Sure and Steady When the World is Not

Mary, Joseph, Scarlet Letters, Immeasurable Loss, and Future Gain

In the 19th century, Robert Murray M’Cheyne, a gifted Scottish minister, had every opportunity to pursue public recognition and ambitious projects that could have boosted his name and influence. Yet, he chose a different path—one of quiet, faithful service as a local pastor and deep devotion to God. Though his life was short, his humility, integrity, and unwavering focus on drawing near to Christ and nurturing personal character left a lasting legacy that continues to inspire many today.

McCheyne’s life serves as a reminder of the subtle danger in confusing personal ambition with doing “great things for God.” In God’s eyes, true greatness is not found in fame or recognition, but in steadfast faithfulness.

As Scripture wisely warns, “Do you seek great things for yourself? Seek them not.” (Jeremiah 45:5)

The American mindset often equates success with God’s reward for faithfulness. “God helps those who help themselves,” we’ve been told. Yet, from a biblical perspective, success is less of a reward for faithfulness and more of a test of it. As Josef Tson once observed, 90% of us will pass the test of adversity, but fail the test of prosperity.

Understanding the tendencies of the human heart, Jesus cautioned His disciples when they began to grow intoxicated by their own rising “influencer” status: “Do not rejoice in this. Instead, rejoice that your names are written in heaven.” (Luke 10:20)

Jesus was fully God, but took the low place among humans. In doing so, he became the prototype for what Harvard scholar Henri Nouwen called “downward mobility:”

“Scripture reveals…that real and total freedom is only found through downward mobility…The divine way is indeed the downward way…[Jesus] moved from power to powerlessness, from greatness to smallness, from success to failure, from strength to weakness, from glory to ignominy. The whole life of Jesus of Nazareth…resisted upward mobility.”

Nouwen followed the path of the Nazarene when he left the prestige of Harvard to serve in relative obscurity, dedicating himself to caring for men and women with intellectual and developmental disabilities at the L’Arche community in Canada.

But long before Nouwen, there was Jesus.

The Creator of galaxies, apple trees, eyeballs, and fingerprints entered His own creation as a helpless infant, born to teenage parents of no reputation and modest means, carrying the vulnerability of a migrant. He had no formal education, worked with His hands, never married, and lived without a home to call His own. His appearance was ordinary (Isaiah 53:2). Most people misunderstood Him or kept their distance, including His own family, closest friends, and ministry companions. They stood by Him during His moments of popularity but abandoned Him the moment He fell out of favor. Falsely accused and slandered, He was cast aside like a criminal. Treated as vermin, He bore the shame and rejection not due to Him.And yet, He chose this path on purpose. He wore the scarlet letter of our sins so that, through Him, those sins of ours—though crimson red—could be washed whiter than snow.

Jesus made Himself nothing, and we were all too willing to let Him do so, labeling Him a villain and use Him as a scapegoat, while we reaped the benefits. Compelled by love for His enemies, He embraced this role willingly. He was born for this. It’s why Christmas happened.

Following Christ means shifting our focus away from chasing platform, power, likes, followers, "influencer" vibes, or worldly definitions of success, and instead embracing a posture of humility. The way up is the way down. We ascend by descending. We become more by becoming less.

For Christ, this path led to death. For us, it means being ready and willing to embrace loss, obscurity, and rejection if that’s what it takes to remain close to Him. It means valuing steady, ordinary faithfulness over flashy, surface-level platforms. It means becoming comfortable with brokenness, repentance, and humility, while rejecting ego, pride, and the endless pursuit of "project self." It’s about pursuing character over reputation, cultivating a kind and curious heart, and letting go of the need to always be respected or right. It’s about redefining “success” in God’s terms and grieving the logs in our own eyes rather than fixating on the specks in someone else’s. It’s about treasuring Mary’s son—the Son of God—above all else.

When the Blessed Virgin Mary said, “Let it be to me according to your word,” she knew the cost. She understood that her obedience would bring misunderstanding, gossip, and an undeserved scarlet letter in the eyes of her community. The more obedient and faithful she became before God, the more ostracized and shunned she became before people. Yet, with quiet courage and a resolve shaped by the cross, Mary followed through. Likewise, Joseph, equally surrendered to God’s will, gave up peer respect, career stability, and a predictable life to stand by Mary’s side.

Centuries later, people name their daughters and sons after Mary and Joseph—while they name their dogs after Herod “the Great.” It’s ironic, isn’t it?

If these days feel heavy, you’re not alone. The weight of the world—economic struggles, natural disasters, political unrest, and a constant stream of bad news—has left many feeling overwhelmed. Add to this the personal challenges so many face—loss, fractured relationships, financial uncertainty, or simply the grind of daily life—and it’s clear that pain, whether global or personal, touches us all.

The story of Mary and Joseph offers hope in times like these. Their path was marked by rejection, uncertainty, and sacrifice. They had no wealth, little stability, and faced isolation and hardship. Yet they entrusted everything to God, who carried them through their darkest moments and seasons. Their journey reminds us that even when life feels lonely or overwhelming, God meets us where we are.

He will not abandon us.

He is sure and steady when the world is not.

For those navigating loss or loneliness without the support of close relationships, Mary and Joseph’s story is especially meaningful. It shows that God sees and honors quiet faithfulness, even in obscurity. In seasons of struggle, their example—and the promises of Scripture, especially from the Psalms, the Gospels, and the Advent story—remind us that God specializes in turning pain into redemption, for them, for the world, and for all who are brave enough to trust Him.

When Mary and Joseph welcomed their boy into the world, a sign was given to mark His arrival. In the years that followed, they did their best to raise Him, teaching and rearing Him as loving parents do. He learned obedience from them, from His rabbis, and especially from the things He suffered. In this, He set the pattern for us all.

Mary would later endure unimaginable sorrow: losing her husband, becoming a widow, and watching her firstborn—the pride and joy of her heart—be mocked, spit upon, pierced, and executed before her very eyes. Yet even as He bled out, Jesus thought of her, making sure John was ready to take her in and care for her. “Man, behold your mother. Woman, behold your son.”

The hardest chapters of life can feel overwhelming on their own, but Mary had learned to trust the long view. With God, future glory will resolve every past regret, present pain, and future fear.

As C.S. Lewis wrote, heaven will “work backwards” to turn agony into glory. Mary, who once saw this hope dimly, now sees it face to face. How proud she must be of her son, seated at the right hand of God, interceding for us all. “Look at you, my boy,” you can almost hear her say. “Look at you, seated on that throne, making all things new.”

How small Mary’s humiliations, betrayals, losses, sacrifices, and even sins must seem to her now, as she stands reunited with her son—Joseph’s son. God’s Son—and hears the recurring echos of all generations calling her blessed.

What better reason could there be for us to live in hope?

If Mary teaches us anything, it’s that downward mobility—the path of humility and sacrifice—is always worth it, and the best is always still to come.

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Some of Scott’s most widely-shared posts:

Weeping in Nashville
That Time R.C. Sproul Said He Wouldn’t See Billy Graham in Heaven
An Atheist Gives Sound Advice to Christians
Once Upon a Time, Tolkien Felt Like a Failure
Remembering Tim Keller

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