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There's one thing I'm confident we all have in common: we all have lives that matter, lives we want to count. We all desire to make a difference. That desire shows up everywhere—in our homes, at work, in our neighborhoods, in our schools, on the teams we coach, and right here at Flatirons. I believe that God put that desire in us.
I have six kids, and yes, it was on purpose. In May, I attended my very last kindergarten graduation with my youngest son, Shaden. At that ceremony, each student was asked, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Not one child said they wanted to coast through life. Every child had a dream—a doctor, a firefighter, a pilot, an astronaut, a YouTube streamer, a mommy. Behind every answer was the same desire: they wanted their life to count.
That desire doesn't disappear when we become adults. What changes is how we're taught to measure a life that truly matters. Somewhere along the way, the world begins to shape what we believe greatness looks like.
Let's turn to Mark chapter 10. Jesus is nearing the end of his earthly ministry, on his way to Jerusalem, knowing the cross awaits him. He has just told his disciples he will suffer, be rejected, and three days later rise from the dead. But while Jesus is preparing to give his life, his disciples are thinking about how to get ahead.
James and John come to Jesus and ask for seats of honor—to sit at his right hand or his left hand in his kingdom. When the other ten disciples hear about it, they're furious, not because James and John asked, but because they wanted those seats too. Jesus is focused on the cross; the disciples are focused on their crowns.
You know that those who are considered rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them and their great ones exercise authority over them. But it shall not be so among you. But whoever would desire to be great must be your servant. And whoever would be first among you must be slave of all. For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve and to give his life a ransom for many. (Mark 10:42-45)
Jesus looks at all twelve disciples and says, "But not so with you." In other words, that's how the world operates, but that's not how my followers should live.
Notice that Jesus doesn't rebuke their desire for greatness—he redirects it. The world defines greatness one way; Jesus defines it another. Our culture has a scoreboard for greatness: How much do I make? What's my title? Do people know my name? Is my marriage everything I hope for? Are my kids succeeding? Do they get into the school of their choice? Am I doing as well as everybody else around me? How good does my life look on social media?
None of those things are necessarily bad. The problem is when they become the scoreboard that tells you whether your life matters.
Greatness in God's kingdom is measured by your willingness to serve others.
Serving doesn't always come naturally. Our hearts naturally drift towards making life about ourselves—the desire to climb higher, to get ahead, to be noticed. But Jesus calls us to a different kind of greatness that puts somebody else's needs before our own. And here's what I love: Jesus doesn't ask us to live a life he wasn't first willing to live for himself. He didn't just teach it; he modeled it.
Listen to how the Apostle Paul describes the humility of Christ in Philippians 2:
Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit. But in humility, count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not on his own interest, but also to the interest of others. Having this mind among you, which is also in Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God as a thing to be grasped. But emptied himself by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men, and being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even on a cross. Therefore, God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him a name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus, every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of the Father. (Philippians 2:3-11)
Jesus existed in the form of God, yet he didn't use his position for his own advantage. He humbled himself, took the form of a servant, and became obedient all the way to the cross. And notice what happens next: Jesus goes down in humility and the Father lifts him up.
The way down is the way up.
When I look at the example of Jesus, I'm reminded of something I have to remind myself all the time: my life is not about me. I love myself. I love my plans, my schedules, being in control. Twenty-one years of marriage and raising six kids have probably revealed my selfishness more than anything else in my life.
There are times when I'm sitting at home working on my laptop, trying to figure out some issue at work, and one of my boys comes over. I have a son who's really excited about baseball. He'll say, "Dad, can you throw the baseball with me?" Regrettably, I don't always get that right. I can convince myself that whatever I'm working on is more important than the person standing right in front of me.
But I'm still learning. Sometimes the most faithful thing I can do in that moment is close the laptop, grab the glove, and go outside and be dad. Faithfulness isn't just about what I say from here; it's about how I love and serve the people God has placed in front of me.
The same is true of you. If you're a follower of Jesus, your life is no longer about you. It's about what God wants to do in and through you for his glory and for the good of the people he has placed around you.
So how can we actually live that out? In John chapter 13, Jesus shows us three choices that lead to a life that truly makes a difference.
It's the night before the cross, and Jesus has gathered his disciples for one final meal. Let's read from John 13:3-5:
Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hand and that he had come from God and was going back to God, rose from supper. He laid aside his outer garments and taking a towel, he tied it around his waist. Then he poured water in a basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and to wipe them with the towel that was wrapped around him. (John 13:3-5)
In the first century, washing feet was one of the lowest jobs in any household. People walked dusty roads in sandals, so by the end of the day, feet were filthy. Nobody in that room wanted the towel.
What makes what Jesus did so powerful is that the one in the room who deserved to be served is actually the one who got up to serve. Getting up means making yourself available to the people in front of you.
Most of those opportunities aren't always dramatic. They're often ordinary and often a little inconvenient. Maybe your spouse has had a long day at work, and when you come home, instead of disappearing into your phone or watching the ball game, you decide that the most loving thing you can do is serve your spouse before you even get in the house.
