In the journey of life, where wealth screams and influence parades like a masquerade in a village square, the poor man walks silently—with a torn cap on a bowed head, bare feet, and heaven’s backing. His name is not on posters. His voice does not echoes through microphones. Yet his humility is a force you must fear—not out of danger nor pity, but out of reverence for what it provokes in the realm of the spirit.
In this generation of loud riches and digital pride, the humility of the poor man is a forgotten thunder. It is easy to mock the man who eats garri without sugar or sleeps in a room where the ceiling leaks. But be careful. His silence is a prayer. His lack is a sermon. And his humility is a weapon sharper than the sword of Goliath.
“God resists the proud, but gives grace to the humble.” — 1 Peter 5:5
This is not about romanticizing poverty because it makes a poor man to drink unhealthy pap. No. Hunger is not holiness. But there is something God has hidden in the broken spirit of the man who has nothing but still believes. That is the man whose knee touches the floor every morning. The man whose children sleep without meat, but who still lifts holy hands and sings, “It is well.”
Don’t just fear his condition. Fear his conviction.
History remembers this kind of humility. Lazarus was carried by angels; the rich man buried without mention. The widow at Zarephath gave her last meal—and walked into divine economy. Mary, a peasant girl, became the doorway through which God entered the earth.
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” — Matthew 5:3
The poor man’s humility is not defeat. It is restraint. He can curse, but he prays. He can complain, but he praises. He can steal, but he waits. And that waiting… that quiet waiting… it is the incense that shakes the heavens.
You see, when God wants to judge the proud, He listens to the cry of the poor. When the injustice of society rises like smoke, the humility of the downtrodden becomes the fire on God’s altar. It was the sighs of Hebrew slaves that moved God to call Moses. It was Hannah’s weeping without words that shook the heavens more than Peninnah’s boasting.
Dr. Paul Enenche once said, “The place where man ends is the point where God begins.” That’s the poor man’s mystery. He ends daily. He dies to pride daily. And so God begins in him daily.
Let it be known—pride may buy cars, build towers, and trend online, but humility opens heaven’s door. And the poor man, stripped of all, stands closest to that door, not because of pity, but because of posture. His humility is not for display—it is his defence.
“Though the Lord is on high, yet He regards the lowly; but the proud He knows from afar.” — Psalm 138:6
Nigeria must not ignore this. In a country where poverty fills our streets and pride fills our leadership, the soul of our nation may lie in the hands of those we least regard. The woman selling bitterleaf by the roadside, yet tithes from her profits. The young man who refused to join a cult just to get ahead. The teacher who stays late after school to help a child with no shoes.
These are not just humans. They are altars. Their humility is a sermon to the powerful—and a warning to those who sit in high places.
A great Man of God once declared, “When you humble yourself, God will lift you. But when you lift yourself, God will humble you.” That is the paradox we keep forgetting. The world fears money, status, and armies. But God fears only the humble.
So next time you see a poor man walk past with dignity—don’t just feel sorry. Fear him. Because his back may be bent, but his spirit is standing tall before the throne of heaven.
And when the wind of justice finally blows, when the voice of God rises like a trumpet in the land, it won’t be the proud whose names are called. It will be the humble.
And often, the poor.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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