Embracing Obscurity: Becoming Nothing in Light of God’s Everything

by Anonymous

We’re drunk all right. We’re intoxicated with a desire to be known, recognized, appreciated, and respected. We crave to be a “somebody” and do notable things, to achieve our dreams and gain the admiration of others. To be something—anything—other than nothing.

We live in a culture that bases significance on how celebrated, or common, we are.

embracing obscurity is not about wiping ourselves from existence but rather, voluntarily, becoming nothing in light of everything God is and has promised us. Why? So we can bring Him greater glory. It’s about making Him, not ourselves, look good.

We are here for only a moment, visitors and strangers in the land as our ancestors were before us. Our days on earth are like a passing shadow, gone so soon without a trace. 1 Chronicles 29:15 (nlt)

Our days on earth are like grass; like wildflowers, we bloom and die. As for man, his days are like grass— he blooms like a flower of the field; when the wind passes over it, it vanishes, and its place is no longer known. Psalm 103:15–16

Have you ever had one of these moments? A split second when the enormity of humanity pounds you into a pea-sized lump of insignificance? An occasion when a crowd leaves you feeling a little disillusioned and more than a little irrelevant? If not, look for one. As uncomfortable as is the prospect, unimportance is good for the soul.

If our solar system were represented on a twelve-inch ruler, our sun (which is more than one hundred times the diameter of Earth) would be smaller than the period at the end of this sentence. On this same scale, our galaxy, The Milky Way, would be larger than the Pacific Ocean. But we’re not done yet. If you could zoom out even farther, you would see that God has created an innumerable number of galaxies. Innumerable! Our own galaxy is home to more than one hundred billion stars, let alone multiplying that by infinity.3 This realization should bring new meaning to Psalm 147:4, “He counts the number of the stars; He gives names to all of them.” Isaiah 40:26 says, “Look up and see: who created these? He brings out the starry host by number; He calls all of them by name. Because of His great power and strength, not one of them is missing.” And yet we are told all this is “but the fringes of His ways; how faint is the word we hear of Him! Who can understand His mighty thunder?” (Job 26:14). Feeling small yet?

Thomas à Kempis said: He who would learn to serve must first learn to think little of himself. This is the highest and most profitable lesson, truly to know and to despise ourselves. To have no opinion of ourselves—and to think always well and highly of others is great wisdom and perfection.4

The trouble with you and me and the rest of humanity is not that we lack self-confidence (as we’re told by the world) but that we have far too much self-importance. The thought of being just another of the roughly one hundred billion people to have ever graced this planet offends us—whether we realize it or not. We have such a high opinion of ourselves that to live and die unnoticed seems a grave injustice.

Webster’s defines obscurity as, “relatively unknown: as … (b) not prominent or famous.”

It’s easy to think we’re somebody when we’re well known at church, or in a particular industry, or at our children’s schools. When we have a nice portfolio, or a few letters after our name, or have a commemorative plaque on a little park bench somewhere, our pride creeps in and tempts us to want more: more recognition, more admiration, more influence, more, more, more. Few, myself included, have ever given thought to wanting less.

Obscurity comes in two forms: It can be either assigned (by God) or chosen (by us). I don’t know whether one is harder than the other. I just know that from a prideful, human point of view, either can gnaw at us. We don’t want to live as one in a crowd. We don’t want to be just another person living in a subdivision in the suburban sprawl that has become America. And we certainly don’t want to die without making our mark on something … anything.

A handful of truly “great” people on this planet will become immortal in the history books as world-changers. But since there’s little chance the likes of them will ever have cause to read yours truly, I can effectively ignore that group for now. For the rest of us, the 99.9 percent of humankind that fall into the first category, our lot of obscurity has been assigned. As much as we claw and clamor, whine and pout, we’re just not going to be an Alexander the Great, a Queen Elizabeth, or even a Mother Teresa or a Billy Graham.

Would you be willing to remain nameless, offering up your meager portion to your Savior, with no promise of return or guarantee of notoriety, but in complete obedience allow God to work His miracle through your small “lunch”? That’s what embracing obscurity is all about: being content with being “relatively unknown” so that Christ can be made more known.

I sure know my subtitles of choice. They’ve changed over the years to account for the different roles I’ve held and jobs I’ve done. But to be honest, they’ve all been about one thing: me. Even weaving ministry credentials in there doesn’t mask the underlying desire to make others think I’m a somebody. That I matter. That I’m going places. I’m itching for admiration, respect, and yes, even jealousy. It’s ugly and it’s wrong, but I’m just being honest here.

not all subtitles point to an accomplishment, but all point to a pursuit, and the end goal is looking good in others’ eyes.

