Head buried in relics of VCR tapes, breathing in the dust until every exhale is almost a sneeze, you’re struggling to make this fossil of a machine work. Deadlines are creeping closer, and if you can’t coerce it into giving you the data you need, the footage that will finish your project, there will be major consequences. On an impulse, you yank a few identical cables, reconnecting them in different places, and… yes! It works! A stroke of genius, surely, and now you have all the pieces needed to finish this project in time.
What’s your next move?
You send a quick photo to your team of the final project, the caption briefly boasting, “I’ve conquered it!” and shut your phone back off with a laugh. The rest of the project goes by quickly, sent off to your boss for review within the hour, and you smile every time one of your teammates responds to your picture with praise or a funny comment. Later that day, you’re trying to explain your process to another teammate, and it’s almost satisfying when she doesn’t fully understand what’s happening, and says simply, “I would never have been able to do this.”
As humans, we constantly teeter between feeling incapable and feeling all-capable. Our jobs and relationships give us an unsteady source of praise that leaves us feeling like over-stretched balloons—either over-extended with hot air or left desperately waiting for more.
While I was working on this same project mentioned above this week, I kept waiting for the moment I was finished, knowing that the reward waiting for my deeds was praise and recognition. Of course, some of the satisfaction is earned from fixing what was broken, sure, but most of my future joy is sourced from reactions, bubbling up suddenly in an exorbitant high, and fading just as quickly.
So what is the portion the Lord would have for us? Surely, it can’t be fast fading highs and the unsteady income of pleasing people.
“Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ.”
Colossians 3:23-24
This verse was originally written for bondservants, or slaves, in the Roman world, admonishing them not to be focused on pleasing people with “eye-service,” but giving their hearts fully over to sincerity in fear of the Lord.
Well, you’re not a bondservant, and neither am I. There’s no one to whom I owe my employment, no one to whom I’m indebted to work or am paying off a debt with my labor.
But in a much more real sense, we are all bound to the gospel of Jesus Christ through our faith. We’ve decided to make the God of the universe our master, our King, and serve Him with every action, every day. Our reward will never be the praise of humans, since we—made in the image of a praise-worthy God—desire worship, but can never sustain it. We weren’t made to receive worship, but instead to redirect it heavenwards in praise of the One to whom every knee will bow on heaven and on the earth.
Take your crowns, sisters, and brothers, and throw them down before our King. They aren’t precious, our rewards and praise from humans on this earth—they only serve as a way to glorify our God in heaven.
Pride sits at the base of our desire for praise, justifying every morsel we steal for ourselves as you worked hard for that, you deserve it. Would we desire today that the Holy Spirit inside of us would pull that weed out of our hearts, giving us, instead, the joy of seeing God glorified above all, joy in making ourselves lesser that He might become greater?
As you’re finishing that project, waiting for more responses from teammates about a job well done, close your eyes. In your mind’s eye, remove the crown of that success off your brow and lay it at the feet of the cross. Thank you, Jesus, for giving a solution to the problem. Thank you for the technology, and for making me in Your image that I may solve this issue and finish this project with excellence that gives you glory. Take away my pride, receive all the glory You are owed.