Article
Be Known, Not Impressive
Let me clarify what “impressive” really means–because it doesn’t necessarily entail anything big, flashy, or measurably marvelous.
“You can be impressive, or you can be known, but not both.” — Ray Ortlund Jr.
The first time I heard these words, I had an epiphany. The dichotomy presented was the very tension I had so long lived in and the tyranny under which I had lived. I was a slave to impressiveness and was starving for knownness. Not that I was particularly impressive; I was simply paralyzed by the thought of being caught out as a fool or a failure. I wonder how many pastors are in the same boat. How many of us are captive to impressiveness and aching to be truly known?
Some of you might read this and think yourself excluded because “impressive” is hardly how you would describe yourself. You preach the word in public and from house to house (Acts 20:20). You shepherd your flock in relative obscurity. You boast only in the cross of Christ (Galatians 6:14). You spend more time wondering if your ministry matters than in thinking much of yourself. So let me clarify what “impressive” really means–because it doesn’t necessarily entail anything big, flashy, or measurably marvelous.
Impressive? Me?
Our efforts to be impressive are usually more subtle and, therefore, more insidious than publicly being a big deal. They are often more personal than public. They stem from a deep concern (or fear) about how people view us. What do people think? So we take steps to present ourselves in a favorable manner. We begin to hide the less pleasant realities, covering up and failing to admit or confess our failings. We spin the truth to cast ourselves in a good light, so even when we are truthful about a fault or sin, it’s like a PR campaign for our growth and betterment. The more we cling to impressiveness the more self-reliant we become because dependance and trust are weak. Our humility becomes a brand rather than a reality–we want to be seen as humble rather than being low before the Lord and viewing others as more important than ourselves. At its worst, impressiveness leads to outright lying in order to protect our reputation.
We do so many of these things without thinking. Self-preservation is instinctive, if often sinful, so we don’t even consider the cost. When we are driven by impressiveness, we live under constant pressure. We cannot afford to let our guard slip and reveal the real mess of our hearts or families or time management or whatever. So, we are constantly functioning somewhere between exhausted and anxious, or maybe both. When we cling to impressiveness, we implicitly distance ourselves from others. We don’t want to; in fact, we likey laude the value of deep Christian friendships and believe what we say. But the fact remains that if I must put on my impressive front with you, then you cannot know me in a genuine, deep way. If I refuse to be known in my weakness and sin, then I cannot relate to others in theirs either. So impressiveness keeps us from being good friends and good pastors.
The Cost of Faking It
Those costs are simply reflective of the greatest cost, though: to cling to impressiveness is to stiff-arm Christ. When we must present ourselves in the best possible light, we inhibit our ability to freely confess sin, depend on Jesus, and rest deeply in him. Each of those comes through lowness, need, and weakness all of which are anathema to the impressive. What is more–tragically more–is that even Jesus becomes unsafe to the impressive. He is a threat to my curated, crafted, protected image. It becomes a temptation to think that even Jesus must be impressed. I have to do enough or be enough to please him. In thinking this way, we rob ourselves of God’s free grace in Christ, and we actually deny the gospel to ourselves.
While self-preservation, and thus impressiveness, is instinctive, being known is an older, deeper, truer desire woven into each of our hearts from creation. We were made to know God and to know one another. God walked with Adam, and it was not good for Adam to be alone–these are relational paradigms, promises, and imprints scripture gives us. But, because of sin (our own and others), being known feels like a great risk. It necessitates uncovering the ugly, vulnerable parts of ourselves. It requires admitting fears, weaknesses, and struggles. What is more, it requires admitting actual sins (a thing we often call “struggles” because that sounds more impressive). And it means wearing weakness instead of donning a facade of faux strength.
Only when we take these risks can we be known. Only when we are seen for who we are can other people love us and honor us for who we are rather than who we project. (This is one of the great ironies of impressiveness: the adulation we receive is for a version of ourselves that isn’t real so it doesn’t even feel that great.) Only when others know our weaknesses, failings, and sins can they encourage us at a soul level and bear the burdens that are actually crushing us.
Take the Risk of Being Known
Some of you will be thinking, “That sounds great, but people are awful; I could never expose the tenderest parts of my life to them in such a vulnerable way.” You’re right, people can be awful. You and I can be awful. But being known can be safe . . . in Christ. It is always safe in Christ. Jesus knows and accepts us at our worst. He died for us while we were yet sinners (Romans 5:8), he helps us in our weakness (Rom. 8:26), and he invites us to rest in him to receive rest (Matthew 11:28-29). And the church is the body of Christ (1 Corinthians 12:27), the household of God (Ephesians 2:19), the dwelling place for God (2:21). So, the people of God do provide a place to be known, imperfectly but faithfully. It is scary, but it is necessary. It is humbling, so it is good.
In fact, the best pastors are the unimpressive ones. (Don’t equate “unimpressive” with “obscure” or “small church;” equate it with “known.”) An unimpressive pastor magnetically draws people who are weary of the hamster wheel of impressiveness, who are beaten down by the ceaseless competition with fellow Christians. An unimpressive pastor will repel, but not run off, people who want impressiveness over honesty, and value showiness over Christ-like substance. An unimpressive pastor will resemble the heart of Jesus and reflect the work of Jesus, especially toward the poor in Spirit, the least of these, and all those who labor and are heavy-laden. Most of all, an unimpressive pastor will magnify the infinite impressiveness of Jesus. So, pastors, let’s be unimpressive and be known by Jesus and our people.
