For you are a chosen people, royal priests … God’s very own possession, so that you can declare the praises of the one who called you out of darkness into his glorious light.

1 Peter 2:9

A few months ago I attended a retreat where the participants spent a good deal of time seeking to answer questions about calling. These were mostly older guys, so the focus was on what God’s purpose is for those in the later stages of life’s ministry. The event was really quite good: well-run, using creative exercises, enjoyable fellowship, open and engaging conversation, cheesy movies … OK, so nothing’s perfect.

What did I take away from asking God and my brothers about how to focus my time and energy? Three things immediately struck me. First, I received some good spiritual and practical understanding of what the Spirit is saying to me about service in the coming days. Second (and in no way contradictory to the first point), I realized that what I do or don’t do – unless I am being clearly disobedient to God – is largely irrelevant. Third, the reason for that irrelevance became clear, and answered a question that had been nagging me throughout the retreat.

What I found unsettling was this: Seeking the Lord about where are lives are headed in specific, purposeful ways seems reasonable. After all, we want to understand his plan and our destiny. But the focus of such exercises inevitably opens us to a set of self-elevating temptations. We begin to construct our own version of Mr. Holland’s Opus (one of the cheesy movies from the event). What was MY effect on others? What did they think of ME? Did I leave a legacy that others will admire, or even notice? The door to envy, to disappointment, regret, murmuring. “Saul has killed his thousands, and David his ten-thousands.” We know how that turned out for Saul, not because he was less successful, but because he couldn’t bear for David to be more so.

On my return home from the retreat, I described my initial conclusions to my wife Joanne. As it turns out, she also had been hearing from the Lord. For her, the summary of his insight for her future was this: Prepare to die well. As I thought about our collective impressions, one main conviction began to emerge. Our “legacy” – our purpose, our destiny, and what we leave behind – is inseparable from our eternal inheritance. Dying well stands as a bridge that creates a seamless transition to the undimmed presence of God. And it doesn’t matter if we’re 15 or 90. To me, this exposes some uncomfortable and equally consoling truths.

To begin, I discover that “legacy” is more about God than it is about us. This is, of course, embarrassingly obvious. The entire point of discipleship, of a relationship with God, of living as a human, is to bring him glory. “He must increase, and we must decrease” was not just suitable for John the Baptist, but for anyone who belongs to the Lord. We are not opposed to John’s characterization, at least in principle. But we often find that we would prefer a kind of power- and glory-sharing arrangement. No doubt we each exist on different points on a continuum, but it is endemic to our species that we want recognition, acknowledgment of our value and worth, maybe our 15 minutes of fame, and a sense of having had some influence in the world.

These desires are not inherently sinful, except that they consistently present as symptoms of the much bigger, more serious issue that plagues us. It is not just 15 minutes of fame or glory, but the impulse to seek an entire lifetime of self-will, self-rule, self-protection, and self-direction, tempered by some degree of yielding and surrender to God. The old Andre Crouch song, “To God Be the Glory” may be deeply aspirational, but it regularly remains that. If I preach a sermon, offer pastoral care, write a new song, I do want to see him receive glory. But I also carefully read, or sound out the reviews. And woe to them that offer the mildest criticism.

Yet here is the (unsurprising) gospel paradox. If, and as he increases, and grace relieves me of the burden of carrying illegitimate glory, something rather strange occurs. I find two things: First, there is authentic pleasure when I honor God alone. Second, and truly incomprehensible to me, I enter into what is true glory for a human creature. How fascinating that every denomination’s instruction manual begins with essentially the same question and answer. What is the main reason for our existence? It is to honor, love, and serve God and to enjoy him forever. In looking at this construct, we can see that these aren’t separate items that the authors randomly collected so that we could tick them as a series of duty-boxes. They are expressions of legacy, purpose, destiny. They tell us that to glorify ourselves, or any created thing, is to deny our reason for existing in the first (and last) place.

To glorify God, which is a way of saying to worship him, IS to enjoy him forever. He increases, we decrease. We are concerned more for his honor, and less for ours. Less preoccupation with what others think or say about us, about our occupations or promotions, about the offenses we bear or the spurning of our offered forgivenesses. Less defensiveness about our sins, failures, and weaknesses (I know my family and friends would greatly benefit). More ability to take correction and insult, to share applause with, and to applaud others, to encourage those who are advanced before us. Or who at least seem to be so in our envious eyes. This is living, and dying, well.

He increases, we decrease. And then, seemingly all upside-down, we increase, but in his way, in his time. Humility begets the fruit of patience, kindness, compassion, mercy, service. And the ultimate end, which is that the nearness of God truly becomes our happiness. “This is the Lord’s own doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes” (Psalms 118:23).

So my prayer at different times of the day is this: Father, I want you and your presence to be the most important part of my marriage, my thought life, my parenting, my work and service, my desires. I pray to be an intimate worshipper, even though it doesn’t always look like I’m being very truthful about it.

The Father hears and answers even this lame entreaty, because he – our intimate God – loves and honors us so deeply that he receives our glory and worship.

And so that we can enjoy him (and he us) forever.