Walk Humbly with God in an age that worships self

 

Walk Humbly With God In an Age That Worships Self

“…and to walk humbly with your God.” — Micah 6:8

There is a progression in Micah 6:8 that I don’t think is accidental.

First, we learn to do what is right according to God’s standard rather than our own.

Then, once we begin to understand how often we ourselves fall short of that standard, we begin to understand mercy — not merely receiving it, but loving it.

And eventually, both truths lead us somewhere unavoidable:

Humility.

Because anyone who truly understands God’s righteousness and God’s mercy eventually comes to the realization that His ways are higher than ours and His thoughts are higher than ours and you stop placing yourself at the center of the universe. You stop assuming your perspective is perfect. You stop believing your judgments are infallible. You stop acting as though you are qualified to sit on the throne that belongs to God alone.

That may be one of the greatest spiritual problems in our culture today.

We have not merely drifted away from God’s standards. We have increasingly attempted to replace Him as the standard altogether.

Modern culture constantly encourages people to determine truth for themselves, define morality for themselves, construct identity for themselves, and then pronounce judgment on anyone who fails to affirm their conclusions.

In many ways, we have elevated ourselves into the role of judge, jury, and executioner. But those roles were never ours to begin with.

When human beings become their own highest authority, humility disappears.

And once humility disappears, cruelty is usually not far behind.

That progression works in reverse just as clearly as it does in Micah 6:8.

When people do what is “right in their own eyes,” they inevitably begin measuring everyone else by their own constantly shifting standards. Mercy becomes scarce because self-righteousness always demands punishment for those who fail its test.

That mentality thrives in outrage, vengeance, public humiliation, and eager condemnation of others. And perhaps most dangerously, it often disguises itself as moral superiority.

People become quick to pronounce judgment and slow to recognize their own need for grace.

But walking humbly with God changes the posture of the heart.

Humility is not weakness. It is proper perspective.

It is recognizing that God alone fully defines what is right, judges perfectly, sees motives, and God alone possesses both perfect justice and perfect mercy.

Walking humbly with God means living with the awareness that we are not Him.

It means approaching others with less arrogance and more grace.
Less outrage and more patience.
Less self-exaltation and more surrender.

The humble person understands something prideful people often forget:

If God dealt with us strictly according to what we deserved, none of us would stand.

Humility grows when we recognize that every breath we take, every kindness we receive, every second chance we are given, and every hope we possess ultimately rests upon the mercy of God.

And perhaps that is where Micah 6:8 was always leading us all along.

Doing what is right according to God’s standards.
Learning to love mercy because we desperately need it ourselves.
And finally, recognizing that both truths leave no room for pride before a holy God.

Love Mercy!!

Love Mercy — In a World That Prefers Revenge

“…and to love mercy…” — Micah 6:8

A few days ago, I ran a red light.

Not intentionally. I zoned out. I glanced to my left, saw that the cross traffic had a green light, and somehow my brain completely failed to process what that meant for me. I just carried on through the intersection like everything was fine and nearly collided with another vehicle.

The other driver made his displeasure known, which was completely justified and probably exactly what I would’ve done in his position.

My first instinct was to raise my hand in the universal “I’m sorry” gesture.

My second instinct was to check my mirrors and look around for blue lights flashing somewhere behind me.

My third instinct was relief that I was apparently going to receive mercy for my transgression.

As I filtered that experience through Micah 6:8 later, something uncomfortable occurred to me.

The man I nearly hit was probably hoping there were blue lights nearby. He probably wanted justice. Honestly, if the roles were reversed, I probably would have too.

And that realization exposed something deeper in me. I love mercy when I receive it. I’m just not always sure I love it quite as much when other people receive it.

That’s what makes Micah’s wording so challenging. The command is not simply to show mercy occasionally. It is to love mercy.

That changes the conversation entirely.

Most of us love mercy when it benefits us.
When we make the mistake.
When we need the second chance.
When we hope consequences are softened.
When we want understanding instead of punishment.

But loving mercy means something deeper than appreciating forgiveness for ourselves. It means rejoicing when mercy is extended even to people we think deserve the hammer.

That is much more difficult.

Even justice without mercy is cruelty.

And if we’re honest, there’s something in human nature that enjoys seeing people “get what’s coming to them.” We may not say it out loud, but we feel it. We celebrate public failures. We feed on outrage. We quietly enjoy seeing arrogant people humbled, reckless people punished, or enemies exposed.

Yet the Gospel consistently moves in the opposite direction.

Jesus demonstrated a kind of mercy that frustrated both the religious and the rebellious. He forgave sinners. He restored failures. He ate with people society despised. Even while hanging on the cross, He prayed for the people killing Him.

Mercy does not mean pretending evil is good.
It does not mean removing accountability.
It does not mean consequences disappear.

But mercy does mean refusing to let vengeance or even a thirst for justice harden our hearts.

