On True Humility


A few days ago, another strong wind passed through our area blowing half of our hay crop away. Then the past two days, a deluge of rain pretty much destroyed the rest. The following writing from earlier this year came to mind…

My prayer today: “Jesus, I am not humble. O Lord, meek and humble of heart, make my heart unto Thine…”


THERE are three levels of humility, and few of us get beyond the first. 

The first is relatively easy to see. It is when we or someone else is arrogant, proud, or defensive; when we are overly-assertive, stubborn or unwilling to accept a certain reality. When a soul comes to recognize this form of pride and repent, it is a good and necessary step. Indeed, anyone striving to be perfect as the heavenly Father is perfect will quickly begin to see their faults and failings. And in repenting of them, they might even say with sincerity, “Lord, I am nothing. I am a miserable wretch. Have pity on me.” This self-knowledge is essential. As I have said before, “the truth will set you free,” and the first truth is the truth of who I am, and who I’m not. But again, this is only a first step toward authentic humility; the acknowledgment of one’s hubris is not the fullness of humility. It must go deeper. The next level, though, is much harder to recognize.

A genuinely humble soul is one who not only accepts their interior poverty, but also accepts every exterior cross as well. A soul who is still captured by pride may appear to be humble; again, they might say, “I am the greatest sinner and not a holy person.” They might go to daily Mass, pray every day, and frequent the confessional. But something is missing: they still do not accept every trial that comes to them as the permissive will of God. Rather, they say, “Lord, I am striving to serve you and be faithful. Why do you allow this to happen to me?”

But that is one who is not yet truly humble… like Peter at one time. He had not accepted that the Cross is the only way to the Resurrection; that the grain of wheat must die in order to bear fruit. When Jesus said that He must go up to Jerusalem to suffer and die, Peter balked:

God forbid, Lord! No such thing shall ever happen to you. (Matt 6:22)

Jesus rebuked, not only Peter, but the father of pride:

Get behind me, Satan! You are an obstacle to me. You are thinking not as God does, but as human beings do. (6:23)

Well, just a few verses before, Jesus was commending Peter’s faith, declaring him to be “rock”! But in that following scene, Peter was more like shale. He was like that “rocky soil” upon which the seed of the word of God could not take root.

Those on rocky ground are the ones who, when they hear, receive the word with joy, but they have no root; they believe only for a time and fall away in time of trial. (Luke 8:13)

Such souls are not yet authentically humble. True humility is when we accept whatever God permits in our lives because, indeed, nothing comes to us that His permissive will does not allow. How often when trials, sickness or tragedy come (as they do for everyone) have we said, “God forbid, Lord! No such thing should happen to me! Am I not your child? Am I not your servant, friend, and disciple?” To which Jesus replies:

You are my friends if you do what I command you… when fully trained, every disciple will be like his teacher. (John 15:14; Luke 6:40)

That is, the truly humble soul will say in all things, “May it be done to me according to your word,” [1] and “Not my will but yours be done.” [2]

… he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave… he humbled himself, becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross. (Phil 2:7-8)

Jesus is the incarnation of humility; Mary is His copy. 

The disciple who is like Him refuses neither God’s blessings nor His discipline; he accepts both consolation and desolation; like Mary, he does not follow Jesus from a safe distance, but prostrates himself before the Cross, sharing in all His sufferings as he unites his own adversities to Christ’s.

Someone handed me a card with a reflection on the back. It summarizes very beautifully what has been said above.

Humility is perpetual quietness of heart.
It is to have no trouble.
It is never to be fretted, vexed, irritated, sore, or disappointed.
It is to expect nothing, to wonder at nothing that is done to me,
to feel nothing done against me.
It is to be at rest when nobody praises me,
and when I am blamed and despised.
It is to have a blessed home in myself, where I can go in,
shut the door, kneel to my God in secret, 
and am at peace, as in a deep sea of calmness, 
when all around and above is troubled.
(Auther Unknown) 

Finally, a soul is abiding in true humility when it embraces all of the above—but resists any kind of self-satisfaction—as if to say, “Ah, I am finally getting it; I’ve got it figured out; I’ve arrived… etc.” St. Pio warned of this most subtle enemy:

Let us always be on the alert and not let this very formidable enemy [of self-satisfaction] penetrate our minds and hearts, because, once it enters, it ravages every virtue, mars every holiness, and corrupts everything that is good and beautiful. —from Padre Pio’s Spiritual Direction for Every Day, edited by Gianluigi Pasquale, Servant Books; Feb. 25th

Whatever is good is God’s—the rest is mine. If my life bears good fruit, it is because He who is Good is working in me. For Jesus said, “without me, you can do nothing.” [3]

Repent of pride, rest in God’s will, and relinquish any self-satisfaction, and you will discover the sweetness of the Cross. For the Divine Will is the seed of true joy and real peace. It is food for the humble.


First published February 26th, 2018.




To help Mark and his family in the storm recovery
which begins this week, add the message:
“Mallett Family Relief” to your donation. 


Where forgiveness is lacking in your family, be the one to forgive.
Even if no one understands.
Even if someone tries to talk you out of it.
Even if they don’t deserve it.
Even if it hurts.
Be the one to forgive.
Friends, be confident in Christ’s mercy and love.

“Where there is no love, pour love in, and you will draw out love.” (St. John of the Cross)


Lord, teach us how to forgive. Amen.

I Am Broken


LORD, I am broken. I surrender.”

