1. The Ladder and the Towel
My senior pastor once stood with me in the church fellowship hall staring at a row of framed photographs—portraits of evangelists who had conducted meetings through the years. His finger paused on one.
“H. M. S. Richards, Sr.,” he said softly.
Then came a line I’ll never forget:
“He was the only preacher who ever helped me take the newsprint off the walls after the meetings.”
It wasn’t the pulpit that impressed him; it was the ladder. Not the sermon, but the servant.
Greatness, in Jesus’ dictionary, is not measured by how high you stand but how low you’re willing to bend.
When Christ washed His disciples’ feet, He didn’t redefine leadership—He revealed it.
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2. Authority that Lifts, Not Leans
Mark 6 says Jesus called the twelve, sent them two by two, and gave them authority.
Notice the sequence: calling, sending, empowering.
He gave authority to heal, to liberate, to proclaim—never to control.
That same authority still moves through the Church, but it only works when it’s used the way He used it.
Power in the Kingdom is always borrowed.
It is never a possession; it is a trust.
He entrusted authority so His followers could do what He would do if He stood in their sandals—lift the fallen, not leverage them.
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3. Two Sources of True Authority
There are two streams of legitimate authority.
First, from God.
It is conferred, not claimed. A calling, a gifting, a holy assignment.
Jesus could speak with authority because He was sent by the Father.
Second, from people.
It is earned through trust. “He taught them as one having authority,” the Gospel says—because He cared.
Where He was trusted, miracles flowed. Where unbelief hardened, even He “could do no mighty work.”
Authority and trust travel together like current and conductor. You can’t have one without the other.
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4. When Power Goes Rogue
But authority has a counterfeit.
Jesus warned that the Gentiles “lord it over” one another—turning power into a ladder of control.
History is littered with those who tried to sanctify ego with religious paint.
Years ago I read again the tragic story of Jim Jones—the preacher who began by feeding the hungry and ended by feeding poison to his own flock.
It started with compassion but ended in control, because the power shifted from God-given trust to man-demanded loyalty.
Whenever influence becomes dependence, and charisma replaces character, servanthood dies.
The church doesn’t need more bosses in shepherd’s clothing. It needs shepherds with towels over their arms.
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5. The Towel Test
Picture that night in the upper room.
The disciples are arguing about who’s greatest—again.
Jesus rises silently, wraps a towel, and kneels. The hands that formed galaxies cradle dust-streaked feet.
If you’re too important to serve, you’re not ready to lead.
That’s the test.
One of my mentors used to say, “What if God only counted the things we did that no one saw?”
Heaven keeps a different scoreboard.
Power without a towel is dangerous; power with a towel looks like Jesus.
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6. Servanthood in the Field
I once worked beside a man named Jack—old pickup, grease under his nails, faithful deacon.
Every week after church dinners, when everyone else had gone home, I’d find him rolling up tablecloths, scraping plates, humming hymns to himself.
Never asked, never thanked.
One day I told him, “Jack, you don’t have to do all this.”
He smiled. “Pastor, I can’t preach, but I can wash dishes. That’s my pulpit.”
There it was again—the ladder and the towel.
No applause. Just obedience that smells like Christ.
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7. The Cruciform Heart
Paul said in Philippians 2, “Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus… who made Himself of no reputation.”
The word kenosis—He emptied Himself.
No titles to defend, no rights to demand, no image to protect.
That’s what gives spiritual authority its fragrance: the scent of humility.
Sometimes I have to check my own attitude when fatigue creeps in—when serving starts to feel like duty instead of delight.
It’s easy to slip from servant to supervisor without noticing.
That’s when I hear Him whisper again: “As I have washed your feet, so you must wash one another’s.”
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8. Greatness in Small Places
You told the story once of Susan Clay, the 13-year-old cancer patient who, though tethered to an IV pole, made her nightly rounds to other children’s rooms just to tuck them in and tell them Jesus loved them.
When nurses asked why she kept doing it, she said, “Because I want them to feel safe.”
That’s authority—the kind that makes demons tremble and angels sing.
The world measures success by spotlight; heaven measures it by towel weight.
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9. Power, Presence, and Permission
There’s a kind of quiet strength that doesn’t shout.
You see it in Christ—power under control, glory wrapped in gentleness.
When Jesus touched the leper, He didn’t say, “Watch what I can do.”
He said, “I am willing.”
That is authority with permission—granted by love, not demanded by position.
In the Kingdom, leadership is not a right we claim; it’s a trust we keep.
