Will You Promote Your Reputation or His?

 

Will You Promote Your Reputation or His?

Will You Promote Your Reputation or His? - Audio/Visual 

Jesus . . . made himself of no reputation . . . he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death, even the death of the cross. (Philippians 2:5, 7-8)

My teenage acquaintances included a handful of Christians, none of whom were very cool. One minister's daughter took a pass on keggers and gossip and, as a result, spent most of her lunch hours and Friday nights alone. A football player came back from summer break with a Bible bumper sticker on his car and a smile on his face. We called him a Jesus freak. My voice was among the mockers. It shouldn't have been, but it was. Somewhere inside I knew better, but I didn't go there for advice. My parents took me to church and the preacher told me about Christ, but did I make a big deal about God or the church? No. I had something far more important to promote. My reputation.

A three-sport athlete, captain of the football team, Student Body President and a bit of a flirt, I polished my reputation like a '65 Mustang. What mattered most to me were people's opinions … of me. But then I went off to college and heard a professor describe a Christ I'd never seen. A people-loving, death-defeating Christ. A Jesus who made time for the lonely, the losers; a Jesus who died for hypocrites like me. So, I signed up. And as much as I could, I gave him my heart. Not long after that decision I came back home to meet some of the old gang, but only minutes into the trip I started getting nervous. My friends didn't know about my faith, and I wasn't sure I wanted them to. I remembered the jokes we had made about the “preacher's daughter” and the “Jesus freak.” Did I dare risk hearing the same things said about me? Didn't I have my status to protect? But you can't promote two reputations at the same time. Promote God's and forget yours or promote yours and forget God's. We must choose.

Joseph did. Matthew describes Jesus' earthly father as a craftsman. (Matt. 13:55) He lived in Nazareth – a blip on the map at the edge of nowhere. Joseph never speaks in the New Testament. He sees an angel, marries a pregnant girl and leads his family to Bethlehem and then to Egypt, no less. He does a lot but says nothing. A small-town carpenter who never said a Scripture-worthy word. I’ve thought, “Was Joseph the right choice here, God? Didn’t you have better options? An eloquent priest from Jerusalem, or a scholar from the Pharisees, perhaps? But Joseph?” A major part of the answer, I believe, lies in Joseph’s reputation: he gave it up for Jesus. "Then Joseph [Mary's husband], being a just man, and not wanting to make her a public example, was minded to put her away secretly." (Matt. 1:19)

With the phrase "a just man," Matthew recognizes Joseph’s status. He was a tsadiq (tsa-DEEK), a serious student of the Torah. Nazareth viewed Joseph as we might view an elder, deacon or maybe a Bible class teacher. Tsadiqs studied God's law. They recited and lived the Shema daily. They supported the synagogue, observed Jewish holy days and followed dietary restrictions. For a common carpenter to be known as a tsadiq was no small thing. Joseph likely took pride in his standing, but Mary's announcement jeopardized everything – “I’m pregnant,” she said. Mary's parents, by this point, had signed a contract and sealed it with a dowry. Mary belonged to Joseph and Joseph belonged to Mary – legally and matrimonially bound. But now what? What's a tsadiq to do? His fiancée is pregnant, blemished, tainted . . . he, on the other hand, is righteous, godly. On one hand, he has the law. On the other, he has his love. The law says, stone her. Love says, forgive her. Joseph is caught in the middle.

But Joseph is a kind man. "Not wanting to disgrace her, [he] planned to send her away secretly." (Matt. 1:19) A quiet divorce, in other words. But how long would it stay quiet? Not long in a small town. But for a time, that was the solution. Then comes the angel. "While he thought about these things, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream, saying, 'Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take to you Mary your wife, for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit.'" (v. 20) Stated differently, Mary's growing belly should give no cause for concern, but a reason to rejoice. "She carries the Son of God in her womb," the angel announces. But who would believe that? Who’d buy that story?

Just picture Joseph being questioned by the city leaders. "Joseph," they say, "we understand that Mary is with child." He nods. "Is the child yours?" He shakes his head. "Well then, do you know how she became pregnant?" Gulp. A bead of sweat forms beneath Joseph's beard. He faces a real dilemma. Make up a lie and preserve his place in the community or tell the truth and kiss his tsadiq good-bye. But he makes his decision. "Joseph . . . took to him his wife, and did not know her till she had brought forth her first-born Son. And he called his name Jesus." (Matt. 1:24-25) In other words, Joseph tanked his reputation. He swapped his tsadiq diploma for a pregnant fiancée and an illegitimate son and made the big decision of discipleship. He placed God's plan ahead of his own.

