Why the holiest ambition is to make much of Christ, not of ourselves
Which would you rather be: a great man of God or a man of a great God?
At first glance, the difference may seem small. Spiritually, it is immense.
Not long ago, I was speaking with a student who wanted to pursue theological training. In the course of our conversation, I asked him that question. Would he rather be a great man of God or a man of a great God?
His answer came quickly and emphatically. He wanted to be a great man of God.
What was revealing was not only the phrase he chose, but what the phrase seemed to awaken in him. He was drawn to the idea of significance, stature, and visible greatness. The title appealed to him. The thought of being known, admired, and perhaps celebrated in Christian service seemed deeply attractive. By contrast, simply being a man of a great God seemed too small, too hidden, too ordinary.
But if we are honest, that temptation is not his alone.
It is ours too.
When Self Hides Inside Christian Service
One of the sobering realities of the Christian life is that self does not always oppose religion. Sometimes it hides inside it.
We may serve in church, teach the Bible, preach, lead, organize, sing, write, build ministries, and speak often about the glory of God, all while quietly hoping to secure a little glory for ourselves. We may appear earnest for Christ while secretly longing to be impressive in the eyes of others.
That is what makes spiritual pride so dangerous. It does not always look like open arrogance. Sometimes it looks like “ministry ambition.” Sometimes it sounds like “wanting to make an impact.” Sometimes it is baptized in religious language and dressed in Christian seriousness.
But beneath it all lies a searching question: Whose name are we really trying to build?
There is a kind of ministry that is not truly ministry at all. It is self-promotion with Bible verses attached. It uses Christian service as a stage. It wants influence more than faithfulness, visibility more than obedience, recognition more than holiness.
And that idol is not found only on large platforms. It can live quite comfortably in ordinary hearts.
The Better Desire
There is something far better than becoming a “great man of God.”
It is becoming a man — or woman — of a great God.
That may sound less impressive to the flesh, but it is far safer and far better. To be a man of a great God is to know that the center of the story is not you. It is to rest in the fact that God is weighty, God is glorious, God is wise, God is sovereign, and God is enough.
It is to say, “I do not need to appear great, so long as Christ is honored. I do not need a title, so long as I am found faithful. I do not need to be noticed, so long as I belong to him.”
That kind of heart does not destroy ambition altogether. It redeems it.
The real question is not whether we will be ambitious, but what kind of ambition will rule us. Will we strive to be known, or will we long for Christ to be known? Will we use God in the pursuit of self, or will we gladly yield self in the service of God?
“He Must Increase, but I Must Decrease”
John the Baptist gives us one of the clearest statements of spiritual sanity: “He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:30).
That is not the language of a man building a personal empire. It is the language of a servant who knows his place in the presence of Christ.
John understood that his role, however important, was never ultimate. He was not the light; he came to bear witness to the light. He was not the bridegroom; he was the friend of the bridegroom. His joy was not in securing a lasting spotlight for himself, but in seeing Christ take the central place.
That is where real freedom begins for us too.
There is a strange bondage in always needing to matter, always needing to be seen, always needing to be affirmed. The soul was not made to carry that burden. We were made to live under the glad reality that God is great and we are his.
Christ Does More Than Expose Our Pride
If this article only told us to stop being proud, it would not go deep enough.
The problem is not merely that we sometimes aim too high. The problem is that even in our religion, we are curved inward. We want to be somebody. We want to secure worth, identity, and importance through what we do — even through holy things.
But Christ did not come merely to rebuke that impulse. He came to save proud people.
The Son of God did not exalt himself in the way sinners do. Though he was truly glorious, he took the form of a servant and humbled himself even to death on a cross. He did not come demanding applause, but bearing shame. He did not come to make much of himself in the world’s way, but to accomplish the Father’s will for our redemption.
And now, in union with this crucified and risen Christ, we are freed from the desperate need to manufacture greatness. Our identity does not rest on ministry success, influence, title, reputation, or applause. It rests on him.
Because Christ is enough, we do not have to keep trying to become impressive.
Because Christ is exalted, we are free to take the lower place.
Because Christ knows us, we do not need to spend our lives making sure others do.
Faithfulness Is Better Than Fame
In the kingdom of God, faithfulness is better than fame.
It is better to be obscure and obedient than visible and self-impressed. Better to be a servant who trembles at God’s Word than a religious achiever intoxicated with his own importance. Better to be content with whatever role God assigns than to force our way upward by envy, competition, vanity, or self-display.
This is one of the real tests of the heart: are we willing to let God decide the size of our place?
Are we content to serve where he puts us? To labor without applause? To be useful without being celebrated? To decrease, if only Christ may increase?
That is not the loss of significance. It is the recovery of sanity.
And Scripture consistently points us in this direction. Paul says, “This is how one should regard us, as servants of Christ and stewards of the mysteries of God. Moreover, it is required of stewards that they be found faithful” (1 Corinthians 4:1–2). God’s standard is not celebrity, but faithfulness; not prominence, but stewardship.
Dwight L. Moody once said of Moses
Moses spent forty years in Pharaoh’s court thinking he was somebody, forty years in the desert learning that he was nobody, and forty years thereafter discovering what God can do with a somebody who has learned that he is a nobody.
— Dwight L. Moody
However one phrases it, the point remains: God is not looking for self-made greatness. He is pleased to use those who have been emptied of the need to be great.
A Better Prayer
So perhaps the prayer we most need is not, “Lord, make me a great man of God.”
Perhaps it is this:
“Lord, make me yours. Teach me to love your glory more than my own. Deliver me from the craving to be noticed. Make me faithful in secret and humble in public. Let me decrease without resentment, if only Christ is exalted.”
That is a dangerous prayer to the flesh, but a beautiful one to grace.
In the end, the most beautiful servants of Christ are not those most fascinated with their own usefulness. They are those who have seen something of the greatness of God and have gladly taken their place beneath his majesty.
So the question comes back to us again:
Would you rather be a great man of God, or a man of a great God?
For the Christian, there is only one safe answer.