Our words gain weight only when they are backed by a life that lifts others.
A servant-leader understands that people don’t follow titles.
They follow tenderness.
They respond to those who care enough to know their names.
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10. The Downward Way of Greatness
Jesus redefined greatness.
He said, “Whosoever will be chiefest, shall be servant of all.”
That wasn’t poetry. It was prophecy—because the road He walked led downhill to a cross.
We rise by descending.
We lead by kneeling.
We gain by giving.
We live by dying.
It’s the opposite of everything our world believes.
Our culture says, “Assert yourself.”
Jesus says, “Deny yourself.”
The world says, “Climb higher.”
Jesus says, “Go lower.”
The world says, “Protect your image.”
Jesus says, “Take up your cross.”
Every time you choose the towel over the title, you move closer to the heart of God.
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11. The Invisible Acts That Shake Heaven
There are things God sees that never make it to the bulletin:
The usher who prays over every seat before church.
The deacon who fixes the leak before anyone notices.
The mother who slips a note of encouragement under a neighbor’s door.
None of it gets applause, but heaven takes notes.
When Jesus said, “Your Father who sees in secret will reward you openly,” He meant it.
There are spiritual tremors that begin in quiet rooms—where knees bend, hands serve, and nobody tweets about it.
These are the moments when the Kingdom expands, one towel at a time.
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12. When Service Costs Something
Real servanthood is not sentimental. It bleeds.
The Son of Man didn’t come to be served, but to serve and to give His life.
Authority becomes authentic when it costs us something—comfort, convenience, pride.
I think of that line you quoted, “To live the crucified life is to have no status to protect and no rights to weaponize.”
That’s why only a crucified person can safely hold spiritual authority.
They can’t use it to inflate themselves—because self has already been nailed down.
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13. The Servant in All of Us
Somewhere deep in each believer’s calling is a basin and towel.
For some, it’s teaching a class; for others, visiting a shut-in, mentoring a teen, repairing a roof, praying quietly over names no one else remembers.
When the Spirit of Christ fills a person, they stop asking, “What do I have to do?” and start asking, “Who can I help?”
Servanthood isn’t a ministry department—it’s the DNA of the Church.
We were redeemed not to be consumers of grace, but carriers of it.
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14. The Quiet Exchange
There’s an exchange that happens when we serve:
As we pour ourselves out, God pours Himself in.
As we stoop, He strengthens.
As we empty, He fills.
Isaiah said, “They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength.”
That Hebrew word “renew” means to exchange—my weakness for His strength, my weariness for His joy.
Every servant who’s ever collapsed into bed after a long Sabbath knows that paradox: tired in body, but alive in spirit.
That’s what happens when the Spirit of the Servant works through human hands.
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15. A Story Worth Living
I once met a pastor who said, “If I could rewrite my ministry, I’d measure success differently.”
He paused. “Not by attendance or budgets, but by how many people I helped find their towel.”
That’s the story God is still writing—through you.
Through every believer who believes greatness still looks like love on its knees.
Maybe you’ll never preach to thousands, but if one hurting soul stands taller because of your kindness, you have mirrored the King.
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16. The Invitation
So here’s the call today:
Lay down your ladder. Pick up your towel.
Wherever God has placed you—home, work, classroom, church—someone needs the touch of Christ through you.
Ask Him,
“Lord, whose feet do You want me to wash this week?”
It might not be literal water and dust.
It might be a listening ear, a word of apology, a meal, a phone call, a prayer.
The power is the same.
When we serve, we bring the presence of Jesus into the ordinary, and ordinary moments become holy ground.
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17. The Closing Picture
I think again of young Susan Clay.
That night nurse once said, “When Susan made her rounds, the whole ward seemed lighter.”
She had no pulpit, no platform, no title—just love on two weak legs and an IV pole.
But the fragrance of Christ lingered wherever she went.
May it be said of us: “When they served, the room was lighter.”
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18. Appeal and Prayer
Maybe today you’ve been weary, unseen, or underappreciated.
The Lord who girded Himself with a towel sees you.
He kneels beside you now and whispers, “Well done.”
Let Him wash your feet again—wash off the pride, the pressure, the fatigue.
Then rise and serve with fresh joy.
Let’s pray:
> Lord Jesus,
You who knelt to wash dust from tired feet,
teach us again that the path of greatness runs through humility.
Empty us of self, fill us with Your Spirit,
and make our hands strong enough to serve.
In Your name, Amen.