At first Zac genuinely didn’t care what others thought about his life choices, but once he noticed that others admired him for his carefree style and adrenaline-seeking adventures, he was only more drawn to pursue those things. Now his identity is so wrapped up in this image he has created that the thought of being “just another guy,” with a desk job and a family to take care of, scares him.

If asked why he wants to “go pro,” Matt would tell you he loves playing the game, but in more introspective conversations he can’t deny the importance of others’ admiration for what he does or will do. Money, fame, respect, and validation are a few other driving forces behind Matt’s goals. He can’t wait to prove the “doubters” wrong by making it big—by proving himself.

not all subtitles point to an accomplishment, but all point to a pursuit.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how important is it to you that others admire you for what you do or have done in life? (1=not at all important, 10=very important)

11 :-(

All a man’s ways seem right in his own eyes, but the Lord weighs the motives.

The depth of my own pride is seemingly infinite. Every time I think it’s under wraps, I find some new variety of this cancerous sin hiding out in the darker corners of my heart. And not unlike cancer, what I think is full recovery from pride is oftentimes only remission. Given the right conditions—perhaps a bit of success, a dash of praise, a flattering “friend,” or a lack of accountability—the cancer returns. It keeps showing up in one form or another.

So what should we do once we discover pride in our lives? How do we break free from its embrace? The answer is twofold. First, we have to admit that we can’t do it in our own strength. You’ll recall that wanting to be like God—complete with omnipotence and perfection—is what landed us in this mess in the first place. Rather, we have to submit ourselves to the One who humbled Himself to the point of death to rescue us from our self-righteousness and sin. Second, we have to follow His example by heeding God’s instructions. The earthly antidote to pride, just like every other sin, is found in Scripture.

Have you ever stopped to marvel that 90 percent of Jesus Christ’s earthly life could be described much like ours? He spent roughly thirty of His thirty-three years living a largely ordinary life: being submissive to sinful parents, maturing, living, working, building relationships, studying and teaching the Scriptures, loving people, and loving God. We’d be simpletons to believe that a God who so obviously orchestrated His Son’s birth and public ministry down to the minutest detail would leave the bulk of His life to happenstance. No, Christ’s obscurity was as purposefully planned—and equally glorifying to God—as His journey to fame and His fall from the public’s favor.

Words that describe the disposition of the Christ we see in Scripture: humble, thankful, righteous, a servant—His only ambition to submit to His Father’s will. He was consumed with loving God and those around Him. Words that describe many of Christ’s followers (Christian famous or otherwise): proud, greedy, sinful, self-focused—our most driving ambition to free ourselves from having to rely on the Father (i.e., self-sufficiency). We are consumed with ourselves and use those around us for our own advancement.

you might be dumb, weak, shunned, and obscure; but if you love and follow Jesus, Paul says, then you’ve been joined to true significance. You’ve got “it,” not based on your works but on Christ’s. You don’t have to waste your life earning momentary kudos from the world. Instead, eternal significance is yours in an instant through embracing the work of Christ.

The world is in a frenzy trying to find lasting, eternal significance. But their efforts are in vain. Only God has ultimate, eternal significance, and the only way we mortals get it is by joining our lives to His. Instead of spending our days struggling for significance, living under the shame of failure, and watching what temporary significance we do achieve fade away, Christ offers His significant life to us all. We cannot earn it; we simply receive it by faith. He is our significance.

God has adopted you. He has named you, comforted you, disciplined and provided for you. And because you are His true son or daughter, He has also named you in His “will” to be an equal heir with your divine brother, Jesus Christ. Can you wrap your mind around the sheer grace involved in your situation? You, who have absolutely no right to anything of God’s, share in everything He is and owns.

How can we possibly love God or love others from a pure heart while we’re chasing after frivolities to confirm our value?

I’ve long suspected that one of Satan’s most effective tactics in immobilizing modern believers is a simple mirror. Not a physical mirror but a mental and spiritual one. Like Narcissus, we have become so self-absorbed that we can’t see past ourselves. What good can we do for God’s kingdom when we spend most of our lives in front of a mirror, introspectively picking at our “pimples” instead of living a life of purpose and power?

when we find our significance in Christ, we can be content to play a supporting role or even to stand in as an “extra” in the background. The visibility of our part stops being such a big deal, as the reality of being on the cast at all sinks in.

we can’t embrace obscurity until we reject the world’s shallow views of significance and instead find our true and lasting worth in Christ. Only this kind of significance produces the confidence we’ll need to live our lives following in the footsteps of our humble King.

