Whenever I read the First Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Thessalonians in my Bible study groups, participants are often surprised by just how much the apostle praises his readers. He remembers their “work of faith, labor of love, and patience of hope.” He tells them that the word of the Lord has sounded forth from them throughout the surrounding region. He calls them his joy and his crown of glory.

I used to find these passages surprising, too.

I was about sixteen when I first began reading the Epistles, and I remember wondering: How can this be right? Won’t people become proud if you praise them?

That was how I had been brought up. If something good happened, if I achieved something in an academic competition or in sports, I was taught not to boast about it, but simply to thank God. It was better, whenever possible, not even to mention my own efforts, lest they overshadow the One who had truly made everything possible.

Whenever I told my father about an achievement, he would ask me, “Whom should you thank?”

I learned the correct answer quickly: “God!”

I believe this upbringing did me some good. It taught me not to become excessively self-confident and reminded me that my abilities were not mine alone. But Saint Paul’s words still puzzled me. I had come to believe that praise—whether directed at ourselves or at others—would inevitably lead to pride. So I tried, as a matter of principle, to avoid it altogether.

Later, however, I came across another passage by the same apostle that helped me see things differently.

In his First Letter to the Corinthians, Paul writes about himself: “By the grace of God I am what I am, and His grace toward me was not in vain. On the contrary, I worked harder than any of them, though it was not I, but the grace of God that is with me.”

Here, Paul openly acknowledges his own efforts and the fruit of his labor in preaching the Gospel. He does not deny what he has accomplished or distort the truth in the name of false modesty. He can speak honestly about his work because he immediately gives the glory to God.

And if Paul can acknowledge the fruits of his own labor, he can also praise the Thessalonians for theirs. The danger of pride is diminished when we remember the One from whom every good gift comes: our Creator.

It seems I had finally found an answer to my childhood question.

Denying our own efforts is not the same as being humble. Sometimes, it is simply a form of dishonesty.

And dishonesty, even when disguised as modesty, does not leave us unchanged. If we train ourselves not to notice the good that grows from our own efforts, we may eventually become unable to recognize it in others, too. Our eyes become accustomed to looking not at what has been accomplished, but only at what remains unfinished, what still needs correction, and what could have been done better.

Perhaps this is one reason so many of us find it just as difficult to praise another person as to acknowledge our own achievements. We have trained ourselves not to see the fruits of anyone’s labor, including our own.

We may think we are being humble when we dismiss a compliment, minimize our contribution, or immediately point out everything we did wrong. We may even believe that praising someone else risks encouraging their vanity.

But what if our reluctance to praise is not always humility? What if, sometimes, it is an inability to recognize the truth?

To acknowledge that someone has done something well is not to declare that they are perfect. To recognize our own efforts is not to claim that we owe nothing to God. We can be grateful for His grace while remaining honest about the work we have done.

In fact, perhaps gratitude requires precisely this honesty. If we refuse to recognize the good that has happened, how can we give thanks for it?

Yet there is another example that comes to mind, one that reaches even deeper into the heart of this question.

During His farewell discourse, just hours before one of His disciples would betray Him and the others would scatter, Christ said to them, “I have called you friends.”

He knew what was coming. He knew about Judas. He knew that Peter would deny Him three times before the rooster crowed. He knew that the others would flee into the darkness, leaving Him alone.

And still, He called them friends.

Christ did not mistake their weaknesses for strengths. He knew His disciples more fully than they knew themselves. He did not praise them because He was unaware of their failures, but spoke to them in the knowledge of what they would soon do.

Perhaps those words helped them, afterward, not to despair when they confronted the depths of their own weakness. Perhaps being called friends by Christ allowed them to understand that their failure was real, but it did not have to be the final word about who they were.

There is something profoundly moving about this kind of recognition. Christ does not reduce His disciples to their worst moments. He sees beyond their impending failures without pretending those failures will not happen.

Could it be that we, too, need to learn to look at one another this way?

We often know exactly how to criticize. We notice when someone makes a mistake, overlooks a responsibility, or falls short of our expectations. We may even justify our harshness by claiming that we are simply telling the truth.

But truth is not limited to the things that are wrong.

The truth also includes the effort someone has made, the kindness they have shown, the progress they have achieved, and the good they have managed to accomplish despite their limitations. If we see only the failures, our picture of another person is no more accurate than it would be if we saw only their successes.

Christian humility does not require us to close our eyes to what is good. Nor does it require us to pretend that our own efforts are insignificant. Rather, it invites us to see the whole picture: our limitations and our gifts, our failures and our achievements, our labor and the grace that makes it fruitful.

Today, I am trying to learn both sides of this lesson. I want to assess my own work honestly, without hiding it behind the words “Glory to God” as though acknowledging my contribution would somehow diminish His. And I want to become less afraid of praising others.

Not with empty flattery, and not to win someone's approval, but simply because the good deserves to be named.

A sincere word of praise can help another person see something in themselves that they have been unable to recognize. It can give them courage to continue when they are tired, hope when they are discouraged, and reassurance that their efforts have not gone unnoticed.

Perhaps we underestimate how much people need this. We may assume that encouragement will make them proud, when in reality it might help them persevere. We may withhold praise in the name of humility, when a few honest words could help someone recognize the gifts they have been given and use them more fully.

After all, our work is never accomplished in isolation from God. Whatever good we do, we do through a synergy of divine grace and human effort, a genuine cooperation between the Creator and His creation.

God's grace does not make our efforts meaningless. It makes them fruitful.

And recognizing our efforts does not take anything away from God. On the contrary, it allows us to see more clearly what His grace can accomplish in a willing human heart.

So perhaps we should learn to say two things more often.

“Glory to God for everything.”

And, when it is true and needed: “Well done. I am grateful for what you have done.”

There is no contradiction between the two.

Perhaps the real task of humility is not to make ourselves—or one another—smaller, but to learn to see the good without pride, to acknowledge it without fear, and to give thanks for it without reservation.

Sometimes, the most Christian thing we can do is simply to tell another person what the Apostle Paul told the Thessalonians:

“I praise you, brothers.”