… In humility count others more significant than yourselves. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God … made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant … by becoming obedient to the point of death.

Selections from Philippians 2:3-9 (ESV)

Yesterday, I focused in on the crushing suffering that Christ endured on the day we now know as Good Friday. Thankfully we know today that that’s not all that was crushed Easter weekend. Today I’m going to focus in on crushed pride.

You see, Christ set an example of humility. He set up a standard so high that few men could ever reach it. The Creator God of the universe made himself nothing. He served. He was obedient. Even to the death. The words of Paul’s Christ-hymn that I’ve quoted above are some, I believe, of the most beautiful words in the entire New Testament. They’re words of humility. Words that speak volumes about what Christ has done for us.

I think some of the greatest messages about humility from the Easter story are the ones that we frequently skip over. They’re the ones that happened on Saturday. It’s a day we kind of ignore in the Easter schedule. But it’s one of the most important when it comes to showing how Christ’s example drove others to humility.

Many of us have heard the Roman centurion’s declaration given post-Christ’s death: “Surely this man was the Son of God!” (Mark 15:39, NIV) It’s a beautiful, simple confession. But we don’t always really grasp what a big deal it was for that centurion to make that confession. It required an incredible dose of humility. This man was supposed to be one of the world’s toughest soldiers. He was dedicated to Rome and all things Roman. One of the core Roman beliefs held that the Caesar, the land’s ultimate ruler, was God’s son. He was to be worshipped. For this centurion to say that Christ was the Son of God could quite nearly be considered treason. He was, however, so incredibly moved by the things he had witnessed, so moved by the declaration of humility, that he could do nothing but cry out his adoration for Christ.

The centurion wasn’t the only one who had his pride crushed as part of Christ’s death. So did Joseph of Arimithea, the man who buried Christ. See, Joseph was an incredibly rich man. He was a leader in Jerusalem. He was one of the leaders of the Jewish Council. He wasn’t exactly the kind of man you’d picture playing undertaker. But he was. He humbled himself to apply spices and burial clothes to Christ’s body. He even went so far as to have a new tomb made just for Him. Joseph could have easily hired someone to do this if he wanted it done. He could have ignored it and said “someone else will handle it.” Instead, he chose to humble himself from his high position and prepare Christ for burial. He put his pride behind him and focused instead on what his Savior needed.

So what pride in your life needs crushed? Is it your finances? Your position? Your “poor me” attitude? Something else? Let the power of the Cross crush it this Easter weekend.

Today, I ran across one verse in three different places.  Typically, that means I’m supposed to be paying attention to something.  There’s something important God is trying to show me.  So here’s what I read:

“Our children will also serve him.  Future generations will hear about the wonders of the Lord.  His righteous acts will be told to those not yet born.  They will hear about everything he has done.” Psalm 22:30-31

In the 4th century AD, a man named Eusebius (wacko Roman names) wrote a book titled The History of the Church.  He wrote every single thing down that happened to the early Roman church.  Persecution, growth, penalties, doctrines.  It was all in there.  To this day, it’s still the most respected source of extra-Biblical early church history.  Eusebius left a manuscript behind for those not yet born.  He told us about everything God did for them.

We’re called to do the same.  We’re called to leave a legacy for those that aren’t even born yet.  Over 1500 years later, we’re still reading Eusebius’ history of the church.  Will people still care about anything I’ve done or affected in 1500 years?  It’s not not necessarily about me- it’s about letting Christ work through me.  I don’t care if people remember me in 1500 years.  I care about if they know Christ more because of the life God empowered me to live.

We all leave something behind.  I want to leave a better world.  A healthier world.  A more responsible world.  A greener world.    A more Christlike world.  What’ll be left over when you leave?