Anonymous: Jesus' hidden years...and yours

by Alicia Britt Chole

But such is the rhythm of spiritual life: new growth, fruitfulness, transition, rest . . . new growth, fruitfulness, transition, rest. Abundance may make us feel more productive, but perhaps emptiness has greater power to strengthen our souls.

In spiritual winters, our fullness is thinned so that, undistracted by our giftings, we can focus upon our character. In the absence of anything to measure, we are left with nothing to stare at except for our foundation.

Risking inspection, we begin to examine the motivations that support our deeds, the attitudes that influence our words, the dead wood otherwise hidden beneath our busyness. Then a lifechanging transition occurs as we move from resistance through repentance to the place of rest. With gratitude, we simply abide. Like a tree...

The Father’s work in us does not sleep—though in spiritual winters he retracts all advertisement. And when he does so, he is purifying our faith, strengthening our character, conserving our energy, and preparing us for the future.

However, with his life (and with ours), it is critical that we not mistake unseen for unimportant.

Wow. The spiritual world is unseen and the most important things are happening there. So respect and honor the unseen moments in my life.

Or consider the growth of a plant. Before a gardener can enjoy a plant’s fruit, she must tenderly and strategically attend to its root. So a plant’s birth begins with its burial. The gardener commits a generally unremarkable seed to the silence of the soil, where it sits in stillness and lightlessness, hidden by the smothering dirt. Just when it appears as though death is imminent, its seeming decay reveals new life.

Plans birth begins with burial. What things does God want to bury in me so new life can begin?

From God’s perspective, anonymous seasons are sacred spaces. They are quite literally formative; to be rested in, not rushed through—and most definitely never to be regretted.

I love that this is thought of as a sacred space. Which means it’s not just me involved. God is here in the space with me. And there are important things happening in this space even if I can’t see it or feel it. God doesn’t waste any time or space. He uses it all.

Unapplauded, but not unproductive: hidden years are the surprising birthplace of true spiritual greatness.

Distracted with daydreams of tomorrow’s potential, I often found today’s reality pale and tasteless in comparison. Before I could even be capable of valuing hidden years, I first had to start valuing each day as something more than just a boring prelude to the exciting future.

What does it build in us? What grows in that underestimated gap between God’s calling and others’ perceptions, between our true capabilities and our current realities? Most of us struggle if our dreams are delayed one year, let alone twenty! We find God’s pauses perplexing. They seem to be a waste of our potential. When those pauses extend beyond what we can comprehend or explain (say, for instance, three days), we often spiral into selfdoubt or second-guessing.

Something in surrendering to hiddenness strengthened Jesus to not make a name for himself, to not be his own PR person. Something in embracing that prolonged season of obscurity enabled him to appear to be less in order to be able to do more.

Hidden years, when heeded, empower a soul to patiently trust God with their press releases. All that waiting actually grants us the strength to wait a little longer and not rush God’s plans for our lives.

At present, I am attempting to rest in alert availability. “Alert” because I am not living in denial of the dreams in my heart. “Available” because God is a gentleman and I am quite comfortable waiting for him to open doors.

Jesus appears to have walked unstressed and unhurried. His peaceful pace seems to imply that he measured himself not by where he was going and how fast he could get there but by whom he was following and how closely they walked together.

Having fully captivated Jesus’ and John’s attention, of all the things Father God could have said, his first words were neither directional (“Go here”) nor instructional (“Do this”). They were relational: “This is my Son.”

Dick Schroeder, a wise teacher and friend, once noted that the first time Jesus heard these words thundered from the heavens, God spoke them before Jesus had ever done anything for which we call him Savior.

They were spoken over his hidden years. God declared his full acceptance and pride over what Jesus had become through his anonymous season.

Anonymous seasons afford us the opportunity to establish God as our souls’ true point of reference if we resist underestimating how he treasures our hiddenness and take the time to decide whose attention and acceptance really matters in our lives.

But in that desert of anonymity Jesus made peace with God’s timing and concluded that Father God’s companionship in his life was enough.

But Jesus did not allow the moments of his life to exist in isolation. He constantly connected them and placed them in the light of God’s will. Jesus knew that sacrificing his body on the cross in the future would be impossible if at this layer he chose to feed his flesh in the desert.

