There’s a moment in Matthew 20 that I keep coming back to.
Jesus is walking toward Jerusalem. He knows what’s waiting for Him there. And right in the middle of that journey, two of His closest disciples — James and John — send their mom to ask Jesus if they can have the best seats in the Kingdom. One on the right. One on the left.
I want to be careful not to be too hard on them because honestly? I get it. They had left everything. They had followed this man for years. They had seen miracles. They believed He was the Messiah. And in their minds they were thinking — if there’s a Kingdom coming, we want to be positioned well in it.
Empire thinking. Even from the disciples.
When the other ten heard about it, they were furious. Not because James and John were wrong for wanting position — but because they wanted it too and got beat to the ask.
Jesus gathers them all together and He does something interesting. He doesn’t shame them. He doesn’t lecture them. He simply names what’s real.
You know how the Gentiles operate, He says. Their rulers lord it over them. The high-ranking officials use their authority to make people serve them.
He’s describing Empire. And He’s not wrong — that’s exactly how it worked. That’s exactly how most of the world still works.
But then comes the turn.
”Not so with you.”
Four words. And they carry the weight of everything.
I want to make sure we don’t read past this too fast because it is so easy to hear not so with you as a rule. As in — here’s what you’re NOT allowed to do. A restriction. A limitation.
But that is not what Jesus is saying. He is making an identity statement.
Not so with you — because of who you are. Because of whose you are. Because you are children of a different Kingdom and children of that Kingdom don’t need to claw their way to the top. They don’t need to protect their position. They don’t need to be served because they are already loved — completely, without condition, without performance — by the God of the universe.
For years I operated with this low-grade fear underneath everything I did for God. This quiet voice that said if you slow down, if you produce less, if you’re not needed — what are you worth? And so I kept going. Kept performing. Kept building. Not out of love but out of a desperate need to justify my place.
That is Empire logic applied to a life with Jesus. And it will hollow you out.
The moment everything started to shift for me was when I stopped asking what do I need to do for God and started asking what has God already done for me?
The answer to that second question changes everything. He came not to be served but to serve. He gave His life as a ransom — not for people who had earned it, but for people who couldn’t.
He already proved His love. You don’t have to perform for it.
So here’s the question I want you to carry into this week: Are you living like someone who has to earn their place? Or are you living like someone who already has one?
Because not so with you means you already have one. It was paid for. It was settled. And when you really start to live from that place — it doesn’t make you passive. It makes you free.
Free to serve without needing recognition. Free to give without keeping score. Free to love people who can do nothing for you. That is what Kingdom looks like from the inside.
Write this down somewhere you’ll see it this week: I do not perform for God’s love. I am loved by God so I can serve. Read it every morning. Let it pick a fight with every Empire thought that tries to take its place.
This one’s for someone burning out in their faith. Send it their way — a text, a DM, an email. You might be sending them exactly what they needed to hear today.
— Corey