He Must Increase

One of my thorns in the flesh is ambition. And by ambition, I don’t mean motivation, goal-setting, or drive. All of those have positive aspects which help a person accomplish God’s good work and purpose in his life. By ambition, I mean a constant desire, subtle though it may be, for recognition, advancement and memorialization. Granted, my ambition has always been tied to good things: righteous causes, meaningful  work, and important relationships. But frequently, if I don’t receive recognition, if I don’t advance, and if I don’t have the sense that I’ll be remembered, then the cause seems less worth the effort, the work bitters, and the relationship disappoints. And that can make me a basket case.

The antidote to my thorn is the truth of God’s Word. Ephesians 2:10 tells me that I’ve been created for “good work,” ordained by God Himself. That truth alone puts things in perspective: my life isn’t about figuring out how to get the kudos of men, how to advance my career, or how to make it into the history books. It’s about faithfully doing the good work I’ve been given by God, even as He completes the good work He has begun in me (Phil. 1:6). The Bible also tells me that God’s good work for His children isn’t all in the limelight. 2 Timothy 2:20 (NIV) says that  in God’s “house,” some of us will be “articles…for special purposes”(i.e. fine china) and some of us will be “articles…for common use” (i.e. the Tupperware that holds the left-over sauerkraut), but each of us has a purpose, a necessary purpose in the Master’s mansion . Matthew 5:20 reminds me that my good works are to bring glory to God, not me, when they are observed by others.

But even though I know these truths, my thorn of ambition still gets under my skin. Maybe that’s why I’ve always been so drawn to the guy that Jesus said was the greatest person ever born:  John the Baptist. (Matt. 11:11) If there was anyone who had a right to revel just a little in their life purpose, it was John. With a miraculous birth and divine calling, John the Baptist became the single greatest preacher of his era, perhaps of any era. Crowds went into the Judean desert to hear his powerful sermons. His followers transcended racial and socioeconomic barriers. He showed no fear of upsetting the apple carts of the political and religious establishments. And his popularity was so great among the people that even after his death, the religious elite couldn’t openly question that John’s ministry wasn’t ordained by God. (Matt. 21:25-27) Add baptizing the Christ, and being the “voice in the wilderness” preparing the way for the Messiah, and you’ve got a resume that’s pretty hard to beat.

With that kind of pedigree, purpose and popularity, John might have struggled with his ego, but if he did, he resoundingly put it in its place. As Jesus’ ministry launched and more and more people switched to following the Galilean Carpenter, John didn’t bemoan the loss: he welcomed it. As Christ’s forerunner, John pointed people to Jesus from the very beginning. He didn’t stop as the crowds diminished. When his own ministry faded, John explained that this was how it was supposed to work. “A man can receive nothing unless it has been given to him from heaven,” John explained to his followers. “You yourselves bear me witness, that I said, ‘I am not the Christ,’ but ‘I have been sent before Him’…Therefore this joy of mine is fulfilled. He must increase and I must decrease.”  (John 3:27-30) John’s words sum up the believer’s best ambition: to point others to Christ. And if the greatest prophet of all time learned to make that his ambition, maybe I can too.

 
So, to my thorn of ambition, I say “no matter where I am, or what I am doing, no matter if I win an award or my name is never etched in monumental stone, if my faithfulness in my God-given good work causes someone to see Jesus, than that is enough.”  Remarkably, that makes the prick of my thorn a lot less bothersome. If it’s pricking you too, I’d recommend John the Baptist’s cure. 

Simplifying Complexity

I recently saw a bumper sticker that read “Trillions to Wars; Pennies to the Poor.” Apparently the driver was advocating particular perspectives about governmental policies, but as catchy as the sticker sounds, its simplicity reduced some fairly complex issues (e.g. national defense, foreign relations, social welfare, government taxation and spending) to a fragmented sentence on the back of a car. At best, it’s a conversation starter, but not especially helpful for readers in making informed conclusions on those matters. Like most bumper stickers, it was a familiar example of something we human beings are experts at doing: simplifying complexity.

Since the time we were kids, we’ve had an innate desire to have things explained to us, and preferably, as simply as possible. I’ve noticed that we really don’t outgrow that childlike preference, even when we’ve gotten old enough to know that things are a little more complicated then we thought they were when we were 6. But it doesn’t keep us from still doing it as grown-ups. It's also not a trait that is limited to people of one particular political persuasion. Conservatives do it as much as liberals. And it’s not limited to political discussions. Take any area of interest: history, science, theology, politics, even technology—we gravitate to labels and stereotypes. It makes life easier and controversial issues more clear cut. And though simplification is not itself bad, the danger lies in reducing issues, events and even people down to slogans, cliff notes, or pejoratives. In our age of texts, tweets, and sound bites, that’s a problem.

 We don’t have to look far to see the negative effects of simplifying complexity. The current tension between police and minorities is viewed by some as overblown and by others as under-reported. For a white political conservative like me who grew up in the Pacific Northwest where racial conflict was rare, I gravitate towards siding with those who are asking “What’s the big deal?” I’m prone to suggest that those criticizing law enforcement are motivated more by a political agenda then a genuine concern about police brutality. Then I hear the personal testimony of Tim Scott, a Republican senator from South Carolina, and I realize that my experience can’t simplify the issue; racism is a real thing, and many still experience its ugly effects. But I also have friends who are police officers. Their perspective reminds me that most cops are good people, men and women trying to stop the bad guys while putting food on their families’ tables. Reducing the issues of police violence and violence to police to a simple us-versus-them mentality is demeaning to victims of racism as well as the members of the thin blue line. Ultimately, it is unhelpful to constructive dialogue that might bring a solution to a tragic social ill.

People, especially public figures, are frequently the target of negative simplification. From now until November 8, Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump will be two of the most demonized people in the world. Why? Because it’s far easier to vilify a person (and their supporters) who opposes your viewpoint than it is to thoughtfully contend with them on their positions. Humanizing political candidates we’d rather stereotype complicates things. It inconveniently pokes at our own humanity, reminds us that those folks are made in God’s image, and hints that they might be a bit more complex than the sum of their political stances.

Simplifying complexity can leave us in the sorry position of being unable to see an issue, a circumstance, or even a relationship from a bigger picture. That kind of unwillingness hinders our ability to contemplate a different perspective, a perspective that might lead to a better solution, a better understanding, and a better relationship.

Contemplating complexity doesn’t mean you won’t still reach a straightforward conclusion on a matter; it’s necessary that you do. But it does mean you’ve given consideration to more than just the bumper-sticker version of an issue. And by doing so, you’re actually reflecting the nature of your Creator.  He could simplify us, and our pathetic laments and complaints to Him, as nothing more than indicators of our finite, frail humanity. But instead, the One who is all-knowing and all-mighty “remembers that we are dust” and “forgives…heals…redeems…crowns…satisfies…[and] pities those who fear Him.” (Psalm 103:1-14). We should take our cue from Him, and start contemplating complexity instead of simplifying it. Maybe we can start with our bumper stickers.