Chuck Larsen

Jesus had a way of turning everything upside down. He taught that “the last will be first, and the first last,” and that gaining life often looks like giving it away (Matthew 20:16; Luke 9:24). Those ideas sound noble until they bump into our daily plans, which usually involve getting ahead rather than stepping aside. Yet Christ did not simply teach this reversal; He lived it. As Philippians 2 explains, He moved from the highest place to the lowest, taking on human form and becoming a servant, even to the point of death on a cross. As one writer observes, no one forced Him into that position. “Jesus humbled himself.” That is the astonishing part. The One who could command everything chose to surrender everything. And because of that, Philippians 2:9 declares, “Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name.” It is not just exaltation; it is what might be called a “super-exaltation.”

This reversal has a way of exposing how we usually think. We tend to believe that recognition comes from climbing higher, gathering attention, and perhaps collecting a few compliments along the way. If humility were a sport, many of us would try to win it and then quietly mention our victory to everyone we meet. Yet the pattern of Christ shows something entirely different. True elevation does not come from pushing upward but from lowering oneself in service. In ordinary life, this shows up in small, often unnoticed moments: choosing patience over pride, listening instead of insisting, giving credit instead of taking it. It is not dramatic, and it rarely earns applause, but it reflects a different set of values. The world rewards visibility, while God often works through what goes unseen. That can feel like a poor exchange rate until we remember who is keeping the accounts.

At the center of this reversal stands the name of Jesus. Scripture repeatedly emphasizes its significance. “To all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God” (John 1:12). Again, “There is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved” (Acts 4:12). Even our assurance is tied to His name, as 1 John 5:13 says, “that you may know that you have eternal life.” The name given to Jesus is not merely a title; it is the name of the Lord Himself. In Him, the humility of the cross and the glory of God meet. The One who lowered Himself is the very One who is lifted above all.

The unfathomable love of God is not an abstract idea; it is a historical reality that took shape at the cross. Scripture tells us, “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son” (John 3:16). That love moved Him to act, not when humanity was at its best, but “while we were still sinners” (Romans 5:8). Paul explains in Philippians 2:8 that Jesus, “being found in human form, humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” That final phrase carries weight. Death itself is certain for all, but the cross was a particular kind of death, reserved for criminals, slow and humiliating. Jesus did not avoid it, though He had every right to do so. He did not yield to temptation or to the well-meaning voices that urged Him to take another path. Instead, He set His face toward the cross and fulfilled the purpose for which He came.

This truth presses into everyday thinking in ways that are not always comfortable. The cross is offensive, not only because of its brutality, but because it removes all human boasting. It leaves no room for self-made righteousness or carefully polished reputations. Many prefer a system where effort earns acceptance, where being decent, upright, and sincere might tip the scales in our favor. Yet Scripture states plainly, “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23). That places everyone on equal footing. The cross also confronts us personally. It is not simply a symbol of suffering; it is connected to our own failures. Rembrandt understood this when he painted himself among the crowd in his work depicting the crucifixion. It is a sobering realization. It is easier to point at history than to admit involvement, but the message of the cross does not allow for comfortable distance.

At the center of this reality stands Jesus, who carried out the plan of God with complete obedience. Paul emphasizes that He did not stop halfway. He went “even” to the cross, a place of execution, a place of shame. Yet it is precisely there that reconciliation is found. As Paul writes, “God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them” (2 Corinthians 5:19). The cross becomes the meeting place of justice and mercy, where sin is addressed and forgiveness is offered. Jesus did not simply teach about love; He demonstrated it fully. In His obedience, suffering, and death, the depth of God’s love is revealed, not in words alone, but in action that reaches to the very heart of human need.

When Paul calls believers to have “the mind of Christ,” he gives a specific example in Philippians 2:7, saying that Jesus “emptied himself.” That phrase has sparked centuries of discussion, and theologians have even given it a name: kenosis. It sounds impressive, which usually means it will show up in a sermon sooner or later. Yet the question lingers: what exactly did Jesus empty Himself of? Some have tried to map it out in detail, while others, like Jim Wilson, admit that the full answer may be beyond us. He writes, “Some questions don’t need to be answered; they just need to be pondered.” That may feel unsatisfying, especially for those of us who prefer neat conclusions and clearly labeled diagrams. Still, Paul’s focus is not on satisfying curiosity but on shaping understanding. What matters is not simply what Jesus set aside, but that He did so willingly, and that His action carries meaning for us.

When we bring this into everyday life, the idea becomes both simpler and more challenging. The text explains how Jesus emptied Himself: “by taking the form of a servant” and “being born in the likeness of men.” That means He did not arrive with visible power and authority, even though it was fully His. Instead, He stepped into ordinary human life. Max Anders points out that Jesus did not borrow a body for a short visit, like checking out equipment from a library and returning it after use. He became fully human, permanently identifying with us. That kind of self-giving runs against our usual instincts. Most of us are fairly skilled at protecting our comfort, our time, and our preferences. If there were a contest for guarding personal convenience, many of us would at least make the semifinals. Yet Jesus chose a different path, one marked by service and surrender rather than self-advancement.

