On Quiet Faithfulness
Photo by Szabo Viktor on Unsplash
If someone had asked my entire high school graduating class about their hopes, dreams, and aspirations, I’m pretty confident that not one of them would have expressed the desire to be an “influencer.” Growing up as members of Generation X, we simply did not have this language. The emergence of social media platforms has, of course, opened up an entirely new path to fame—or at least some semblance of fame. In theory, people can now reach audiences of a size previously unthinkable. And because audiences bring advertising revenue to these platforms, content creators have a potential avenue to income and, well, influence.
This development has not only shaped the career ambitions of many young people—and brought considerable distress to their skeptical parents—but it has also shaped the way people relate to the world around them. The story arc of a small-town kid who travels to the big city to find fame now seems like a quaint relic of the past. Anyone with a phone and a laptop can potentially reach an international audience without leaving the house. At the same time, deep relational connections within one’s home community—even in small towns—seem to have diminished.
How we evaluate all of this depends a great deal on how people aim to use the influence they seek. Some people seek fame for fame’s sake, a form of self-glorification on a large scale. This is nothing new. A great deal of human history is marked by the hunger for fame, a vice known classically as vainglory. In her book Glittering Vices: A New Look at the Seven Deadly Sins and Their Remedies, Rebecca Konyndyk DeYoung puts it this way: “The vainglorious…seek whatever will bring in the most attention and applause, whether it is excellent and deserving or not…. The goal of the vainglorious is to win others’ notice, to have people nod and smile approvingly when they walk by.”While this is an old problem, the technological tools that have made large audiences accessible to just about anyone seem to have intensified this hunger. Becoming a big name for the sake of being a big name seems within reach like never before.
It should go without saying that not everyone with an influential voice has fallen victim to an inordinate love of self. One of the wonderful things about today’s technological tools is the access audiences have to good and formative content. I am deeply grateful for faithful Christians who have used social media platforms to teach, encourage, and build up the community of faith—including many in the Wesleyan world. I want those content creators to continue doing what they are doing and to keep focused on good and holy ends.
That said, in a world with a lot of noise and many voices clamoring for our attention, I find myself increasingly appreciative of people who model quiet faithfulness. If we look carefully, we will begin to see examples of lives that are lived each day out of sheer obedience to God. Most every congregation has these people (and in fact depends on them). These folks arrive early, stay late, or come at odd times. They do tasks that are deeply needed but are not glamorous and often invisible. What strikes me most about these quiet saints is that they rarely reveal any pressing need to be recognized or to be in the spotlight. If anything, there is a resolute joy in making a contribution and doing so for the love of God. They are living examples of the approach urged in Colossians 3:23-24: “Whatever task you must do, work as if your soul depends on it, as for the Lord and not for humans, since you know that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward; you serve the Lord Christ.”
Some of my most memorable experiences in divinity school took shape in my field education placements, where I served twice as a summer student associate pastor of congregations. I am grateful to have learned a great deal during these summers, and I am especially thankful to have been mentored by supervising pastors with both great wisdom and deep love for the Lord. These supervisors gave me opportunities to teach, preach, minister with different age groups, and most of all, to experience what the day-to-day life of a pastor involves. But perhaps the greatest gift they gave me was modeling faithfulness in their own ministry. Pastoring is a wonderful and holy calling, and yet there are many aspects of it that can be thankless. While there are exceptions, ministers typically hear far too many critiques and complaints and far too few words of encouragement and gratitude. Yet the pastors who mentored me during those summers showed me what it looks like to go about their ministry day in and day out in resolute faithfulness to God.
They also showed me something else that I have never forgotten. They noticed those people in their congregations that served without fanfare. And they made sure to give thanks both to God and to these saints for what they offered. While the folks who made the congregations’ ministries possible did not particularly seem to need gratitude, their pastors made sure to give it. Occasionally that would be publicly, in front of the congregation, but usually it was casually and sincerely offered directly to the person.
One of my favorite novels, C.S. Lewis’ The Great Divorce, hints that such understated thanks in this life might become outright celebration in the next. In Chapter 12 of that book, while getting a tour of Heaven, the narrator sees a large and joyful procession. The narrator’s guide tells him that the celebration is in honor of a woman named Sarah Smith. The guide explains that she is someone who was rather anonymous in her earthly life. However, he continues, “she is one of the great ones. Ye have heard that fame in this country [Heaven] and fame on Earth are two quite different things.” He goes on to describe the small but tangible acts of love that she offered to the people—and even the animals—that she encountered. The point is not, of course, that we should do these things so that we will receive parades in Heaven. The point is that we should do them out of our love for God, and Heaven rejoices in all that pleases God.
As we go about each day, may we pay attention to these models of quiet faithfulness. In our congregations, our workplaces, and anywhere else we find ourselves, let us notice people who, quietly and without fanfare, make our communities better. Let us give thanks to them and give thanks for them. And let us follow their example, in praise of the God who sees all.
Doug Koskela is Professor of Theology at Seattle Pacific University in Seattle, WA, and an ordained elder in the Free Methodist Church. He is on the Editorial Board for Firebrand.