Living for God’s Glory
Living for the glory of God is not first seen in service.
And yet… it is.
But we must be careful where we begin. Service, though beautiful, is not the fountain—it is the overflow. We can easily say, “Yes, Lord,” and busy ourselves with good things like serving, giving, showing up, carrying the appearance of devotion, and yet quietly reserve our hearts. Because we love money. We love comfort. We love our space. People irritate us. We protect our preferences. We build small kingdoms with tidy borders and call it obedience.
But God, through the Lord Jesus Christ, did not reconcile us to himself merely for outward compliance. He reconciled us for his glory, for hearts restored, softened, awakened. Our hearts are naturally stone. We resist him because we prefer ourselves. We would rather reign than bow. But when grace meets us— like butter meeting freshly baked bread— we melt. We see him, the greatest miracle. We see the beauty of Christ crucified. We see mercy we did not deserve. And the heart that once resisted begins to surrender, bend our knees, and cry Abba Father!
Obedience is no longer forced. Service is no longer a mere duty. He Himself stirs the desire. He gives the joy. We begin to enjoy him, and in enjoying him, we serve. I am convinced this is true for everyone. There is no personality exemption clause in the kingdom of God. If you are laid back, passive, quiet, you do not receive a pass. The Christian life is not temperament-driven; it is Spirit-driven. We are resolved, as Jonathan Edwards wrote, “Resolved, to live with all my might, while I do live.”
And so, half-heartedness has no place in a heart that has seen glory. The question is, have you seen it?
To see the glory of God — not merely in ten thousand sights of the Grand Canyon — but in the Man Christ Jesus, and him crucified. If you do realize this is the greatest miracle, and if this gospel is truly your life, then mediocrity should feel foreign. If you hate evil, you detest it. If you work, you give your whole strength to it. If you love, you love explosively—never half-heartedly, but wholly given, for you have resolved.
We have probably all seen that meme about entering relationships, platonic or not, like stepping into a cold shower, carefully guarding your back so the water doesn’t touch you fully. That cautious, self-preserving love is sin-soaked love. It is an idea that our service or love for others must be beneficial for us in ways that are worldly. It is not the love of our Servant King. It is not the love that knelt with a towel. It is not the love that bled.
This is not a denial of hardship or hurt. The Bible is not naïve either. We are called to suffer. We are called to endure. But we are also called to be brimming with what counts in life. Service is the spillover of our devotion.
When Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 6 (and how sobering it is), he speaks of beatings, imprisonments, riots, sleepless nights, hunger — yet also purity, patience, kindness, genuine love, truthful speech, the power of God. He writes, “Sorrowful, yet always rejoicing. Poor, yet making many rich. Having nothing, yet possessing everything.”
That is not comfortable Christianity. That is cruciform Christianity.
Maybe life has been a little busy and unsettled, and you’ve been waiting… waiting to be more comfortable, perhaps waiting for the confetti to fall before you start living up to the theology you know— I say this with tenderness: the Lord we serve did not wait for pleasant circumstances before he served. He did not wait for applause before he loved the Samaritan woman. He did not demand worthiness from the woman with the alabaster jar. He did not withdraw when the adulterous woman stood condemned. He did not wait to be glorified before loving in ways that aren’t convenient or fancy, or even fitting for a king. He washed feet — and in that very act, no one mistook who the true King was.
If the Son of God could forget himself like that, what keeps us clutching ourselves so tightly?
Come, let us serve the Lord and His people with joy.
And here is a small but piercing detour. C. S. Lewis truly exposed us in The Screwtape Letters. The 2000s would say— he ate and left no crumbs!
In this book, he paints a chilling picture of an uncle demon training his nephew in the art of ruining souls— not through scandal or dramatic rebellion, but through respectable sins. ‘Small’ compromises. Being late and calling it personality. Careless words excused as honesty. Prayerlessness masked as busyness. Self-reliance dressed up as courage. Gossip framed as concern. Cynicism is renamed realism. Delayed obedience, quiet resentment, neglected fellowship, selective holiness. None of it is shocking. All of it subtle. And this is how love grows cold— not in loud renunciation, but in quiet, polished drift.
“Harmless,” we say.
But that is precisely where the enemy prefers us— comfortable, casual, nonchalant about holiness. We flirt with the world and convince ourselves no one is bleeding. Yet our indifference dulls our love. It weakens our witness. And more grievously, it grieves the God who bought us, the God we love.
We were purchased at a price. We belong to him. How could we toy with what nailed him to a cross? How could we grow lazy toward the One who poured himself out? Christ did not die to create lukewarm admirers. He died to make a people zealous for good works. Fervent. Steady. Joyful. Wholehearted.
Let us not live small lives under a great gospel. Let us live with all our might, while we do live. And let our service not be performance— but the blazing overflow of hearts undone by glory.
