas, the certitude I had worked so hard for seemed “to be as so much straw after the things that [had] been revealed.”

What followed was a serious reexamination of every aspect of my life in light of the gospel. In many cases, I was led back to the same conclusions. What changed was not necessarily my beliefs themselves, but my attitude towards them; they are no longer static answers, but ideas which are constantly in development.

I’m still not sure I really know exactly what it means to be humble–my understanding of it is constantly changing–but I often find myself turning to today’s gospel reading when I am grappling with pridefulness.

The Pharisee, secure in the knowledge that he is righteous before God, sets himself above others in his prayers because he observes the law to the letter. Few people truly think of themselves as being better than others–at least consciously–but how many of us are tempted by similar thoughts in our daily lives?

When we see someone acting against our principles, it’s easy to think like the Pharisee: “I may not be perfect, but at least I don’t [insert an action of your choice here].” We treasure our certainty, and it prevents us from entering into relationship with the other. Without realizing it, we compare others to ourselves, holding them against the standard of our own beliefs and worldview, when we are really called to see them–and ourselves–through the eyes of God, who loves each one of us infinitely and uniquely.

This perspective–one of truth–is the basis of humility, but the truth is an uncomfortable thing. We are obliged to admit our dependance on God, and this threatens the foundations of our self-centered worldview. It compels us to recognize that we don’t (and can’t) have all the answers, that we won’t always get things right, and that this uncertainty is nothing compared to the all-encompassing love of God. The tax-collector understood this reality, and it is this recognition that justified him.

This isn’t something we can do once and file away as “done.” It is an ongoing battle; a race, as the author of 2 Timothy puts it, which requires strength and persistence. It requires us to sit with the uncomfortable truth from which we instinctively shield ourselves, and to set aside our comfortable certainty.

The one thing I know for sure about pursuing humility is that it isn’t easy–but, if pursued in love, we can trust in God to help us along the path.

Carter Fahey (he/him) is the Associate Editor of Breath of the Spirit and studied at Oxford. He is a convert and has an interest in doing outreach work to Catholic communities to combat misinformation and create opportunities for community among LGBTQIA+ people.

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