Proverbs 22:4 — “By humility and the fear of the Lord are riches, and honour, and life.”
I once knew a missionary who told me, more than once, how humble he was. I have to be honest with you — I never quite bought it. Because in all my years I’ve noticed something: truly humble people have no idea they’re humble. The moment you start keeping score of your own humility, you’ve already lost it. And before I get too comfortable pointing at him, I have to admit I catch the same pride in my own heart more often than I’d like.
Here’s the thing about humility: you can’t manufacture it by trying harder. Every effort to be humble just puts the spotlight right back on you. Humility is an equal-opportunity struggle — the desperately poor, the sick, the imprisoned, and the millionaire all wrestle with it the same. And I’ve come to believe the secret isn’t you at all. The key to humility is others. Less of me, more of Jesus, and more of the people right in front of me.
Honestly, humility is a hard thing to even wrap your head around. Have you ever noticed there aren’t many great books or seminars on how to become humble? I love a good TED talk as much as anyone, but even they can’t quite teach it. And yet Scripture treats humility as so essential that it comes before honor: “Before destruction the heart of man is haughty, and before honour is humility” (Proverbs 18:12). The little things give us away — needing to win the argument, speaking up when someone’s telling us what we already know, refusing help (or directions). I know all three by heart.
This is also, if I’m honest, where I wrestle with the machinery of ministry. There’s a constant pull to tally everything — heads counted at events, dollars in the bank, proof that the work is impressive. I understand why good accountability matters, and I want to steward your gifts carefully. But I have to guard my own heart, because for me the counting can quietly curdle into pride. Even today, out of an old reverence, some in Israel avoid counting people directly — remembering how David’s census went so badly. Numbers can serve the work. They must never become the point.
James 4:10 — “Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He shall lift you up.”
And then there is Jesus — the only perfect example we have. He knew exactly who He was, the Son of God, and yet He knelt down and washed His disciples’ dirty feet. He did not cling to His mighty status; He took the form of a servant. If our Lord and Teacher served like that, how could we do anything less? The way up in God’s kingdom is always down. John the Baptist said it as plainly as anyone ever has: “He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:30).
I once heard humility described this way: pride builds high walls to protect our image, while humility builds open bridges to connect us to people. That has stuck with me. Every prideful instinct I have wants to build a wall so I look important. Every humble one wants to build a bridge so someone else feels loved. The children we serve don’t need my walls. They need a bridge.
Admit you don’t know it all. Owning that you can’t do everything or know everything is a sign of strength, not weakness. It’s the doorway to letting God — and others — help.
Forgive quickly. Humble people don’t nurse bitterness or demand revenge. They let it go — because they remember how much they’ve been forgiven themselves.
Celebrate others. Look for ways to cheer someone else’s success without needing the spotlight yourself. Leave your reputation in God’s hands and let Him do the lifting.
Thirty-three years in a garbage dump has a way of teaching a man humility whether he wants it or not. There is no stage here, no head table, no spotlight — just children the rest of the world walked past, and a God who calls them precious. This work has never once made me look important. And I have come to believe that’s exactly the point. Less Dean. More Jesus. More others.
This is why I love the children of Managua the way I do. Loving them is humility made simple: they can offer me nothing the world values — no status, no favor, no way to pay me back — and that is precisely what makes it holy. When you kneel down to serve someone who can never return it, you are doing the very thing Jesus did with a towel and a basin. You are building a bridge instead of a wall.
God actively opposes the proud, but He pours out His grace and favor on the humble.
So let me ask you, friend: what would it look like to stop trying to prove your own worth, and simply rest in how much God already values you? Set down the need for the spotlight. Build a bridge to someone who can’t repay you. Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He will lift you up (James 4:10).