Or maybe you see that person at your job who looks overwhelmed, like they're carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. You make the decision to ask, "Hey, is there something I can take off your plate?"—even though it's not in your job description.
Or perhaps you're a student starting at school this week. You see that kid in your school that everybody ignores or makes fun of. Instead of joining in or stepping away, you make the decision as a follower of Jesus to step in. You sit with that student so they know somebody else sees them.
That's what getting up looks like. You see a need and instead of assuming somebody else will take care of it, you move forward towards it.
After Jesus finished washing the disciples' feet, he explained what it meant. Listen to what he says in verses 13-17:
You call me teacher and Lord, and you are right, for so am I. If then your Lord and your teacher have washed your feet, you ought to wash one another's feet. For I have given you an example that you should also do as I have done to you. (John 13:13-17)
Jesus was willing to get down and wash their feet. For you and me today, none of us is above serving. Going low is taking what God has given you—your gifts, your experiences, your passions—and using those things for the benefit of others, even when it costs you something. That takes humility.
As I was reflecting this week, I thought about some of the men in my life that God used to shape me. Three came to mind: my dad, my childhood pastor, and my freshman basketball coach.
My dad taught me the value of hard work, education, and not quitting when life was difficult. My childhood pastor—I became a Christian when I was 15, and the access he gave to me and others in our church radically changed my life. I got close enough to see his love for God, his love for God's Word, and his integrity. Even today, his yes is yes and his no is no.
My freshman basketball coach was so much fun to play for. I can still hear him saying, "Keep shooting, Lee." When I missed a shot—and I missed a lot of them—he was a coach who didn't beat us up for not doing the right things. He gave me the confidence that if I missed one shot, I could take the next one.
As I thought about those men, I realized none of them were perfect. But they lent me their strength, their words, their wisdom, their example, their influence. They took what God gave them and chose to invest it into me. That's what it means to go low. You don't have to be perfect. You just have to be willing to use the strength that God has given you to invest in the lives of somebody else.
Jesus calls all of us to follow him—to move from asking "What about me?" which focuses on our comfort, to the question of how we can help somebody else.
Who has God placed in your life that you could lend your strength to?
Jesus says in verses 16 and 17:
Truly, truly, I say to you, a servant is not greater than his master, nor a messenger greater than the one who sent him. If you know these things, blessed are you if you do them. (John 13:16-17)
Serving isn't just something you do for others—it's how God transforms you.
There's one thing I'm confident we all have in common: we all have lives that matter, lives we want to count. We all desire to make a difference. That desire shows up everywhere—in our homes, at work, in our neighborhoods, in our schools, on the teams we coach, and right here at Flatirons. I believe that God put that desire in us.
I have six kids, and yes, it was on purpose. In May, I attended my very last kindergarten graduation with my youngest son, Shaden. At that ceremony, each student was asked, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Not one child said they wanted to coast through life. Every child had a dream—a doctor, a firefighter, a pilot, an astronaut, a YouTube streamer, a mommy. Behind every answer was the same desire: they wanted their life to count.
That desire doesn't disappear when we become adults. What changes is how we're taught to measure a life that truly matters. Somewhere along the way, the world begins to shape what we believe greatness looks like.
Let's turn to Mark chapter 10. Jesus is nearing the end of his earthly ministry, on his way to Jerusalem, knowing the cross awaits him. He has just told his disciples he will suffer, be rejected, and three days later rise from the dead. But while Jesus is preparing to give his life, his disciples are thinking about how to get ahead.
James and John come to Jesus and ask for seats of honor—to sit at his right hand or his left hand in his kingdom. When the other ten disciples hear about it, they're furious, not because James and John asked, but because they wanted those seats too. Jesus is focused on the cross; the disciples are focused on their crowns.
You know that those who are considered rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them and their great ones exercise authority over them. But it shall not be so among you. But whoever would desire to be great must be your servant. And whoever would be first among you must be slave of all. For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve and to give his life a ransom for many. (Mark 10:42-45)
Jesus looks at all twelve disciples and says, "But not so with you." In other words, that's how the world operates, but that's not how my followers should live.
Notice that Jesus doesn't rebuke their desire for greatness—he redirects it. The world defines greatness one way; Jesus defines it another. Our culture has a scoreboard for greatness: How much do I make? What's my title? Do people know my name? Is my marriage everything I hope for? Are my kids succeeding? Do they get into the school of their choice? Am I doing as well as everybody else around me? How good does my life look on social media?
None of those things are necessarily bad. The problem is when they become the scoreboard that tells you whether your life matters.
Greatness in God's kingdom is measured by your willingness to serve others.
Serving doesn't always come naturally. Our hearts naturally drift towards making life about ourselves—the desire to climb higher, to get ahead, to be noticed. But Jesus calls us to a different kind of greatness that puts somebody else's needs before our own. And here's what I love: Jesus doesn't ask us to live a life he wasn't first willing to live for himself. He didn't just teach it; he modeled it.
