Mortality and Humility

<p>Ancient scholars Jerome and Tertullian referenced stories of how in ancient Rome, after a general triumphed in an epic victory, he would be paraded atop a gleaming chariot down the capital&rsquo;s central thoroughfares from dawn to sunset. The crowd would roar. The general would bask in the adoration, reveling in the greatest honor of his life. However, legend has it that a servant stood behind the general the entire day, whispering into his ear: <em>Memento Mori</em> (&ldquo;Remember you will die&rdquo;). Amid all the adulation, the general desperately needed the humility that came with remembering that he was mortal.</p> <p>James wrote to a community infected with prideful desires and an inflated sense of self-sufficiency. Confronting their arrogance, he spoke a piercing word: &ldquo;God opposes the proud but shows favor to the humble&rdquo; (James 4:6). What they needed was to &ldquo;humble [themselves] before the Lord&rdquo; (v. 10). And how would they embrace this humility? Like Roman generals, they needed to remember that they would die. &ldquo;You do not even know what will happen tomorrow,&rdquo; James insisted. &ldquo;You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes&rdquo; (v. 14). And owning their frailty freed them to live under the solidity of the &ldquo;Lord&rsquo;s will&rdquo; rather than their own fading efforts (v. 15).</p> <p>When we forget that our days are numbered, it can lead to pride. But when we&rsquo;re humbled by our mortality, we see every breath and every moment as grace. <em>Memento Mori</em>.</p>