Those are the words that have risen to my lips so many times in the past few weeks. Since the storm that ransacked our farm that June day, there has been one trial after another on nearly a daily basis… vehicles taking turns breaking down, an infection in my jaw, continued hearing loss that has made conversation difficult and music sound awful. Then my credit card was used for fraud, the roof started leaking in our camper, and the insurance company got back to us on the storm damage saying that cleanup is estimated at $95,000—but they would only cover $5000. At the same time, our marriage also seemed to be bursting at the seams as past wounds and patterns suddenly emerged. Under the strain, it felt like we were losing everything, even each other.

But there were two brief pauses in the “storm”, rays of light breaking through the thunderous clouds and startling train-wreck of events. One was the wedding of our third daughter to a beautiful young man. It was a holy ceremony and true celebration. For nearly everyone who attended, it left an indelible impression on their souls. And then several days later, our oldest daughter announced that our third grandchild was on the way. We shouted for joy at the wonderful news, as they had been trying to conceive for months. But as the Gospel of the hemorrhaging woman was read this past Sunday, my wife leaned over to tell me that she had just learned that our daughter was now having a miscarriage. The storm returned with a deluge of tears.

There comes a point when words begin to fail; when all our Christian clichés come up empty; when all one can do is sweat and bleed and cry out: “Father, not my will but yours be done.” I have been thinking a lot of Our Lady who stood silently beneath the Cross. In the face of inexplicable suffering, abandonment, and uncertainty… we have no recorded words from her. All we know is that she remained there until the bitter end. She did not shake her fists at those causing pain, at those who abandoned her Son, at those who doubted, mocked or simply walked away. Much less did she question or threaten her God.

But perhaps, within her heart, she quietly said, “Lord, I am broken. I surrender.” 

It is human nature to want to find some meaning, some purpose behind our suffering. But sometimes, there is simply no answer. I remember when Pope Benedict visited the Auschwitz “death camp” in 2006. Standing in the long shadows of inexplicable evil, he said:

In a place like this, words fail; in the end, there can only be a dread silence—a silence which is itself a heartfelt cry to God: Why, Lord, did you remain silent? —Address by the Holy Father, May 28th, 2006; vatican.va

During Mass a couple of weekends ago, I looked up at the crucifix hanging over the altar. And the words came to me that I have been trying to be conformed to His Resurrection instead of the Cross. I pondered if God was permitting this “storm” in order to further “crucify” my flesh precisely so that I may share more and more in the fruits of the Resurrection. It is only through death to one’s inordinate desires and selfish ambitions that this is possible—as St. Paul wrote:

I even consider everything as a loss because of the supreme good of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have accepted the loss of all things and I consider them so much rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in him… depending on faith to know him and the power of his resurrection and [the] sharing of his sufferings by being conformed to his death, if somehow I may attain the resurrection from the dead. (Phil 3:8-10)

And yet, I do not “feel” this participation at all. I only feel my poverty, limitations, and lack of virtue. I feel the godlessness in me, that primordial streak of rebellion that runs through all of us. And I want to run… But then it occurred to me one day that Jesus did not say, “Okay, Father, I have been scourged and crowned with thorns. That is enough.” Or, “I have fallen beneath this cross three times. That’s enough.” Or, “Okay, I am now nailed to the tree. Take Me now.” No, rather, He abandoned Himself completely to the Father—to His timeline, His plan, His way.

And Jesus hung for three more hours until every drop of His blood that needed to be spilled had fallen to the earth. 

I am writing to you today to bring, if possible, a word of encouragement to you who are in your own storms, whatever they are, including marital strain. Lea and I regained our senses, and once again, forgave each other and renewed our love (may I say “unbreakable” love) for each other. You see, so often, people place me on a pedestal as some kind of saint, or they suggest that I am somehow favored by God (and that they are not). But I am certainly no more favored than the God-Man, Jesus Christ, whom the Father allowed to suffer and die a brutal death. I am no more favored than the Blessed Mother who, “full of grace,” nonetheless was destined to suffer intensely with her Son. I am no more favored than the great Apostle Paul, who suffered so much persecution, resistance, shipwreck, hunger, and obstacles, even though He was chosen to bring the Gospel to the gentiles. Indeed, Paul was stoned and left for dead one day. But Luke writes that he then re-entered the city of Lystra and…

…strengthened the spirits of the disciples and exhorted them to persevere in the faith, saying, “It is necessary for us to undergo many hardships to enter the kingdom of God.” (Acts 14:22)

There came another point during Mass this past month where I briefly perceived how Satan wanted to break my faith. Had the church been empty at that moment, I would have screamed, “I will never reject my Jesus! Get behind me!” I share this with you, not because I have heroic faith, but real faith, which is a gift of God. And faith that is genuine must eventually learn to walk in darkness as through a dark night. Several times this month I have found myself whispering…

Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. (John 6:68)

Peter did not say this because he had the answers. It was precisely because he didn’t. But he knew that Jesus, in Himself, was an answer. The Answer. And all Peter knew to do at that moment was follow Him—through the darkness of faith.

Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life for this broken world… for this broken man. What remains is for me, and for every knee to bow to this awesome reality; for me, and for every tongue to confess what Peter did. And only then will we begin to know the power—the incredible power and truth—of the Resurrection.






To assist Mark and his family in the recovery
of their property where his ministry
and studio is located, add the message:
“Mallett Family Help” to your donation.
Bless you and thank you!


To journey with Mark in The Now Word,
click on the banner below to subscribe.
Your email will not be shared with anyone.