Every Friday morning, a group meets to have coffee and discuss things, and some people say we’re idlers. We’re not; we’re philosophers.
“The meek shall inherit the earth,” I mused one Friday morning. “Is anybody here meek? How can anybody be meek in a success culture? America wants me to be brash. I’m a go-getter, a can-do guy, a self-starter. Face it, American humility is an oxymoron.”
Then Debbie pointed out that, to her, meekness meant not cutting ahead of people in store lines, and driving her car deferentially.
Barbara likes meekness in children, and compliments strangers in restaurants whose kids are well behaved.
Ben, a retired politician, cited risking an election rather than smear an opponent.
Laura and Jason defer gently to one another while managing to profoundly disagree.
Whatever grace they feel is never to be mine. Not because I don’t sense it or want it or yearn for it, because I do. God help me, I do yearn for the solace of never again having to market myself. But I am a capitalist and therefore a commodity. When the meek finally do inherit the earth, they’ll consign me to outer hubris. I have no idea how to be meek, nor, unfortunately, the inclination.
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