This truth finds its center in the person of Jesus Himself. Paul continues by describing how Christ “humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross” (Philippians 2:8). That is the full expression of His emptying. It was not a loss of identity but a revelation of His character. As John writes, “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14). He entered into human experience, not as a distant observer, but as a participant. The One who had every right to display His glory chose instead to veil it and walk among us. In doing so, He did not diminish who He was; He showed what divine love looks like when it takes on human form.

Paul challenges us to think the way Christ thinks, and in Philippians 2:6 he begins to unfold what that attitude looks like. He writes of Jesus, “who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped.” That is a remarkable statement. Jesus possessed full equality with God, yet He did not cling to it or use it for His own advantage. Instead, He willingly set aside the visible display of His glory and took on human form. The scene of Jesus washing His disciples’ feet captures this perfectly. While others were concerned about position and honor, He quietly took the place of a servant. It is a reversal that feels almost upside down. The One who had every right to be served chose instead to serve, and He did so without making a speech about how impressive His humility was.

When we bring that into everyday life, it becomes both clear and uncomfortable. Robert Raines describes the attitude of James and John in a way that sounds all too familiar: sizing people up by what they can do for us, how they might advance our plans or satisfy our needs. It is a bit like networking, except with a spiritual vocabulary. We smile, shake hands, and quietly calculate. It turns out that self-interest can dress itself in very respectable clothing. If we are honest, many of us find ourselves nodding along with Raines, recognizing that we are more like James and John than we would prefer to admit. We want influence, recognition, and maybe a little extra favor if it is available. Meanwhile, the attitude of Christ moves in the opposite direction. It does not grasp for advantage but releases it. That kind of thinking does not come naturally, especially in a world that rewards self-promotion and keeps score.

The contrast becomes even clearer when we consider Jesus in relation to humanity’s first failure. Scripture teaches that humanity reached for equality with God, while Jesus, who truly possessed that equality, chose not to cling to it. Paul continues, saying that Christ “emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant” (Philippians 2:7). In doing so, He entered into the consequences of human sin, even to the point of death. This is not merely an example of humility; it is the work of salvation. As Paul writes elsewhere, “For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor” (2 Corinthians 8:9). Jesus did not lose His identity; He revealed it through self-giving love. In Him, true greatness is not found in grasping but in giving, and His attitude reshapes how we understand both God and ourselves.

Paul moves from instruction to illustration in Philippians 2:5 when he writes, “Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus.” After calling believers to place others ahead of themselves, he points directly to Jesus as the clearest picture of what that looks like. No one has ever lived with a more self-giving attitude. Jesus did not simply talk about humility; He practiced it in every step of His life. Paul is not asking for a slight adjustment in behavior but for a complete shift in attitude. The word “mind” here refers to a settled disposition, a way of thinking that shapes everything else. It is the difference between occasionally doing a kind act and living with a heart that naturally bends toward others. That kind of thinking does not come easily. Left alone, most of us lean toward protecting our own interests first, and if there is time left over, we might consider being generous.

In everyday life, this call becomes very practical and, at times, very inconvenient. Unity in relationships, whether in marriage, family, or church, always involves sacrifice. Not everyone can have his own way all the time, though some of us have given it a determined effort. Adopting the attitude of Christ means choosing to value others even when it costs something. It means listening when we would rather speak, serving when we would rather sit, and giving when we would rather keep. This is not about pretending to be less than we are or putting on a show of false modesty. It is about honestly recognizing our place and being willing to spend ourselves for the good of others. As one writer noted, Jesus “was willing to spend and be spent,” and that kind of life shapes how believers relate to each other in meaningful ways.

Yet it is important to remember that Jesus is not only an example to follow; He is the Savior who makes such a life possible. Many are comfortable admiring His teaching while hesitating at His claims. But Jesus spoke clearly about who He is. In John 3:16–18, we read, “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.” He also said, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6). If a person is drowning, he does not need instructions from the shore; he needs rescue. Jesus did not remain at a distance. He entered into the struggle, gave His life, and rose again. Then, after washing His disciples’ feet, He said, “I have given you an example, that you also should do just as I have done to you” (John 13:15). In Him, the pattern and the power come together.

Paul turns the tables on the familiar idea of getting everything done “my way.” He writes that we should not do anything from selfish ambition or conceit, which removes a very popular life strategy from the table. Instead of promoting ourselves, we are to approach life with clear thinking, not overestimating our importance. The order is reshaped: love God first, love others next, and then self finds its proper place. Paul puts it plainly in Philippians 2:3, calling believers to “count others more significant than yourselves.” That does not come naturally. Left to ourselves, we tend to assume we are the center of the story, with everyone else playing supporting roles. Markus Bockmuehl describes humility not as weakness or groveling, but as moral strength, a clear-eyed recognition of our limits and a willingness to trust God rather than our own abilities. It turns out that humility is not thinking less of ourselves in a gloomy way; it is thinking about ourselves less often.