Listen to how the Apostle Paul describes the humility of Christ in Philippians 2:
Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit. But in humility, count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not on his own interest, but also to the interest of others. Having this mind among you, which is also in Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God as a thing to be grasped. But emptied himself by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men, and being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even on a cross. Therefore, God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him a name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus, every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of the Father. (Philippians 2:3-11)
Jesus existed in the form of God, yet he didn't use his position for his own advantage. He humbled himself, took the form of a servant, and became obedient all the way to the cross. And notice what happens next: Jesus goes down in humility and the Father lifts him up.
The way down is the way up.
When I look at the example of Jesus, I'm reminded of something I have to remind myself all the time: my life is not about me. I love myself. I love my plans, my schedules, being in control. Twenty-one years of marriage and raising six kids have probably revealed my selfishness more than anything else in my life.
There are times when I'm sitting at home working on my laptop, trying to figure out some issue at work, and one of my boys comes over. I have a son who's really excited about baseball. He'll say, "Dad, can you throw the baseball with me?" Regrettably, I don't always get that right. I can convince myself that whatever I'm working on is more important than the person standing right in front of me.
But I'm still learning. Sometimes the most faithful thing I can do in that moment is close the laptop, grab the glove, and go outside and be dad. Faithfulness isn't just about what I say from here; it's about how I love and serve the people God has placed in front of me.
The same is true of you. If you're a follower of Jesus, your life is no longer about you. It's about what God wants to do in and through you for his glory and for the good of the people he has placed around you.
So how can we actually live that out? In John chapter 13, Jesus shows us three choices that lead to a life that truly makes a difference.
It's the night before the cross, and Jesus has gathered his disciples for one final meal. Let's read from John 13:3-5:
Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hand and that he had come from God and was going back to God, rose from supper. He laid aside his outer garments and taking a towel, he tied it around his waist. Then he poured water in a basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and to wipe them with the towel that was wrapped around him. (John 13:3-5)
In the first century, washing feet was one of the lowest jobs in any household. People walked dusty roads in sandals, so by the end of the day, feet were filthy. Nobody in that room wanted the towel.
What makes what Jesus did so powerful is that the one in the room who deserved to be served is actually the one who got up to serve. Getting up means making yourself available to the people in front of you.
Most of those opportunities aren't always dramatic. They're often ordinary and often a little inconvenient. Maybe your spouse has had a long day at work, and when you come home, instead of disappearing into your phone or watching the ball game, you decide that the most loving thing you can do is serve your spouse before you even get in the house.
Or maybe you see that person at your job who looks overwhelmed, like they're carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. You make the decision to ask, "Hey, is there something I can take off your plate?"—even though it's not in your job description.
Or perhaps you're a student starting at school this week. You see that kid in your school that everybody ignores or makes fun of. Instead of joining in or stepping away, you make the decision as a follower of Jesus to step in. You sit with that student so they know somebody else sees them.
That's what getting up looks like. You see a need and instead of assuming somebody else will take care of it, you move forward towards it.
After Jesus finished washing the disciples' feet, he explained what it meant. Listen to what he says in verses 13-17:
You call me teacher and Lord, and you are right, for so am I. If then your Lord and your teacher have washed your feet, you ought to wash one another's feet. For I have given you an example that you should also do as I have done to you. (John 13:13-17)
Jesus was willing to get down and wash their feet. For you and me today, none of us is above serving. Going low is taking what God has given you—your gifts, your experiences, your passions—and using those things for the benefit of others, even when it costs you something. That takes humility.
As I was reflecting this week, I thought about some of the men in my life that God used to shape me. Three came to mind: my dad, my childhood pastor, and my freshman basketball coach.
My dad taught me the value of hard work, education, and not quitting when life was difficult. My childhood pastor—I became a Christian when I was 15, and the access he gave to me and others in our church radically changed my life. I got close enough to see his love for God, his love for God's Word, and his integrity. Even today, his yes is yes and his no is no.
My freshman basketball coach was so much fun to play for. I can still hear him saying, "Keep shooting, Lee." When I missed a shot—and I missed a lot of them—he was a coach who didn't beat us up for not doing the right things. He gave me the confidence that if I missed one shot, I could take the next one.
As I thought about those men, I realized none of them were perfect. But they lent me their strength, their words, their wisdom, their example, their influence. They took what God gave them and chose to invest it into me. That's what it means to go low. You don't have to be perfect. You just have to be willing to use the strength that God has given you to invest in the lives of somebody else.
Jesus calls all of us to follow him—to move from asking "What about me?" which focuses on our comfort, to the question of how we can help somebody else.
Who has God placed in your life that you could lend your strength to?
Jesus says in verses 16 and 17:
Truly, truly, I say to you, a servant is not greater than his master, nor a messenger greater than the one who sent him. If you know these things, blessed are you if you do them. (John 13:16-17)
Serving isn't just something you do for others—it's how God transforms you.
