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CHAPTER 1
One in a Billion
We are here for only a moment, visitors and strangers in the land as our ancestors were before us. Our days on earth are like a passing shadow, gone so soon without a trace.
1 Chronicles 29:15 (nlt)
Our days on earth are like grass; like wildflowers, we bloom and die. As for man, his days are like grass — he blooms like a flower of the field; when the wind passes over it, it vanishes, and its place is no longer known.
Psalm 103:15–16
Seven billion, twenty-five million, four hundred twenty thousand, three hundred ninety.
That's our best guess at the number of people on planet Earth as I write this. Hardly fodder for self-importance. But as the reality of numbers like that have a way of escaping us, if you really want your own insignificance to stare you in the face, try standing on top of the Empire State Building in New York City, while 8.3 million people sprawl out below. Attend a concert at the Northwest's Gorge Amphitheater, with twenty thousand people groovin' all around you. Take a long walk along the streets of Monaco, where thirty-three thousand people are crammed into less than a square mile. If you've ever gone to Disneyland in June, Mall of America in December, or tried to grab a hot deal on Black Friday, you know what I'm talking about. There are hoards of people on this planet.
Perhaps you, like me, can point to a specific instance when your self-important naiveté came crashing down. It was near 3:30 on a Friday afternoon, and I had the unfortunate need to be driving on a ridiculously crowded interstate. Stop-and-go traffic would have been preferable — we were just stopped dead. The cars across the median were lumbering along (lucky for them), and, since I had nothing better to do, I started watching weary commuters as they passed — a visibly agitated woman in a silk blouse applying lipstick; a Justin Timberlake look-alike in a newly polished Camaro, talking on his cell phone; a thirty- something singing like nobody's business; an older Asian lady in a supermarket uniform; a mom and her kids arguing; and they just kept coming ... and coming ... and coming.
After a hundred or so cars, I started to get a little depressed. Each one of these people had a life, a circle of acquaintances and family, a story to tell of their history, aspirations, disappointments, and fears. Who did I think I was, anyway, completely preoccupied with how this traffic jam was going to make me late for I-can't-even-remember-what? What could possibly possess me — or any of us — to think that my story, my life, is somehow different, unique, important?
Have you ever had one of these moments? A split second when the enormity of humanity pounds you into a pea-sized lump of insignificance? An occasion when a crowd leaves you feeling a little disillusioned and more than a little irrelevant? If not, look for one. As uncomfortable as is the prospect, unimportance is good for the soul.
Solomon got it. At first glance, his book Ecclesiastes is a real downer, especially to the world's optimists.
"Everything is meaningless," says the Teacher, "completely meaningless!"
What do people get for all their hard work under the sun? Generations come and generations go, but the earth never changes. The sun rises and the sun sets, then hurries around to rise again. The wind blows south, and then turns north. Around and around it goes, blowing in circles. Rivers run into the sea, but the sea is never full. Then the water returns again to the rivers and flows out again to the sea. Everything is wearisome beyond description. No matter how much we see, we are never satisfied. No matter how much we hear, we are not content.
History merely repeats itself. It has all been done before. Nothing under the sun is truly new. Sometimes people say, "Here is something new!" But actually it is old; nothing is ever truly new. We don't remember what happened in the past, and in future generations, no one will remember what we are doing now. (Eccles. 1:2–11 nlt, emphasis added)
I told you it was a downer!
But wait, there's more. If nearly seven billion fellow humans coupled with the cyclical pattern of history have never underscored your unimportance, just look underfoot.
It's a Big, Big World
God spared no attention to detail or sheer quantity when creating billions of species no human being will ever even see. Science has done their best to name, categorize, describe, and study all the creepy crawlies, fungi, bacteria, and other strange organisms that live on and under the soil; but they readily admit there is no way to get to them all. Specialists estimate the number of fungi species likely reaches 1.5 million; and even though tens of thousands of roundworm types are already known, there are likely millions more completely undiscovered. The next time you shake the soil out of your garden gloves, imagine the millions of bacteria that live in just a gram of dirt, representing several thousand species.
But if the sheer quantity of living things that live and die with no thought to our existence doesn't point you to something completely outside yourself, have you considered the universe lately?
When God created the heavens and Earth, He spared no expense. In fact, the vastness of the former borders on excess. Earth itself is impressive enough, with its precision orbit, delicately balanced atmosphere, laws of nature and physics, varied life forms, and intricate biodiversity. But Earth is minuscule in size and influence when compared with the grandeur of the heavens.