This way of living becomes very practical very quickly. Paul continues in Philippians 2:4, “Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.” That sounds simple until life becomes inconvenient. Then it becomes a test of whether we really meant it. I remember the hailstorm of 2014, when windows were shattered and homes were left exposed. With an injured arm, I was not much help in boarding up our own house. Glass and water were everywhere, and it looked like the weather had decided to redecorate without permission. Then people from our church stepped in. They called, showed up, and worked alongside my son to cover broken windows and clean up the mess. Others reached out as well. It was a real-life picture of what Paul describes. In moments like that, people stop being projects and become neighbors, and the difference is noticeable.

This perspective reflects the heart of Jesus Himself. He taught, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22:39), placing others firmly within the circle of our concern. His own life demonstrated this perfectly. As Paul goes on to explain, Jesus “emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant” (Philippians 2:7). He did not cling to status but chose to serve. In another place, He said, “The Son of Man came not to be served but to serve” (Mark 10:45). The pattern is clear. Looking out for others is not an optional extra; it flows from the life of Christ within His people. When that life is expressed, even in something as simple as boarding up broken windows, it reveals a deeper reality at work.

Philippians 2:3 is a small verse with a large reach. Paul first clears the ground by saying, “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit,” and then plants something better in its place: “but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.” Conceit whispers, “I am better than you,” while selfish ambition tries to prove it, usually with a running commentary in our own heads. Yet God turns that thinking upside down. The opposite of conceit is humility, and the opposite of promoting myself is lifting others. The world promises happiness through self-importance, but it often delivers irritation, comparison, and a mysterious inability to enjoy anything without checking who is watching. Trying to outshine everyone else is a tiring hobby, especially when everyone else is trying to do the same thing.

That struggle shows up in ordinary ways. Left to ourselves, our priorities tend to line up as me first, you second, and God somewhere down the list, perhaps behind coffee and a decent night of sleep. Even our grammar seems to agree, since “I” and “me” are called the first person. But God teaches a different order. He places Himself first, others second, and self last. Jesus captured this reversal when He said, “The last will be first, and the first last” (Matthew 20:16). That runs against the current of a culture that emphasizes self-esteem as the solution to nearly everything. There is truth in recognizing our value, but trouble begins when that value is inflated at the expense of others. Studies have even suggested that excessive self-esteem can lead to arrogance and conflict. It turns out that walking around convinced of our own greatness can make relationships rather difficult. It is hard to enjoy others when we are busy awarding ourselves trophies.

The New Testament directs us to a better pattern, one rooted in Jesus Himself. Paul continues in the next verses by pointing to Christ, saying, “Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 2:5). He then describes how Jesus humbled Himself, taking the form of a servant and giving His life for others. This is not a theoretical idea; it is a lived reality. Jesus also said, “Whoever would be great among you must be your servant” (Matthew 20:26). In Him, the order of life is reshaped. God is first, others are valued, and the self finds its proper place. Joy grows in that soil, not because we have promoted ourselves, but because we have learned to see others through the lens of Christ’s love.

Paul adds a second warning in Philippians 2:3 that cuts just as deeply as the first: “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit.” Older translations call it “vain glory,” which sounds like something dressed up in fancy clothes with nowhere to go. Conceit is the habit of overestimating ourselves while quietly underestimating everyone else. It builds itself up by pushing others down and thrives on applause. A conceited person often believes he has already arrived, which makes further growth rather unlikely. It is like declaring victory before the game starts and then wondering why the scoreboard disagrees. Conceit creates a façade, a polished image that looks impressive from a distance but has little substance behind it. At its core, it is a subtle shift in allegiance, where the approval of people begins to matter more than the approval of God.

This tendency shows up in familiar ways. It appears when we compare ourselves to others and come out as the hero of our own story every single time. It shows up when we rehearse our achievements but forget our limitations. Even a boxing ring has seen its share of this. Muhammad Ali once famously declared before a fight, “I AM the greatest. I AM the king!” It made for great headlines and lively entertainment, but on that particular night he lost to Joe Frazier. Reality has a way of humbling bold claims. Howard Butt captured this struggle well when he wrote, “It is my pride that makes me independent of God.” That independence can feel strong, even admirable, until it quietly collapses under its own weight. Conceit convinces us we are self-sufficient, but life keeps reminding us otherwise, sometimes with a gentle nudge and sometimes with a loud thud.

The New Testament consistently redirects this way of thinking. Paul writes, “For if anyone thinks he is something, when he is nothing, he deceives himself” (Galatians 6:3). That is a straightforward diagnosis. Yet the answer is not self-criticism but a clear view shaped by Christ. In the very next verses of Philippians, Paul points to Jesus, who “emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant” (Philippians 2:7). Instead of grasping for status, He laid it aside. Jesus also said, “Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted” (Matthew 23:12). Conceit lifts itself up and eventually stumbles. Christ lowers Himself and is lifted by God. In Him, the illusion of self-importance gives way to something far more solid and true.