Where Service Meets the Hidden Hunger

Turn down the noise, and let Jesus be enough.

A couple Sundays ago, I was kneeling in my pew during Mass when I noticed a look on the Deacon’s face that I recognized immediately.

One of our priests has been dealing with some foot issues, and lately he has not been moving around very well. During Communion, that usually means someone needs to step in and help distribute. But as I watched the sanctuary, it looked like the extra help had not been lined up that day.

The Deacon’s face said it all. Not panic, not frustration, just that quiet, searching look that asks, without words, is anyone going to move.

Then, in my ear, a word.

One word.

Go!

Before I could overthink it, I was up and walking toward the altar. I leaned in and said, “I got you.” He handed me the extra paten, and I took my place beside him. Then we did what we came there to do. We helped feed the Lord’s people with the Lord Himself.

Afterward, I did not stand up and tell anyone what happened. I did not look around for a nod. I did not retell the story in the narthex like it was a highlight reel from the big game. I went back to my pew, knelt down, and thanked God.

I thanked Him for the nudge. I thanked Him for the grace to move when He asked. I thanked Him for letting my charisms of service and helps do what they are meant to do when it is clean and simple.

But while I was kneeling, something else surfaced. Not in a loud way, just quietly, like a thought that slips between prayers. Even when no one else noticed, I noticed. I could feel my mind wanting to hold the moment, turn it over, and measure it.

I could feel that strange desire to let the moment mean something about me. Not in a proud, bragging way, but in a hidden way, like a quiet hunger that wants to be fed.

And it hit me that what I wanted most was not recognition from anyone else, it was reassurance from God. I wanted to feel seen by Him, and I wanted that feeling to last.

That is where humility gets personal.

Because humility is not just about whether people applaud you. It is also about what happens inside you when no one does. It is about the places where you still want to be chosen, preferred, consulted, remembered, even while you are doing something good.

I do not say that to beat myself up. I say it because it is true. I love God and I want to serve Him, but I also know how easily a good yes can grow a shadow. Not because the yes was wrong, but because my heart is still learning how to love without keeping score.

Later that day, the thought stayed with me. I found myself replaying the moment, not because it was dramatic, but because it revealed something. I saw how quickly I can confuse being faithful with being validated.

And it led me back to a prayer I have returned to more than once over the years, the Litany of Humility.

If you have never prayed it, it can feel uncomfortable at first. Not because it is harsh, but because it is honest. It does not just ask God to help us act humble. It asks Him to free us from the need to be held up.

It gets right to the point.

From the desire of being esteemed, deliver me, Jesus.
From the desire of being praised, deliver me, Jesus.
From the desire of being preferred to others, deliver me, Jesus.

That is not the kind of prayer you rush through. It is the kind of prayer that stops you, because it makes you ask a simple question. What do I truly want, and why do I want it.

At first, those lines can sound like they only apply to public attention. Compliments. Approval. Recognition. The obvious kind of pride that wants a spotlight.

Sometimes the desire is not for people to see you. Sometimes the desire is for God to reassure you on your terms. To let you feel, right now, that you are doing well, that you are secure, that you are pleasing Him.

And the truth is, God does see us. He sees the motive, the hesitation, the longing, the struggle, the fatigue. He sees the yes you gave Him that no one else even knew about.

So, the problem is not that God does not see me. The problem is that I sometimes want to control what being seen feels like. I want it to come with a certain warmth, a certain emotional payoff, a certain inner confirmation that says, “Good job.”

If I am not careful, I start doing holy things in a way that still leaves me at the center. Even service can become a mirror if you stare into it long enough.

The Litany of Humility does not let me stay there.

It does not tell me that service is bad. It does not tell me to hide. It does not tell me to think less of myself like I am nothing. It tells me to put myself in the right place.

Humility is not self-hatred. Humility is living in the truth. It is letting God be the One who defines my worth, not my performance, not my usefulness, not my moment of stepping in at the right time.

That is why the litany keeps going, because it also touches the fear that sits under the desires.

From the fear of being forgotten, deliver me, Jesus.

That line alone can undo me, because I have learned that pride does not always show up as arrogance. Sometimes it shows up as a quiet need to feel necessary. Sometimes it shows up as the fear that if I am not doing something, then I do not matter.

Then the litany reaches the part that always feels like a cliff edge, because it asks for something that sounds impossible until you realize what it is really asking for.

That others may be chosen and I set aside, Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.

That does not mean you want to be treated poorly. It means you want God’s will more than your position. It means you want His glory more than your visibility. It means you want to be content being a small piece in a much larger work.

Humility is like a volume knob. It does not erase you. It just turns down the noise you make about yourself, so you can hear what God is doing.

And what God is actually doing is almost always quieter than we expect.

Every Sunday, Jesus is present. Not as an idea, not as a symbol, not as a memory. He is present on the altar. He is calling His people forward. He is feeding them. He is staying faithful to His promise.

And in that moment, He called me too.

So yes, I moved. I served. I stood beside the Deacon and helped distribute Communion. But the deeper invitation came afterward.

The deeper invitation was to kneel and let Jesus be enough. To let His presence be the reward. To let His gaze be the reassurance. To let His quiet “I see you” be real, even if it does not come with a feeling I can hold in my hand.

If you have never prayed the Litany of Humility, maybe do not start by trying to pray the whole thing. Just take one line and sit with it. Let it show you what it is attached to in your heart. Then bring that to Jesus without dressing it up.

And if you find, like I did, that you wanted to be seen, do not run from that. Bring that too, because the One you wanted to be seen by is already there.

Not applauding you but feeding you.

Jesus, meek and humble of heart, make my heart like unto Thine.

Here is a link to the Litany of Humility