If our solar system were represented on a twelve-inch ruler, our sun (which is more than one hundred times the diameter of Earth) would be smaller than the period at the end of this sentence. On this same scale, our galaxy, The Milky Way, would be larger than the Pacific Ocean. But we're not done yet. If you could zoom out even farther, you would see that God has created an innumerable number of galaxies. Innumerable! Our own galaxy is home to more than one hundred billion stars, let alone multiplying that by infinity.
This realization should bring new meaning to Psalm 147:4, "He counts the number of the stars; He gives names to all of them." Isaiah 40:26 says, "Look up and see: who created these? He brings out the starry host by number; He calls all of them by name. Because of His great power and strength, not one of them is missing." And yet we are told all this is "but the fringes of His ways; how faint is the word we hear of Him! Who can understand His mighty thunder?" (Job 26:14).
Feeling small yet?
If so, you're in good company. Many faithful men and women have come to think little of themselves in light of all that God is and does. As Thomas à Kempis said:
He who would learn to serve must first learn to think little of himself. This is the highest and most profitable lesson, truly to know and to despise ourselves. To have no opinion of ourselves — and to think always well and highly of others is great wisdom and perfection.
We like the thought of "perfection." We can tolerate the idea of "thinking well and highly of others." So why are we turned off by this "highest and most profitable lesson" — to think little of ourselves?
The Nature of Obscurity
The trouble with you and me and the rest of humanity is not that we lack self-confidence (as we're told by the world) but that we have far too much self-importance. The thought of being just another of the roughly one hundred billion people to have ever graced this planet offends us — whether we realize it or not. We have such a high opinion of ourselves that to live and die unnoticed seems a grave injustice. Yet for the vast majority of us, has God called us to anything else? Webster's defines obscurity as, "relatively unknown: as ... (b) not prominent or famous." That pretty much sums up the vast majority of humankind, doesn't it? Even those rare men and women who make a mark on our society — a passionate speaker, a star athlete, an active politician, a gifted musician, an empathetic humanitarian — they're still "relatively unknown" in the grand scope of the world's consciousness and especially in light of history. Even we authors can't escape obscurity. Every time I visit a Barnes & Noble, I'm ready to lay down my pen for good. Solomon's words taunt me as I stare at the obscene number of volumes: "There is no end to the making of many books" (Eccles. 12:12)!
In the big picture we're all in this obscurity thing together. That's hard to remember in our little bubbles of influence. It's easy to think we're somebody when we're well known at church, or in a particular industry, or at our children's schools. When we have a nice portfolio, or a few letters after our name, or have a commemorative plaque on a little park bench somewhere, our pride creeps in and tempts us to want more: more recognition, more admiration, more influence, more, more, more. Few, myself included, have ever given thought to wanting less.
Obscurity comes in two forms: It can be either assigned (by God) or chosen (by us). I don't know whether one is harder than the other. I just know that from a prideful, human point of view, either can gnaw at us. We don't want to live as one in a crowd. We don't want to be just another person living in a subdivision in the suburban sprawl that has become America. And we certainly don't want to die without making our mark on something ... anything.
A handful of truly "great" people on this planet will become immortal in the history books as world-changers. But since there's little chance the likes of them will ever have cause to read yours truly, I can effectively ignore that group for now. For the rest of us, the 99.9 percent of humankind that fall into the first category, our lot of obscurity has been assigned. As much as we claw and clamor, whine and pout, we're just not going to be an Alexander the Great, a Queen Elizabeth, or even a Mother Teresa or a Billy Graham.
Even when an overarching, global obscurity has been assigned to us, we still have a choice of whether to embrace personal obscurity — an obscurity of heart as much as position. And that is the message I believe God has for us, a message He modeled as well as taught.
An Obscure Sacrifice
We hear all the time about the Bible's "great men and women," the real "heroes of the faith." But I wonder if all their notability has not come from being made immortal in a document that has been read the world over. Think about it: If the lives and deaths of Joseph, Rachel, Jonah, Abraham, Moses, Nehemiah, even King David or the apostle Paul had not been divinely recorded in the pages of our Bibles, would we have any idea in the twenty-first century who they were? No more than other faithful men, women, and martyrs of ancient and modern civilizations who now lie nameless in the dust. Being of great faith does not guarantee timeless notoriety. Take as exhibit A "the young boy" of loaves and fishes fame.
