Longing for Greatness

We all carry hidden longings within us—desires we rarely voice, dreams we keep beneath the surface. Among the most universal of these is the longing for greatness. But what does greatness actually mean? And where do we find it?

Our world has clear answers to these questions. Greatness, we're told, comes through three primary channels: strength, majesty, and security. We celebrate military might and physical prowess. We elevate those with fame, influence, and millions of followers. We admire financial success and economic power. These are the pillars upon which our culture builds its definition of what it means to be truly great.

But what if we're looking in all the wrong places?

A Promise in the Darkness
The prophet Micah spoke to a people who understood desperation. Israel and Judah faced constant threats from foreign powers. Assyria was at the gates. Babylon was rising in the east. God's people were literally under siege—surrounded, weakened, and defeated. They longed for the good old days, for another king like David who could restore their glory and power.

Yet their suffering wasn't random. Through Micah, God made it clear that judgment had come because the people had abandoned His ways. They had neglected justice, ignored the poor, and pursued their own definitions of greatness rather than God's. They wanted life on their own terms, and God gave them what they asked for—along with all its devastating consequences.

But then comes one of Scripture's most beautiful moments. In Micah 5:2, we encounter a single word that changes everything: "But."

"But you, Bethlehem, though you are small among the clans of Judah, out of you will come for me one who will be ruler over Israel, whose origins are from of old, from ancient times."

Greatness from an Unlikely Place
Bethlehem was nobody's first choice for anything significant. It was a tiny village, five miles outside Jerusalem—the ancient equivalent of a rural crossroads that barely appears on the map. If God were following the world's playbook, He would have chosen a palace in the capital, a center of power and influence.

Instead, He chose Bethlehem.

This wasn't the first time God had looked to this humble village. Centuries earlier, the prophet Samuel went to Bethlehem searching for Israel's next king. Jesse paraded his impressive sons before Samuel—strong, handsome men who looked every bit the part of royalty. But God rejected them all. The one God chose was the youngest, the shepherd boy tending flocks in the fields, the one not even invited to the selection process.

His name was David.

God's words to Samuel that day reveal everything about His view of greatness: "Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart."

The Shepherd King
The prophecy in Micah describes this coming ruler as one who will "stand and shepherd his flock in the strength of the Lord, in the majesty of the name of the Lord his God." Notice what kind of strength, majesty, and security this brings:

Not strength from armies, but strength from the Lord.

Not majesty from celebrity, but majesty from God's name.

Not security from wealth, but security in living together under His care.

This is greatness redefined—completely backwards from everything the world teaches us.

When Jesus was born in that same Bethlehem, the pattern became perfectly clear. God the Son didn't arrive with military power. He didn't demand respect or claim His divine privileges. He didn't establish economic dominance. Instead, as Paul writes in Philippians 2, Jesus "made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death—even death on a cross."

The true path to greatness is through humility, service, and self-sacrifice. It's picking up a towel to wash someone's feet. It's giving your life for those who don't deserve it. It's laying down power rather than grasping for it.

Two Responses to Greatness
The story of the Magi visiting the infant Jesus presents us with two contrasting responses to God's offer of greatness.

First, there's Herod the Great—yes, that was actually his title. Herod built cities, commanded armies, and wielded enormous political power. He reconstructed the temple into a magnificent structure. He had everything the world considers great. Yet when he heard about another king, his response was murderous rage. Worldly greatness always crumbles in on itself and leads to destruction.

Then there are the Magi, wise men from the east—from the very regions that had been Israel's enemies. They came with wealth, bringing gold, frankincense, and myrrh. They had status and learning. But when they encountered the infant king in a humble dwelling, they did something radical: they bowed down. They laid their gifts on the dirt floor. They surrendered their worldly greatness to worship true greatness.

Finding What We're Really Looking For
The longing for greatness isn't wrong—we were created with it, made in God's image. The problem is how we try to fulfill that longing. We chase strength, majesty, and security in all the wrong places, never quite satisfied, always reaching for something more.

The invitation of Advent is to stop striving and start receiving. True greatness isn't found in our circumstances, achievements, or status. It's found in a person—in the shepherd king born in Bethlehem, who humbled himself to death on a cross and was therefore exalted to the highest place.

Through faith in Him, we receive strength in His grace, majesty in His glory, and security in His love. His greatness reaches to the ends of the earth, and He freely shares it with all who will lay down their own pursuits and worship Him.

The question isn't whether we long for greatness. The question is: where will we look to find it?