43: Nothing to Prove

One of my favorite shows to watch with Brad is The Great British Baking Show. If you’ve never seen it - first of all, what are you waiting for? - but it is essentially a baking competition that takes place in the English countryside. Contestants are normal, everyday, amateur bakers who enjoy baking as a hobby, and it’s easy to cheer them on. Each week, there is a theme related to a particular baking skill, and contestants participate in three separate challenges all relating to that theme. Themes range from cakes to pastries to desserts to pies to breads and the goal is to make it through each week without being eliminated. Obviously, whoever is the last baker standing the very last week, wins. 

It seems pretty straightforward, but I think the reason we love it so much is, it’s a competition show, but without the competitive energy. Yes, contestants want to do their best and sometimes things don’t go according to plan. Plus, one of the judges is pretty hard to please. But the overall attitude in the baking tent is one of camaraderie and creativity; it’s pleasant and supportive and peaceful.  

We’ve also learned a lot; not anything we’ve actually put into practice, but after watching 11 seasons, we do feel like we’ve picked up a lot of interesting baking tips and terminology. For instance, during numerous bread weeks over the seasons, we now know the importance of proving dough. Some call it proofing, but on the show, it’s proving. And essentially, what it means is that after the dough has been kneaded and formed into whatever shape the baker decides, it then needs to prove. If you became a bread baker in 2020, you probably already know.

But if you didn’t, what happens during proving is that the yeast within the dough is given time to rise. Essentially, during the proving process, the dough just is. It rests and while it does, it grows and is slowly transformed. Now, in case it isn’t obvious, I realize we aren’t balls of dough. But I think there might be something there, some truth to be found in paying attention to how the dough proves, rises, and becomes the way the baker intends it to be. The rising happens in the resting. Maybe when Jesus talked about the Kingdom of God being like yeast, that’s part of what he meant.

I don’t know about you, but when I hear the word “prove,” the process of proving dough is not what I think of. You’d think the proving process would involve mixing or kneading or something with movement or action. As a human person, when I think of proving, I don’t think of resting, of just being. I think of working. Pushing. Pleasing. Accomplishing. Doing. Striving. Hustling. If I’m going to prove myself, I’m going to work hard and make something happen.

To be honest, I often feel immense pressure to prove myself. Even pressure to prove others wrong if they think I can’t do something. I think we all struggle with this to varying degrees. We want to please the right people, move in the right direction, make sure we measure up and matter. This pressure manifests in overfilled schedules, restless nights, unhealthy habits, just to name a few, but no matter what form it takes, it is exhausting.

I often wonder where this pressure comes from. Why do we feel the need to prove ourselves? And really, what I’m realizing is that this pressure to prove is more often than not a result of what we believe truly defines us. It’s what we think makes us who we are. It’s where we find our worth, our value, our meaning and identity. 

For instance, many of us believe we are what we do. So we run ourselves into the ground to get the grade, earn the promotion, win the game, receive the award or acceptance letter. And when we don’t, we’re convinced we must worthless.

Others of us believe we are what we look like. So we obsess over the number on the scale or the letter on tag. We count the calories and frequent the gym and stare in the mirror all in the name of “health.” And when the magic cream doesn’t work or the gray grows back, we feel defeated.

Or many of us believe we are what we have. So we continuously accumulate. We shop till we drop, thinking that the right clothes, new, trendy home decor or the latest Amazon package on our porch will prove our worth. But no matter the cost, the void remains. 

Sometimes we believe our worth is connected to our power or influence. We count the likes, play to the algorithm, hustle to make sure we’re seen and known and recognized. We do what we must to seemingly stay in control, building our brand, growing our following. We strive and do whatever it takes to make it happen, and in the process, we lose ourselves.

And finally, many of us believe we are what others say about us. So we bend over backwards trying to please, groveling for recognition and affirmation, fishing for compliments, and giving the critics too much power. We are caught up in the opinions of others, forgetting who we really are. 

