OK, I confess: I am just a nasty, old, rotten, wicked sinner who, for some reason known only to God in His sovereignty, has been saved by the wondrous grace of our Lord.
I know many of you who read this article think I have attained some type of spiritual plateau that automatically makes me closer to God. All you have to do is call my wife, and she will set you straight. In reality, there is no spiritual distance between you and me. Sometimes I even get mad at God — especially when I think I've missed my due recognition. Even when I watch movies or read the Bible, I notice those who don't get the acknowledgment they deserve.
Let me give you some examples:
Have you ever watched “Star Wars”? In all six movies, you will notice the same thing. R2-D2 is always there to save the day. That hunk of metal can whip out any gadget from electric zappers to bottle openers; save Luke or his father, Anakin; and still manage to rescue the princess. R2-D2 is the unsung hero every time.
At the end of each episode, the little droid always gets repaired, but where is his trophy? Where is the ceremony honoring him? R2-D2 never earns rewards along with Luke and Han. No one cheers after he saves the day.
I have R2-D2 syndrome. I'm always out to save the day. I'm the one who gets Luke Skywalker out of his messes. If it weren't for me, every story would have a different ending. But in the end, I sit on the sideline being repaired while others get the parade, the thanks and the accolades.
Yes, God continues to use me, but I need repairs because I struggle with pride. I told you I was just a nasty, old, rotten, wicked sinner. Nothing demonstrates that better than the way I get mad when I think someone doesn't appreciate me or my contributions.
The other day I was reading the story of David and Goliath, and I came across 1 Samuel 17:28, where David's oldest brother, Eliab, asked, “And with whom have you left the sheep in the wilderness?” Knowing that David was a responsible young man who would not leave the flock unattended, I wondered: Whom did David choose to care for his sheep? Verse 20 reveals the answer: David left the flock with someone known only as a “keeper.”
Being a keeper must be a thankless job without a speck of glory. David killed Goliath, and the keeper kept the sheep. David received recognition, and the keeper received none. David got a crown and the spoils of war, and the keeper got nothing. David became king, and the keeper remained an unnamed keeper.
Like R2-D2, the keepers are the unsung heroes of the Bible. They are the ones who quietly, humbly do the will of God. But God showed me something special about these keepers. When He introduced His Son to the world, He allowed the keepers to know before anyone else:
“And she brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped Him in swaddling clothes, and laid Him in a manger; because there was no room for Him in the inn. And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them and the glory of the Lord shone about them and they were sore afraid” (Luke 2:7-9).
It was the keepers, not the kings, who first heard the long-awaited news: The Messiah had come.
What an honor to be chosen by God to learn about Jesus' birth before anyone else! The Holy Spirit reminds me that although King David may have had front row seats in the parade, the keepers had a private audience to the glory of God.
God, may I so desire to see Your glory that I will be satisfied without receiving any recognition. May my actions and attitude help my children understand how to find satisfaction: as a keeper for the Kingdom.
Walker Moore is president of AweStar Ministries in Tulsa.