Be Like John

A reflection on obedience, wilderness, and urgency.

John the Baptist was simple, obedient, hopeful, independent, brave, and wildly unique. He knew Jesus. He trusted Him. He believed with his whole heart that Jesus was the Savior. And he believed so deeply that he gave everything — not metaphorically, but literally. John gave his life to preparing the way for Christ, and in the end, he gave his life itself. When I reflect on John, I can’t escape the contrast: he gave his all, and I often feel like I give so little.

John did not ease into faith from a place of comfort. He began in the wilderness. Not in applause, not in safety, not in influence. He lived simply and spoke boldly. He called people higher and refused to dilute truth. His life was a declaration: prepare the way. He evangelized with urgency because he understood something we often forget — we need Jesus, and we need Him now. Not when life slows down. Not when business stabilizes. Not when the kids are older. Not when the market turns. Now.

This is the part that challenges me most: John began obedient. He gave everything to Jesus. And then it looked as though everything was taken from him. He was arrested. He was isolated. From prison, he even sent word to Jesus, asking for reassurance. And eventually, his story ended in violence. From a worldly perspective, it makes no sense. Where was the rescue? Where was the miracle? Where was the triumphant turnaround? His obedience did not produce comfort. It produced a cross-shaped ending.

Often our lives unfold in the opposite direction. We begin by building our own kingdoms. We grip tightly to what we believe we deserve. We pursue recognition, security, control. And then something falls apart — a job, a reputation, a relationship, a season that doesn’t go our way. The walls feel as though they are closing in. It can feel like we’re trapped in a wilderness we did not choose, and in those moments it feels dark.

For John, it was literally dark — a prison cell — and it ended in execution. Yet he gave his all.

The wilderness is not proof that God has abandoned us. For John, it was evidence that he had already surrendered everything. He did not measure his faith by outcomes. He measured it by obedience. That confronts me deeply. I say I give my life to Christ, but how often do I give Him my comfort? My control? My reputation? My preferred outcomes? John gave his future, his safety, and even his legacy. He believed so fully that he was willing to disappear. When he said, “He must increase, I must decrease,” it was not poetic sentiment. It became the trajectory of his life.

John evangelized with urgency because he understood eternity. People needed Jesus immediately — not when it was convenient, not when it was socially acceptable, not when it fit neatly into their calendars. Now. In a world that encourages us to curate our image, protect our comfort, and build our personal brands, John stood in the desert and called people to repentance. He was not polished. He was not strategic in the modern sense. He was not trying to grow a platform. He was obedient.

There are seasons when life feels like subtraction. Opportunities close. Plans stall. Energy fades. Doors shut. It can feel as though you have given and given, and now everything is being taken away. John reminds us of something difficult but freeing: sometimes obedience leads into darkness before it leads into glory. But darkness is not defeat. If your life is anchored in Christ, nothing essential can be taken from you — not your mission, not your identity, not your eternity.

To be like John is to live simply, obey quickly, hope deeply, and detach from the world’s approval. It is to trust Jesus fully, believe with your whole heart, and give your all — even when it appears that you are losing. Especially then. Because the return on that obedience is not measured in comfort. It is measured in eternity.

“He must increase, but I must decrease.”

— John 3:30