You did not choose me
Jesus and the Twelve, the last night
On the last night, Jesus tells the men who have left everything to follow him a humbling truth: You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit. They surely felt they had made a brave decision to follow. He gently reframes it — the initiative was his, not theirs.
Their leadership, their fruitfulness, even their being in that room at all, traced back to his choosing. It is a word that pulls the rug out from under pride and, at the same moment, sets the feet of the insecure on solid ground.
“You didn't choose me, but I chose you and appointed you, that you should go and bear fruit.”
— Jesus, in the upper room — John 15:16 (WEB)
You were chosen before you chose. Your place in the work is his initiative, not your achievement — which kills pride and steadies the insecure at the same time.
“But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for God's own possession, that you may proclaim the excellence of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light.”
The disciples likely prided themselves on having chosen to follow; Jesus reminds them the choosing ran the other way. A leader who absorbs this stops treating his position as a trophy he won and starts treating it as a gift he was given. That frees him from both the arrogance of the self-made and the fragility of the striver. The inner work is resting your standing on his choice, not your performance.
Tell the people you lead, plainly, that they are chosen and appointed to bear fruit — it dignifies their work and steadies their effort. Do not lead as though the mission rises or falls on your having earned your spot. Choose and appoint others deliberately, and let them know it, rather than leaving them to wonder if they belong. Build a culture where belonging is conferred, not constantly re-earned.
Leaders quietly believe they are where they are because they chose well and worked hard — true in part, but it eclipses the prior fact of being chosen, and it breeds either pride or anxious striving. The blind spot is forgetting that the initiative was always his.
This week, tell one person you lead, specifically, why they were chosen for their role and that they belong. And once, when pride or insecurity rises in you, say to yourself: I did not choose this; I was chosen for it.
If your place in the work is a gift of his choosing rather than a prize for your deserving, then there is no room left for pride and no ground left for despair. You are not here because you were good enough; you are here because he chose you.
If your leadership traces back to his choosing, what pride needs to die — and what insecurity can finally rest?