Unremarkable
I'm striving for less than greatness...
Andrew was called as one of the first disciples [Matt 4:18; Mk 1:16; Lk 5:1–11; Jn 1:35–42]. Originally a disciple of John the Baptist, Andrew meets Jesus and immediately goes to find his brother, Simon, who he brings to Jesus… "We have found the Messiah" [Jn 1:41].
The next time we see Andrew, he brings a boy with a lunchable to Jesus… "There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish…" [Jn 6:8–9].
And the last time we see Andrew, some Greeks want to meet Jesus. They come to Philip, but Philip does not know where Jesus is. So he takes them to Andrew, and Andrew brings them to Jesus [Jn 12:20–22].
Andrew. Not Peter, the prominent one. Not John, the articulate one. Not James, the brave one. Andrew, the unremarkable disciple who always brought people to Jesus. The disciple who decreased so that Jesus might increase [Jn 3:30].
The posture of men stepping back so that God’s purposes and glory can shine runs throughout Scripture.
Moses leads Israel to the edge of the Promised Land, but it is Joshua who carries them across the Jordan.
David gathers resources for the Temple, but Solomon builds it.
Elijah anoints Elisha with a double portion, gladly handing on the prophetic mantle.
John the Baptist draws a crowd, and then Jesus shows up, and the crowds start leaving John. His disciples panic… "Rabbi… everyone is going to him." John doesn’t compete. He doesn’t hesitate. He says, "He must increase, but I must decrease" [3:30]. John realized something early in his ministry… You don’t lose when Jesus takes center stage. You always win.
The apostles understood the same principle. Paul writes of himself and Apollos:
"What then is Apollos? What is Paul? Servants through whom you believed . . . I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth. So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God who gives the growth" [1 Cor. 3:5–7].
Their ministry was significant, but not ultimate. They were jars of clay carrying treasures that were not their own. As one pastor writes, "At the heart of it all is Jesus, who teaches that ‘the last shall be first’ [Matt. 20:16], who blesses the meek [Matt. 5:5], and compares his own death to a grain of wheat falling into the ground to bear much fruit [Jn 12:24]. The Son of God embraced decreasing, not only in his humility before the Father, but in his self-emptying unto death, that we might share his life."
If this is the way of Jesus, why do we struggle with it so much?
Someone you know needs the wild rumpus? Pull the trigger. Sharing is caring
There is a phrase that Augustine [and later Luther] would always use: Incurvatus in se. It is a theological phrase meaning 'turned' or 'curved inward on oneself.' Decreasing is hard because we are all born incurvatus in se, looking inward. Looking out for ourselves. Looking out for our own interests. A 'mine' and 'me' attitude. So when Jesus calls a man to decrease, He’s not asking for a minor adjustment. He’s calling for a reorientation of the soul. A straightening of what sin has bent. A turning outward, toward God and toward others. Decreasing is hard because it feels like death.
Decreasing is a threat to our identity… "If I am not remarkable, not special, then what am I?" Our sense of self has become so intertwined with achievement and recognition that being overlooked feels like obscurity, and obscurity means irrelevant.
Increasing is addictive. We are all glory-junkines at heart. We crave applause, affirmation, the subtle hit of dopamine that says "you matter." Even in ministry, the sermon or post that does not solicit endless amens and likes will leave us bitter and disappointed.
Decreasing feels shameful. Paul writes of his thorn in the flesh [2 Cor. 12]; he highlights his weakness. Most of us would rather boast in our strength and successes than admit our frailties. To decrease, to admit we have defects, feels like failure, not faith.
Increasing is the currency of status. The modern world has deified visibility. Online, irrelevance is the great fear. To decrease, go unseen is to be unheard, and to be unheard is to vanish. This current generation is more afraid of being ignored than they are of being persecuted.
I often think about all these modern 'influencers" in the Christian world. I wonder if they are exhausted by the need to be constantly on, constantly talking, posting on Instagram, constantly creating.
Is it any wonder John’s words sound foreign… "He must increase, I must decrease." Everything in us resists the outward bend.
And yet, there is freedom in the 'bend.' To decrease is not to disappear, but to be freed from the weight of having to be remarkable.
If Jesus is King, then I don’t have to be.
If Jesus is Savior, then I don’t want to be.
If Jesus is the strongest, bravest, most remarkable, then I don’t need to be.
If the Spirit gives growth, then I don’t have to manufacture it. If God’s glory is what matters, then I don’t need to spend countless hours curating my life.
This is liberating for ordinary Christians [like you and me], whose faithfulness will never make headlines. In the eyes of the world, we are unremarkable. But in the eyes of Christ, we are faithful. We are radiant. We are loved, approved, and affirmed.
The apostle Paul captures the paradox wonderfully, "We have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us" [2 Cor. 4:7]. The ordinariness of the jar highlights the glory of the treasure.
Ordinary. Uneventful. Normal. This is the Christian life. This is discipleship. An unremarkable life, lived faithfully for Christ, may be the greatest gift we offer the world. The story of the Christian life is not the story of our greatness, but of His.
I am convinced that when I get to Heaven, the most astonishing stories will not come from those with the biggest churches, followings, or platforms, but from those whose names I do not know. Those who decreased so that Christ might increase. Those who were glad to be unremarkable so that the gospel might be remarkable.
That is the paradox we must learn to embrace… We must decrease so that He can increase.
For the King,
— Harp
Not sure who this guy is, Jack Westerheide, but I am all in on his mantra… "Live well, tell no one…"
Another thoughtful and encouraging post. Many thanks! (I'd like to contribute but have been unemployed for five months and am running out of cash. Maybe later.) "Live well; tell no one" would make sense if the guy in the photos didn't equate living well with big-bucks pleasure pursuits (I'll make an exception for the office with the green view). I hear, "Lay not up for yourselves treasures in heaven" in my head. And just got done researching the financial habits of C.S. Lewis and Michael Faraday (as in 'Faraday cage'). They both actively avoided accumulating wealth, though both sat on fortunes from publishing and scientific breakthroughs. Lewis was once asked how much a Christian should give away. He said, "Until it makes a difference in your lifestyle." He lived a middle-class life, took care of his drunkard brother, and put all his money into a trust that cared for widows and practical needs. Had to watch his spending. Was worth about 37,000 pounds when he died.
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