Our species wouldn’t have been nearly as successful without constant collaboration and mutual support as we bundled ourselves into tribes – we’ve always been dependent on each other. — 123rf
When I was in Rome earlier this year, my wife and I were fortunate enough to attend the weekly papal audience in St Peter’s Square that is delivered to thousands of people.
As Pope Leo XIV shared some readings from Christian scriptures, I found one of his commentaries particularly moving: He described Jesus’ request for a drink to quench his thirst during the Crucifixion, and added, “There is nothing more human, nothing more divine, than being able to say: I need”. The Pope also described how our humanity isn’t given by what we can achieve, but “by our ability to let ourselves be loved and, when necessary, even helped”.
Strangely, his commentary reminded me of my first stay at the Amaravati Buddhist monastery in the United Kingdom. At the time I had the misguided sense that I was there to “achieve” progress in meditation, and at times felt prideful sitting among the monks and nuns during group meditations. I had fallen into the pitfall of “spiritual materialism”, ie, using faith and spirituality to show off our knowledge, or position ourselves as a moral voice. In practice, it feeds the ego and starves the heart.
Listening to Pope Leo was a reminder that truly spiritual people are humble at heart – I’m sure we all know people who live their faith in this way, which makes them attractive and uplifting to be around.
I was also struck by the act of the person who gave Jesus the drink to quench his thirst. Some years ago, I’d read about the notion of love in early Christian traditions. Today, we typically think of love as an emotion and we might wonder how it’s possible to “love everybody” or love our neighbours, let alone our enemies. But in Jesus’ time, love was thought of less as a feeling and more as how we act towards each other. It’s possible to be helpful towards someone we dislike, just as it’s possible to need and ask for help at times when we’re otherwise strong and capable.
When I listened to that sermon, it dawned on me how often, from a Christian perspective, it’s forgotten that Jesus was human, and I found myself thinking about how often we forget that we’re human ourselves. How quickly do we tell people we’re feeling fine when we’re not? How easily do we show we have it all together when we actually feel uncertain and unsure of ourselves? How ready are we to help others who need it, but deny our own need for help?
In my work as a counsellor, I’ve lost count of the times people have said, “Of course I have people I can rely on – I just prefer not to be a burden; they have their own problems.”
I’ll usually then ask something like, “When someone reaches out to you, how do you respond to them?”
“Well, I help them as much as I can, of course.”
“Do they feel like a burden to you?”
“Definitely not! We all need support sometimes.”
It’s likely that most of us have a similar attitude. Friends, family, and other loved ones are rarely seen as burdens when they reach out to us – but we cringe at the thought of admitting we might need support lest we be seen as a burden. And yet, perhaps the most human quality is the ability to allow ourselves to be helped.
Our species wouldn’t have been nearly as successful without constant collaboration and mutual support as we bundled ourselves into tribes. We’ve always been dependent on each other.
Maybe we simply fear “losing face” if we ask for help, preferring to avoid perceived humiliation for needing support from others.
The root word of humiliation comes from Latin and means “earth” or “ground” – to be grounded, or made humble. It’s interesting, then, that we might want to be seen as a “humble person”. We recognise it as a grand virtue, and yet in practice, it’s something we’d prefer to avoid.
In his address, Pope Leo said, “No one can save themselves. Life is ‘fulfilled’ not when we are strong, but when we learn how to receive.”
At Christmas time, I grew up with the belief that it was better to give than receive, but maybe that’s only half of the truth. To be able to give, someone first needs to be willing to receive, and maybe that’s just as noble, if not more so.
In his sermon, the Pope highlighted the dignity and strength in asking for help when we’re at our most vulnerable, but to me his message also implied something about connection when we invite others to help us. Without that openness, we risk turning self-reliance into isolation, missing chances for closeness, and feeding our ego to believe we can do everything alone without support.
But when we allow others to help, we give them a role in our lives, and we turn generosity into relationship rather than something that’s occasionally performed.
