Unselfish Ambitions?

Creativity is marvellous, isn’t it? When I sit to write my mind wanders in many directions, frequently to the absurd. I don’t like to remain there though; I like to connect original ideas with the realm of the familiar. Diverge, then converge. Find points of connection, but not always where people expect them.

Take, for example, the idea of eating a banquet in Heaven. There you are, seated at a long table, all kinds of amazing people nearby, and you realise that today you are at the writers’ table. What fun! As a special treat, you are not only with amazing writers of every kind from all of history and across the globe; you’ve been sat next to a biblical writer. An author of one of the actual Books of the Bible. Gasping in astonishment, you turn to the chap at your side and grin. Nothing. You cannot place him. Of course, language is no longer a barrier, so you ask him to give you a clue.

‘Tell me something you’ve written,’ you say, hoping his white beard and twinkly eyes might betray him as Moses, John or Isaiah. As long as the reference is not too obscure, you hope you might then guess his identity quickly from the context.

His face falls. Not a lot, as this is not actually possible, but enough to hint that this won’t be easy.

‘No, try me!’ you insist, remembering that you should know fully, even as you are fully known[1]. It might just come to you.

‘Ok…’ he starts. And then he quotes:

‘If grape pickers came to you, would they not leave a few grapes?’

All goes quiet for ten seconds (about a week in Heaven).

It finally comes to you.

‘Obadiah!’ you shout, with glee. Now I need to point out that at no point did you memorise the entire Bible. You barely read Obadiah. It was a quick pass through on a few occasions working through the minor prophets. Being only one chapter long and intended mainly for the people of Edom, not Israel, it was arguably a lot less useful than much of the rest of the canon. You don’t remember ever having heard a sermon on Obadiah.

And yet this chap, having had a vision from God, faithfully recorded it and somehow made the shortlist. He got 21 verses with his name on them in the Actual Bible. Generation after generation rewrote his words. They were translated into hundreds of languages. The royalties he could have been paid should have been astronomical.

Obadiah looks at you. You look at him. You are in awe. It also occurs to you that you know almost nothing about his life or story. A few of his words have been remembered, against all the odds, but that is all. Somehow it does not feel fair that this is his legacy; he is precious in his own right. Perhaps he was not selfish in his biblical writing ambitions, merely obedient and diligent.

Obadiah asks you about yourself, and you realise that he knows almost nothing about your life or story either. A few of your words have been remembered too somehow, but this is not your legacy. The threads that were drawn together for you to write and bring words of joy or inspiration to others were part of your whole life experience. Most of it went unrecorded. The preparation for writing and learning the skills to communicate, the obedience and the diligence are all fascinating, but they only felt as if they served as background material.

You sit and chat for hours (months) and find many points of connection. Those days writing when it felt uncomfortable. Learning to recognise God’s voice. Watching nature and people for hours and always thinking about food.

As the meal ends and the candles stutter and you realise for the millionth time that they are utterly unnecessary in this space[2], another writer walks up and takes a seat to join the conversation. It is James. You recognise James because he looks a bit like Jesus.

You ask James about one of the things you recall him writing about: selfish ambition[3].

‘How is it ever possible to be ambitious wisely?’ you ask. ‘How can I use my God-given skills and passions, along with all the life experience and training I’ve had, to create something of worth and beauty without being selfish about it? Without wanting to glorify myself?’

James sits humbly.

‘What’s in your heart?’ he asks gently. ‘You can have ambition without self-glory if you are not envious or bitter. Be obedient and diligent and create things which are pure and fruitful.’

Obadiah nods. ‘Is your heart proud?’ he says.

That’s the thing. 

I don’t want my heart to be proud. I think that's the key. I want my heart to sing to the tune of God’s song, to beat in time to his rhythms. To release the creativity he has given me in ways which multiply his joy and beauty into a wider sphere. To acknowledge a job well done, but for God's glory, not mine. 

And it occurs to me – isn't it utterly marvellous that God would want us to express creativity? Time to get my heart right and get on with it!

 

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Lucy Marfleet loves reading, laughing, her husband’s cooking, walking her dog and marvelling at how tall the kids are getting. She teaches Biblical Studies for Spurgeon’s College on their Equipped to Minister course and has a Masters in Theology from the International Baptist Theological Seminary. See her blog at www.lucymarfleet.com

 

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[1] 1 Corinthians 13:12

[2] Revelation 22:5

[3] James 3:13-16