Nor did the Son of God trust his emotions to navigate him through Satan’s temptings. In the place of temptation, Jesus threw out a hook of his own—an anchor that caught firmly in something immovable—the Word of God:

He believed that living was initiated and sustained by God and therefore could not be measured by the physical senses alone. Life is because God is. We literally exist by the power of God’s Word, and if he were to withdraw that Word, all life would utterly perish.

But his loyalty to his spirit surpassed his loyalty to his flesh.

Our emotions and feelings are simply reactions to our environment, circumstances, and perceptions. By nature they are followers, and we place our souls in danger when we require them to take the lead. Truth, on the other hand, was born to lead. God’s truth clears the fog in our minds, provides much-needed boundaries for our emotions, and empowers our wills to choose well.

Remember, feelings were designed to follow, not to lead. So when God’s will and Word take the driver’s seat in our lives, our feelings and desires are free to follow cleanly without regrets within safe boundaries.

What grows in anonymous seasons? The anchor of God’s Word in our souls.

What grows in anonymous seasons? Self-control.

Paul refers to selfcontrol not as a gift of the Holy Spirit but notably as a “fruit” of the Spirit. Like love and peace, self-control is not conferred or awarded; it is cultivated and accumulated.

Interesting...study the difference between a fruit and a gift.

What grows in anonymous seasons? An accurate portrait of God.

in hidden years we have a tendency to assume that main is somewhere out there, not right here. So we treat today with less respect than we should, as though the current gift of time before us is simply a filler.

In such an atmosphere, it is easy for us to rationalize indulging our appetites because, Today does not really count, or, We will deal with the issue later, or, It will not make a difference now anyway.

Today always counts. If we fail to deal with issues today, they will ...

But when tempted in the layer of appetite, the question we need to ask ourselves is not, What is this better than? but, What is this feeding? Whatever we feed will live to tempt us another day.

when we say yes to temptations of appetite, regardless of our reasoning, we are choosing to feed sin that Jesus died for. That

Hidden years grant us the space to learn to discipline our passions, cravings, and desires.

To be accepted is to be approved of, to be wanted, to belong. By applause I am not referring to an occasional “well done” but to the public affirmation of our value, giftings, and contributions.

Humanity has never known existence outside of the context of relationship. In the beginning we were designed by God to desire acceptance and affirmation ultimately from him and also from each other. The longing for human affirmation in itself is not sinful.

But living for that longing is both self-serving and shortsighted.

Their history, and our own experience, reveals that miraculous signs do not automatically create within us either contentment in our circumstances or confidence in God’s future provision.

In each season of hiddenness, our sense of value is disrupted. Stripped of what others affirmed in us, we are left staring at our undecorated selves, wondering what makes us truly special.

What grows in anonymous seasons? An unshakable identity.

What grows in anonymous seasons? Our trust in God’s timing.

More than we can imagine rests on whether we will yield to God’s not yet.

In hidden years, delayed dreams press the question of whom we will let hold the clock for the rest of our lives. When God’s timing is not our timing and it is in our power to do something about it (as with Jesus’ example on the temple), whose timing will we choose? Ultimately, our answer to that question depends on whom we really trust.

Even in his thought life, he refused to bask in the attention and awe of mankind. What grows in anonymous seasons? A disciplined imagination.

Hidden years provide ample opportunity for us to discipline our minds. When we feel underestimated or unseen in real life, it is tempting to live out scenarios that make us feel wanted and recognized in our thought life. In seasons where we question our value, we can all too easily create—and frequently visit—an alternative version of life in our minds.

Jesus had come to suffer for sinners. Satan suggested that he sin to avoid suffering. Jesus had come to die for the world. Satan offered him the world without dying.

He tempted Jesus to give up his soul permanently to gain the world temporarily.

Satan asked Jesus to trade the eternal for the visible, which is something he still invites us to do every day.

In the desert I slowly began to realize that such enduring spiritual strength is the fruit, not of movement, but of rest; not of activity, but of stillness. Whatever the context, Jesus could stand strong in public because he stood still in private. He intentionally pursued quiet places to be alone with his Father God. Such is the opportunity deserts afford.