The Towel and the TItle

There’s a quiet pressure most of us carry. It’s the pressure to be somebody, to accomplish something, to make people proud, and to make sure nobody sees the parts of us we’d rather forget. The strange thing is that success doesn’t make it go away. Get the promotion, and now you have to prove you deserved it. Make a mistake, and now you have to prove you’re better than that. Finally get your life together, and now you have to prove you can keep it together. Somewhere along the way, we start confusing what we do with who we are.

Pastor Jon opened this message with something every one of us will face eventually: the day your life stops matching the picture you had of yourself. For him, it showed up on a basketball court. His head said jump, and his knee said not so much. It’s a funny moment, but it points to something serious. We introduce ourselves by what we do. I’m a teacher, a contractor, a business owner, a mom, a dad, a pastor. Those roles matter, but they aren’t permanent. Kids grow up and move out. Marriages fall apart. Bodies change. Careers end.

 So what happens when the thing you built your identity on isn’t there anymore?

It works the other way too. Failure shapes identity just as easily as success does. A mistake from decades ago, a season when you walked away, or a reputation you can’t seem to shake can all become the name you answer to long after everyone else has moved on. When we build identity on something that can change, we end up guarding it. The strong one can never fall apart. The one with the answers can never admit fear. The one who needs to be needed is always hunting for a way to be necessary. Before long, we aren’t living our lives. We’re maintaining an image.

That’s why John 13 matters so much. It’s the night before the cross. Jesus knows betrayal is coming and knows what He’s about to face. Before He gets up from the table, John tells us three things Jesus knew: the Father had given all things into His hands, He had come from God, and He was going back to God. Then He laid aside His outer garments, wrapped a towel around His waist, and washed His disciples’ feet.

Dallas called this a kind of spiritual GPS, three points of triangulation that told Jesus exactly where He stood. Notice the order. Jesus doesn’t serve in order to become someone. He serves because He already knows who He is. Identity leads to action, not the other way around. Most of us live it backwards. We do things hoping they’ll finally tell us who we are.
Dallas spoke from experience. He named the labels he once carried: addict, inmate, failure. Some came from his own choices, and some came from how people saw him. He quoted a line from the Green Goblin in the original Spider-Man: “We are who we choose to be.”

Dallas pushed back on it. Our choices matter, but they aren’t the foundation. You can’t create your own identity, because it was never yours to create. You are who you are because you’ve already been chosen. God chose us in Christ before the foundation of the world and adopted us as sons and daughters before we lifted a finger. Think of the thief on the cross, who did nothing to earn Jesus’ promise of paradise. Whom the Son sets free is free indeed. If anyone is in Christ, they are a new creation.

Dallas also told a story about visiting his father, a retired pastor who has lived four years with stage four cancer after being given six months. Overwhelmed with gratitude, all Dallas could say was, “I’m thankful to be your son.” That is what knowing you’re a child of God looks like. It isn’t a doctrine you agree with. It’s an intimacy you live from.

Then came a dream about a hotel breakfast. Dallas showed up hungry for chicken fried steak and found nothing but crumbs, so he complained to anyone who would listen. When he woke up, he sensed God saying something simple: it is your responsibility to feed your family, so stop waiting to be served. Sometimes the ministry God has given us is sitting right in front of us, and we’re waiting for someone else to pick up the towel.

Jesus wasn’t lowering Himself when He washed feet. He was showing us what freedom looks like. When you know whose you are, nothing is beneath you, whether that’s a clogged toilet at the church daycare or a dirty set of feet. You don’t serve to prove something. You serve because there’s nothing left to prove.

Pastor Jon closed with a challenge for the week ahead. Monday is coming, and someone will push your buttons. Someone will need something when you feel like you have nothing to give. That’s where identity stops being theory. So pick one specific person, maybe your spouse, your child, or the coworker who gets on your nerves, and ask what it would look like to serve them with nothing to prove. Love them without needing appreciation. Help them without needing recognition. Apologize without defending yourself.

For some of us, the challenge is different. Like Peter, we need to stop saying “not me” and let Jesus wash our feet. We need to stop trying to earn something He has already freely given. Whether your next step is serving someone or receiving grace, it starts in the same place: with Jesus, who knew exactly who He was and chose to pick up the towel.