Blessed be God. Praise be to Jesus Christ, now and forever. Amen.
Come Holy Spirit, fill us with joy, fill us with the fire of your presence. Amen.
Last week, after my 4 year old grandson heard me offer this prayer,
he yells out “Holy Spirit don't set Pop on fire.”
To me that childlike honesty is a glimpse of grace.
In a world that shouts,
“Look at me! Look at what I’ve done! Look at my place at the table!”
the Gospel whispers something far more beautiful.
It calls us back to a quiet, profound truth.
Not found in the spotlight,
but in the humble corners of our lives.
It’s the truth of humility.
And who is our teacher?
Jesus Himself.
He didn’t come in a palace.
He came in a stable.
He didn’t demand the seat of honor.
He bent low to wash the dust from tired feet.
The hands that shaped the stars became the hands that served bread.
His whole life was a surrender to divine grace.
And in that surrender,
He traced the path to glory through the valley of humility.
Sirach tells us,
“Humble yourself the more, the greater you are, and you will find favor with God.”
That’s not just a proverb—it’s a spiritual law.
The higher we rise,
the deeper we’re called to kneel.
But how do we live this?
How do we find humility in a world that rewards pride?
It begins in the place you find yourself.
It starts at your table.
I remember my grandparents’ kitchen table.
My papaw built it big enough for all twelve of his children.
But as the family grew, even that big table felt small.
So on holidays, we had a schedule.
First, the grown men and guests.
Then the older grandchildren.
Then the little ones.
And last—always last—my mamma, my mother, and my aunts.
The women who cooked every dish.
As a child, I thought,
“That’s not fair.” They should’ve eaten first.
They were the most important people in that room to me.
But my mamma just smiled and said,
“Mais non. We get our first taste when we’re cooking. It makes us happy seeing everyone else eat.”
That’s humility.
Not groveling.
Not pretending to be less.
But joy in serving.
Wisdom in surrender.
Love that doesn’t need applause.
And isn’t that the heart of God?
Psalm 68 says,
“God, in your goodness, you have made a home for the poor.”
God doesn’t just protect the lowly—He delights in them.
He gives them a place.
And when we humble ourselves,
we find that place too.
Hebrews tells us we’re not standing at Mount Sinai anymore, trembling in fear.
We’re standing at Mount Zion—the city of the living God.
We’re part of a heavenly banquet,
with angels and saints and Jesus Himself,
whose blood speaks mercy, not vengeance.
So I ask you:
Where are you at the table?
At the head, seeking honor?
Or at the edge, seeking grace?
Are you waiting to be seen,
or watching to serve?
Jesus says,
“Take the lowest place.”
Not because you’re less—
but because that’s where love begins.
That’s where God lifts you up.
That’s where heaven breaks in.
Humility starts in the place you find yourself.
In the kitchen.
In the classroom.
In the hospital room.
In the pew.
In the silence of your heart.
And when you serve others for God,
even the biggest table becomes small.
It’s no longer about who eats first.
It’s about feeding one another.
Loving one another.
Seeing the face of God in the act of service.
So take the lowest place.
Not because you’re forgotten.
Not because you’re less.
But because you are loved.
And in that place,
you’ll find the first taste of heaven.
Be good. Be holy.
Let your life be the sermon.
Let your love be the witness.
Preach the Good News of Jesus Christ—
not just with words,
but with mercy in motion,
with kindness that stays,
with a heart that gives itself away.
Blessed be God. Praise be to Jesus Christ, now and forever.
Amen.