The world offers only a craving for physical pleasure, a craving for everything we see, and pride in our achievements and possessions. These are not from the Father, but are from this world. 1 John 2:16 (nlt)

We’re human. We stink at avoiding excess and pride, both of which are sins. Couple human (i.e., sin) nature with the cultural bullhorn in the background, encouraging us to go for our dreams and take the cake as a snack for later, and we’re in dangerous territory. Dreaming big is an easy sell! You don’t have to do much convincing to make us believe that we are capable of “making it,” and—here’s the crux—we deserve to. Peel back the layers of innocent ambition and desires for provision in each of us, and you’ll find hiding in the shadows a greedy fiend that makes our culture’s feel-good mantra especially appealing and dangerous.

I don’t think we realize how far we’ve come in imitating the world’s tenets of success or just how dangerous that is. I’m shocked at how easily my friends, family, church, and I have swallowed the lie—hook, line, and sinker—that true fulfillment will greet them on the other side of a PhD and a six-figure income, through a romantic comedy-esque love story, or even through leading a prominent ministry. I’m alarmed at how pride and self-promotion are permeating Christian leadership and how it seems to be seeping down the ranks: to you, to me, to our kids, and throughout our congregations. If you understand the cancerous nature of pride, you can fathom just how scary our situation has become.

The roots of our hearts have grown down into things, and we dare not pull up one rootlet lest we die. Things have become necessary to us, a development never originally intended. God’s gifts now take the place of God, and the whole course of nature is upset by the monstrous substitution.4

Taking pride in what we accomplish—including all the subtle little successes the world advertises—leaves little room for humility. How can a love for the Father thrive when it’s being choked out by ambition?

First John 2:17 lets us in on the “end” of all the world’s goods: “And this world is fading away, along with everything that people crave” (nlt). When we make things and/or accolades the driving forces of our life, we’ll be set to retire—eternally speaking—with squat. Not only do the trinkets and trophies collect dust, break, and become passe in this life, but we’ll also have nothing to show for ourselves on the other side of death. Only those who love the Father above all in this life will be rewarded accordingly in the next.

Is it possible to know God—even love God—and yet confuse service to Him with our own ambition? Absolutely.

Pursuing “Christian” notoriety is the only way I can think of to have the best of both worlds. In the Christian “business model,” we get a nod of approval from society for pursuing a path that helps change the world by “doing something good,” and we can also (theoretically, at least) gain our “reward in heaven” for serving God on Earth. Success on both fronts. Or is it?

we can’t let our devotion be dictated by who’s watching. Living for an audience of One is at the heart of embracing obscurity.

The committed Christian’s unhealthy ambitions may take different forms than you’d expect from general society, but unless our pride is intentionally and ruthlessly cut out of our lives, it can be just as dangerous—maybe even more so.

To get to the place where we can truly embrace our obscurity, we’ll have to sacrifice our dreams of worldly success and instead take on this humble disposition. Which is, as we learned in chapter 3, the disposition of Christ.

One of the beauties of focusing our priority energies on kingdom work is that we don’t have much to lose if our earthly pursuits don’t turn out the way we hope. When we care more about serving and loving God and others than we do about achieving our goal of the week, we won’t be ruffled if we go home with the “honorable mention” ribbon at work, school, or play.

“If you don’t have anything to prove, you won’t have anything to lose.” Take it from an ex-striver: this concept, lived out, is rather revolutionary. Embracing God’s formula for success frees us to really live—to try, fail, get up, and try again—because we know that “failing” in the world’s eyes will never let God down.

It is one thing to follow God’s way of service if you are regarded as a hero, but quite another thing if the road marked out for you by God requires becoming a doormat under other peoples’ feet. God’s purpose may be to teach you to say, “I know how to be abased” (like Paul). Are you ready to be less than a drop in the bucket? To be so totally insignificant that no one remembers you even if they think of those you served? Are you willing to give and be poured out until you are all used up and exhausted—not seeking to be ministered to, but to minister? Oswald Chambers1

I resonate with Richard Foster’s take on this neglected virtue in his book, Celebration of Discipline: In some ways we would prefer to hear Jesus’ call to deny father and mother, houses and land for the sake of the gospel than his word to wash feet. Radical self-denial gives the feel of adventure… . But in service we must experience the many little deaths of going beyond ourselves. Service banishes us to the mundane, the ordinary, the trivial.4

Does my pride rear up when I consider how I might serve the way Christ served? Am I willing to give up my lofty ideas of success—even the “success” of serving God in great and visible ways—and instead content myself to serve in the mundane, to be largely invisible, and to meet the needs of those who can’t return the favor?

Ironic, isn’t it? We go striving for accolades to please ourselves and our Father, when He desires most for us simply to enjoy Him and let the rivers of His pleasures spill out to others. Serve Him by serving others.

If there is great difficulty in service, there is also great delight! Serving others enables us to shake free from the world’s tethers of promotion, authority, and getting an “edge,” and liberates us instead to rest. I’m not talking about laziness but a soul-rest that brings peace no striving can produce.