Misplaced Glory

The Glory That Belongs to Another
In Acts 3, Peter and John heal a man who has been lame since birth. It's a remarkable miracle—exactly the kind of event that naturally draws a crowd. And it does. Luke tells us that the people “were filled with wonder and amazement.” They rush toward the apostles in awe, wide-eyed and marveling.
But Peter doesn’t accept the awe. He doesn’t bask in the glow of the moment. Instead, he interrupts the celebration with a disarming question:
“Why do you stare at us as if by our own power or godliness we had made this man walk?” (Acts 3:12)
That verse is the key to this entire book.
Peter refuses to let their gaze remain on him. He senses the temptation. He sees the crowd beginning to assign power to the wrong place. And he stops it—not gently, but bluntly. Don’t look at us. Don’t assign us that glory. Don’t confuse the vessel with the source.
That’s the burden of every faithful pastor: to know when to step aside, how to redirect glory, and to sense when people are looking too closely—and to respond not with defensiveness or denial, but with joyful surrender. This is not about me. This is about Jesus.
But that response doesn’t happen naturally. It requires discipline. It involves crucifying the ego. It calls for training your soul to find worth in Christ, not in admiration. And in our cultural moment—where platforms are rewarded, charisma is monetized, and visibility is confused with value—that discipline is more difficult than ever.