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“And do you seek great things for yourself? Seek them not, for behold, I am bringing disaster upon all flesh, declares the Lord. But I will give you your life as a prize of war in all places to which you may go.” (Jeremiah 45:5, ESV)
This will be a short one, so let's get straight to it...
Jeremiah's right-hand man, friend, companion and scribe, Baruch, wasn’t a prophet, but he stood close to one. He stayed close to Jeremiah through rejection, collapse and judgement, writing down the words, carrying the scrolls, enduring the cost. Somewhere along the line, it started to matter to him. He wanted it known that he was involved, that his name was on the work.
God saw that, and He spoke plainly, “Do you seek great things for yourself? Seek them not.”
There are moments in my own life and ministry that I regret - moments when it mattered too much that I was seen. That it was clear I had a part in what was done. That my name was mentioned, my effort acknowledged. And here’s the truth; those moments are always short-lived. God has a way of removing His endorsement when we start building our own kingdoms. The fruit may last a little while, but the weight of His presence doesn’t. He won’t compete for glory.
Jeremiah had a difficult task. Hearing God speak about someone so close to him, and then telling it 'as it is' without sugar-coating, was a remarkable demonstration of Jeremiah's devotion, character, faith and obedience. Prophetic words for those who are close to us are often difficult. We know their circumstances, their 'dreams' or aspirations, and unless you are a bit of a strange friend, you are biased towards them for their good, success and well-being. Jeremiah drops the mic for us here, and says ‘think about this’ it can be done.
Baruch's ambition wasn’t evil on the surface. It likely grew out of long-suffering, hard service and weariness. That’s often how it starts - a slow shift from “Lord, use me” to “Lord, don’t forget I was useful.” But in a world under judgement, self-importance becomes dangerous ground. God was tearing down nations through Jeremiah's ministry. Baruch was trying to build a reputation. The two don't mix. Oil and water.
And we’re not immune either. We talk about calling, influence, platform - but underneath, the same old craving can sit there, quiet but hungry. A desire not just to serve, but to be seen. To be known as the one who served. That’s the line Baruch crossed, and the one we cross more often than we’d like to admit.
God doesn’t leave Baruch with a rebuke alone though. He gives him something better: “I will give you your life as a prize of war.” Not greatness. Not prominence. Life. Preserved by the mercy of God when judgement falls on everyone else.
This isn’t God giving Baruch less, it's God giving Baruch what matters most.
Jesus said much the same. He told His disciples that the greatest would be the one who serves (Matthew 23:11). He rebuked their obsession with position, especially as to who would have the best rise and recline chair next to Jesus in front of the hundreds of thousands gathered around the throne in the age to come. And then He showed them what He meant - by washing their feet, by walking to the cross, by refusing to take hold of glory before the time.
Jesus didn’t need to prove Himself. He was already secure in the Father’s will. And that’s the difference. When we know we are already secure in Christ, we don’t need to fight to be noticed. When we’ve died with Him, we’ve got nothing left to prove.
Others have walked that same path. Moses turned away from Egypt’s status. John the Baptist said, “He must increase, I must decrease.” Paul called all his old achievements rubbish compared to knowing Christ. That’s not poetic, charismatic fluffy language. That’s clarity.
And when the Spirit works in us, He produces the same clarity. He reminds us that self-made kingdoms collapse. That applause fades. That being seen is never the goal. Christ is. Faithfulness is. Eternity is. It's a clear warning: don’t chase self-importance in a world under judgement. Don’t spend your life trying to be known. It won’t hold. It doesn’t last. But it’s also a deep reassurance: if you are Christ’s, your life is already hidden with Him. It is secure. And He gives it back to you not as a wage, but as a prize. Not because you earned it, but because He is merciful.
If or when we slip into the same pattern as Baruch, let’s not stay there. Confess the need to be seen. Let it die. And get back to the quiet work of gospel faithfulness, wherever He’s placed you. In the end, the only name that matters is not mine. It’s not yours. It’s His.