Those are just a few examples of the narratives we often believe about ourselves. Perhaps, like me, you’ve struggled with one or two or any combination of them. And it’s in these false narratives where the pressure begins. So we push and strive and climb and hustle to prove our worth. The pressure quickly builds, overwhelming and breaking us down rather than reassuring and lifting us up.

There’s a passage in Scripture where Jesus is well-acquainted with the struggle to prove himself and I’ve recently been drawn to it over and over again. However, in this passage, Jesus doesn’t give in to the pressure but remains true to who God says he is.

It’s a familiar passage found in Matthew, Mark, and Luke right before Jesus begins his ministry. And in it, we read about the temptation of Jesus.

I won’t read the passage in its entirety right now, but I will give you a brief synopsis. The Holy Spirit leads Jesus out into the wilderness, where he spends 40 days and nights fasting. Toward the end of that time, Satan comes to Jesus and begins to tempt him. Now, a quick aside, the Greek word (I won’t subject you to my mispronunciation) translated as “to tempt” can also be translated as “to test.” And so while we typically think of Jesus being tempted in this story, Jesus is also being tested. Asked by Satan to prove himself.

Satan tells Jesus to turn stones into bread, to prove himself by showing what he can do, what he can produce, what he can provide. But Jesus declines.

Satan then takes Jesus to the top of the Temple and tells him to jump, to gain attention and prove that he is extraordinary and impressive. To set himself leaps and bounds ahead of everyone else, to make a great display of himself. But Jesus stays right where he is.

Finally, Satan suggests that Jesus bow down and worship him, promising the power and control,  accolades and influence of many kingdoms in exchange. But Jesus stands firm. Because Jesus knows he has nothing to prove.

I wonder why Jesus didn’t give in. What kept Jesus grounded? What kept Jesus from being swept away by the pressure to prove himself? 

Well, right before Jesus was led into the wilderness, he was in the Jordan River being baptized by his cousin, John. And at his baptism, God told Jesus who he was. God gave Jesus his identity before he had done anything to earn it. God said, “This is my Son, the beloved, in whom I am well pleased.” And Jesus believed God, staying anchored in who God said he was - in the wilderness, in ministry, all the way to the cross. God’s declaration over him was Jesus’ sure footing, an anchor that held him steady.

In an essay titled, From Solitude to Community to Ministry, Henri Nouwen puts it this way:

The voice Jesus heard when he came out of the Jordan River was: “You are my beloved; on you my favor rests.” And Jesus says to you and to me that we are loved as he is loved. That same voice is there for you. Jesus listened to that voice all the time, and he was able to walk right through life. People were applauding him, laughing at him; praising him and rejecting him; calling “Hosanna!” And calling “Crucify!” But in the midst of that, Jesus knew one thing - I am the beloved. 

Nouwen continues,

There are many other voices speaking - loudly: “Prove that you are the beloved.” “Prove you’re worth something.” “Prove you have any contribution to make.” These voices are so strong in this world. These were the voices Jesus heard right after he heard “You are my beloved.” Another voice said, “Prove you are the beloved. Do something. Change these stones into bread. Be sure you’re famous. Jump from the temple, and you will be known. Grab some power so you have real influence. Don’t you want some influence? Isn’t that why you came?”

Jesus said, “No, I don’t have to prove anything. I am already the beloved.”

Nouwen’s description of this passage is powerful. Jesus’ soul was at rest in who God said he was. In his beloved-ness. In his identity as the Son of God. And I don’t know about you, but I long to rest secure in who God says I am. In my beloved-ness. In my identity as a child of God. 

Living this way doesn’t mean we sit idly by, neglect ourselves, overlook the needs of others, or ignore wise counsel. After all, we are called to participate, contribute and live as reminders of Jesus. So instead, we live in the world as God calls us to, as the people God calls us to be, out of the abundance of our beloved-ness. We remember that it is precisely because of our beloved-ness that we have something to offer.

So today, the pressure is off. Remember, you have nothing to prove. You are already God’s beloved child. May we live lighter and freer as a result, anchored in who God says we are.