Would you be willing to do that? God grants us an uncommon life to the degree we surrender our common one. "If you try to keep your life for yourself, you will lose it. But if you give up your life for me, you will find true life." (Matt. 16:25) Would you forfeit your reputation to see Jesus born into your world? For instance, let’s say that you’re a photographer for an advertising agency. Your boss wants to assign you to your biggest photo shoot – ever. The account? Hustler magazine. He knows about your faith. Say yes and polish your reputation. But saying yes would be using your God-given gift to tarnish Christ's reputation. What would you do?

Or take the college philosophy professor who daily denigrates Christ and Christians. He derides spirituality and degrades the need for forgiveness. One day he dares any Christian in class to speak up. Would you? Or let’s say you’re a Christmas Christian. You sing the carols and attend the services but come January you'll jettison your faith and re-shelve your Bible. During December, however, you soar. But something hits you one particular December. The immensity of it all strikes you – heaven hung her highest hope and King on a cross, for me. Radical thoughts begin to surface like joining a weekly Bible study, going on a mission or volunteering at a soup kitchen. Your friends and family think you’re crazy. Your changing world changes theirs. They want the Christmas Christian back. You can protect your reputation or protect his. You have a choice. Joseph made his, and Jesus did too.

Jesus "made himself of no reputation, taking the form of a bondservant, and coming in the likeness of men. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death, even the death of the cross." (Phil. 2:7-8) Christ abandoned his reputation. No one in Nazareth saluted him as the Son of God. He did not stand out in his elementary-classroom photograph, and didn’t demand a glossy page in his high-school yearbook. Friends knew him as a woodworker, not a star hanger. His looks didn’t turn heads; his position earned him no credit. In the great stoop we call Christmas, Jesus abandoned heavenly privileges and aproned earthly pains. "He gave up his place with God and made himself nothing." (Phil. 2:7)

God seeks those who will do the same – Josephs through whom he can deliver Christ into the world. But when you're full of yourself, God can't fill you. It’s only when you empty yourself that God has a useful vessel. And the Bible overflows with examples of those who did that very thing. In his gospel, Matthew mentions his own name only twice, and both times he calls himself a tax collector – which wasn’t a compliment. In his list of apostles, he assigns himself the eighth spot. John, on the other hand, doesn't even mention his name in his gospel. The twenty appearances of "John" all refer to the Baptist. John the apostle simply calls himself the "other disciple," or the "disciple whom Jesus loved." Luke wrote two of the most important books in the Bible but never once penned his own name.

Paul, the Bible's most prolific author, referred to himself as "a fool." (2 Cor. 12:11) He also called himself "the least of the apostles." (1 Cor. 15:9) Five years later he claimed to be "less than the least of all the saints." (Eph. 3:8) In one of his final letters he referred to himself as the "chief of sinners.” (1 Tim. 1:15) As he grew older, Paul’s ego grew smaller. King David never wrote a psalm celebrating his victory over Goliath but authored a public poem of penitence confessing his sin with Bathsheba. (See Ps. 51) And then there’s Joseph. The quiet father of Jesus.

Rather than make a name for himself, he made a home for Christ. And because he did, a great reward came his way. "He called his name Jesus.” (Matt. 1:25) Queue up the millions who have spoken the name of Jesus and look at the person selected to stand at the front of the line. Joseph. Of all the saints, sinners, prodigals and preachers who have spoken the name, Joseph, a blue-collar, small-town construction worker, said it first. He cradled the wrinkle-faced Prince of Heaven and, with an audience of angels and pigs, whispered, "Jesus . . . You'll be called Jesus."

Seems right, don't you think? Joseph gave up his name and, in exchange, Jesus let Joseph say his. Do you think Joseph regretted his choice? I didn't regret mine. I went to the hometown party and, as expected, everyone asked questions like, "So, what's new?" I told them. Not gracefully or eloquently . . . but honestly. "My faith," I remember saying. "I'm taking my faith pretty seriously." A few rolled their eyes. Others made mental notes to remove my name from their friends list since that was before you could be “unfriended” on Facebook. But one or two found their way over and confided, "I've been thinking the same thing." Turns out I wasn't the only one. And neither are you.

Grace,

Randy