The truth is, each of us deserve the wrath of a Holy God which means we all are shown his mercy more than we realize.

We all want grace for our own failures while quietly demanding stricter justice for everybody else’s. But Micah calls us higher than that. He calls us to become people who genuinely love mercy because we recognize how desperately we depend on it ourselves.

Maybe the clearest evidence that we understand the mercy of God is not how grateful we are when we receive it…

…but how willing we are to celebrate when others receive it too.

 

Do Justly! In a World That Makes Up Its Own Rules

“He has shown you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justly…” — Micah 6:8

We live in a culture that increasingly treats “right” and “wrong” as flexible ideas.

What is acceptable changes depending on the moment, the audience, or the advantage to be gained. One person’s truth becomes another person’s offense. Standards shift. Lines move. Morality becomes negotiable.

But Micah reminds us of something foundational: God has already shown us what is good.

The command is not to invent morality for ourselves. It is not to reshape truth around preference, politics, convenience, or personal desire. The command is much simpler — and much harder:

Do justly.

Act right.

Not according to our own shifting standards, but according to God’s.

That sounds simple until acting right costs us something.

Doing justly means telling the truth when lying would benefit us. It means honoring commitments when breaking them would be easier. It means treating people fairly even when we dislike them. It means refusing to manipulate, exploit, flatter, or deceive for personal gain. It means doing the right thing even when nobody notices.

The opposite of acting justly is not merely criminal behavior. Most often, it is compromise. Small compromises. Quiet compromises. Respectable compromises.

The kind we justify because “everybody does it.” The kind we excuse because they seem beneficial. The kind that slowly reshape our character over time.

Human beings have always had a tendency to redefine righteousness according to what feels good, profitable, popular, or convenient. Scripture repeatedly shows what happens when people abandon God’s standard and replace it with their own:

“Everyone did what was right in his own eyes.”

This verse from Book of Judges is not presented as freedom. It is presented as collapse because when every person becomes their own moral authority, truth eventually becomes impossible to find.

Micah pulls us back to something stable.

God’s character defines what is right. Not culture. Not emotion. Not power. Not majority opinion. Not personal preference.

And because His character does not change, His standard does not change either.

Doing justly is ultimately about integrity and aligning our actions with what God says is good, even when it seems every one around us is choosing otherwise.

The real challenge is not whether we know what is right most of the time.

The real challenge is whether we are willing to do it.

How well do we know ourselves? Why is that important?

A few months ago, I had a conversation with a friend about the difficulty of being authentic and letting people REALLY get to know you.

Afterward, I walked away thinking about two questions:

Who really knows me? And maybe more importantly… How well do I even know myself?

We spend a lot of time trying to simplify ourselves. We create manageable versions of who we are for social media, for work, for church, for politics, for friendships, even for family. We like neat categories and understandable narratives because they make life easier to process.

But human beings are rarely simple.

Walt Whitman wrote, “I contain multitudes.” That line resonates because it’s true of me and I believe we are all contradictions at times. Strong and insecure. Confident and uncertain. Compassionate and selfish. Faithful and doubtful. Brave and afraid. Sometimes all in the same day.

The truth is, most of us are far more complicated than we are willing to admit and that complexity is not necessarily hypocrisy. Often, it’s just humanity.

And yet, many of us spend our lives carefully controlling access to who we really are. We let people see the polished version. The capable version. The version that feels safe. We protect weaknesses, insecurities, failures, fears, and the parts of us that still feel unfinished.

Maybe that’s pride? Maybe it’s fear? Maybe it’s self-preservation? Probably some combination of all three. I'm still trying to find out the answer to these questions myself.

But there’s a cost to never letting people all the way in.

It is impossible to maximize our potential if we do not honestly know our strengths. At the same time, it is impossible to truly grow if we don't know our weaknesses. Growth requires exposure.

That’s why Scripture says, “As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.” But iron only sharpens iron through CLOSE contact, friction, and pressure. Real sharpening does not happen at a distance. It happens when people are close enough to challenge us, question us, encourage us, correct us, and sometimes even wound our pride.

The problem is that many of us want the benefits of deep relationships without the vulnerability required to create them. We want to be understood while hiding pieces of ourselves. We want accountability without transparency. We want growth without discomfort.

But the people who have shaped me the most in life are the people who were willing to ask hard questions — and the people I trusted enough not to run from those questions.

That kind of honesty is rare. And valuable.

One of the things I’ve learned is that self-awareness rarely happens in isolation. Sometimes other people can see patterns in us long before we can see them ourselves. Trusted voices help reveal blind spots, strengths, fears, motivations, and habits we would otherwise ignore.

That is why intentional leadership development and personal refinement matter.

Because at the end of the day, the goal is not simply to be known by others. It is to become honest enough to truly know ourselves — and courageous enough to let the right people walk that journey with us.