"The bigger the issue, the smaller you write. Remember that. You don't write about the horrors of war. No. You write about a kid's burnt socks lying on the road." This is excellent writing advice from the novelist Richard Price. But John blows it up with the grandest opening in all of literature: In the beginning was the Word. He wants us to look at Jesus first.

"Why were your headquarters so nice?" asked my friend. I was puzzled. "What do you mean?" I thought to myself. "The ministry wanted to take care of the staff so we could serve Jesus." He said, "Really? What about the indoor waterfall?" His question exposed me: It's possible to be surrounded by Scripture, talking about Jesus, and still be promoting oneself.

My Mom said the rocks would be amazing. I believed her, but sitting in the car for hours made me wish I was back home. She said we would ride on donkeys. I thought that sounded uncomfortable and smelly. She said I would never see anything like it again. But moms are good at hyperbole. Then we arrived at the Grand Canyon.

When I arrived for a weekend retreat with thirty up-and-coming leaders, the jockeying for position started immediately. One guy asked me to explain the gospel in front of everyone. But it was a setup. No matter what I said, he would be able to critique an element I missed, or show the group how he could do it better. The gospel had become a tool to fight for status. John the Baptist lived in the desert, but his fame spread throughout the country. So, the leaders in Jerusalem sent a team to interview him.

When I was in middle school, another student loved to torment me with cruel nicknames. The one that hurt the most? "Tubby." He'd say it with a sneer, point at my overweight belly, and laugh. Our names and nicknames are how others view us and our identity. But as bad as these nicknames were, I'm grateful no one ever threatened me with death.