You are likely familiar with Jesus' miracle of feeding the five thousand. The Sunday school version goes something like this: As Jesus was teaching and healing a large crowd one day, it got to be late — too late to go home for dinner, and people (including the disciples) were starting to get a little cranky from their hunger. Of course, no one wanted to go home and risk missing any of what Jesus had to say. Enter "young boy." Jesus strangely asks Philip where they could buy bread to feed such a large crowd of people. Andrew says sarcastically, "Hey, there's a kid here with a few chunks of bread and a couple of dried fish. Ha-ha. But what are we going to do with that?" Of course Jesus knew exactly what He was going to do with that boy's lunch. He had known all day. He had known His whole life. He was going to feed thousands.
Now think with me about this kid for a minute. He not only has the maturity to be spending his Saturday listening to a sermon rather than hanging out at the skate park, but he also had the remarkable faith to hand over the only food he had with no promise of return. Who knows — maybe he was a little miffed at giving up his eats. But since I doubt the disciples manhandled the kid to take his lunch from him, he must have given it willingly in the end. And just like the son who whined and pouted but still did what his father asked (see Matt. 21:28–32), this kid got full credit for obedience, even if his heart wasn't completely in the right place at first. (Comforting thought, isn't it? Which of us doesn't have our own attitude issues?) Whatever his initial response, I'd say his act of surrender took remarkable faith! Yet in none of the Gospels are we even given his name, and he is never mentioned again.
Have you ever been asked this small-group ice-breaker question, "What Bible story character would you like to be?" Would this be yours? Would you want to be "the young boy"? Would you be willing to remain nameless, offering up your meager portion to your Savior, with no promise of return or guarantee of notoriety, but in complete obedience allow God to work His miracle through your small "lunch"? That's what embracing obscurity is all about: being content with being "relatively unknown" so that Christ can be made more known. Temporarily going hungry so that many more may be filled.
I want to close this chapter with a passage that will become familiar over the next ten chapters. As you read these words, marvel at the majesty and splendor of a God who could create innumerable species with a word, a God who knows trillions of stars by name yet would choose to become "relatively unknown" for your sake and mine.
Make your own attitude that of Christ Jesus, who, existing in the form of God, did not consider equality with God as something to be used for His own advantage. Instead He emptied Himself by assuming the form of a slave, taking on the likeness of men. And when He had come as a man in His external form, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death — even to death on a cross. For this reason God highly exalted Him and gave Him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow — of those who are in heaven and on earth and under the earth — and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. (Phil. 2:5–10)
Discussion Questions
1. Have you ever had an experience that made you feel insignificant in light of the sheer number of people on this planet? An occasion when a crowd left you feeling a bit irrelevant?
2. Do you think our culture encourages people to feel important? If so, how?
3. Would you describe most of the people you know as generally lacking self-confidence or having too much self-importance?
4. What experiences here on Earth remind you most of God's vastness? What reminds you most of His attention to detail?
5. Do you agree that, "In the big picture we're all in this obscurity thing together"? Does the idea of obscurity in this life sit well with you?
6. If the idea of embracing your own obscurity rubs you wrong, what do you think are the root causes of those feelings? What beliefs, past experiences, or current circumstances might be contributing to your reluctance?
7. How would you describe the difference between an obscurity of position and an obscurity of heart? Do you find the thought of one to be easier to swallow than the other?
8. If embracing obscurity hinges on "being content with being 'relatively unknown' so that Christ can be made more known," how might Christ be made more known through your own obscurity?
CHAPTER 2
Embracing Definition
We are all motivated by a keen desire for praise.
Cicero
I'm not asking that you take [my people] out of the world, but that you guard them from the Evil One. They are no more defined by the world than I am defined by the world.
John 17:15–16 (The Message)
My right index finger paused midair, frozen in indecision. Should I click the mouse or forget I had ever felt convicted for wasting monumental amounts of my time? My hesitation to follow through with this simple click was absurd to me, even in the moment. This wasn't a life-or-death decision. Not even close. So why couldn't I just do it?
I had toyed with the thought of "unplugging" from social networking websites for a few months. I was disturbed — yes, at times disgusted — by how much time was siphoned away by keeping up with "friends" (many of whom, I might add, I hadn't missed talking to in fifteen years but now, suddenly, couldn't bear to part with). My frustration with my own lack of discipline, and the realization that I had ultimately let these sites become a form of — dare I say — web sin, finally came to a head. I knew what I had to do. But would I do it?
The morning of Facebook D-day, I started the process as I often approach obedience — completely halfheartedly. Rather than just delete my account, I first tried whittling down my friends list. Another monumental waste of time. Took half a day to "unfriend" a hundred people, at which point I realized that I could possibly waste yet another week of my life trying to decide who should go and who should stay. So I made the jump, and nervously clicked on my account settings.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Embracing Obscurity"
by .
Copyright © 2012 Anonymous.
Excerpted by permission of B&H Publishing Group.
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