I picked up one of those little Lenten devotionals from the back of the parish, the kind that shows up every year like clockwork. A thin booklet with a simple cover, a short reading for each day, and just enough space in the margins to scribble a sentence that matters. Parishes everywhere put them out because they work. They are small on purpose. They fit in a coat pocket. They fit in a turnout pocket. They fit in real life.

I was reading today’s meditation and one line stopped me cold:

“Jesus makes it clear that his kingdom isn’t about power, or title, or selfish ambition. It’s about humility and service. It’s about caring for one another and lifting up the lowly.”

That sentence has been echoing in my head ever since, because it is both comforting and challenging in the exact way Lent tends to be.

Comforting, because it reminds the soul that God is not impressed by the things the world applauds.

Challenging, because it quietly exposes how much a person can start living for those things anyway.

Power. Title. Being seen. Being right. Being the one who always has it handled. Being the one who never needs help. Even in good work, even in noble work, the heart can drift into a kind of self-focus that wears the clothes of virtue.

And Lent shows up and says, come back.

The kingdom that does not look like the world

A lot of life trains people to chase what looks like importance. The world rewards the loud voice, the polished image, the high seat at the table. It rewards the person who can command a room, control a narrative, collect a following, stack credentials, win arguments, and look unbothered.

But Jesus keeps pointing in the opposite direction.

The Kingdom of God is not built on climbing over others. It is built on bending down.

It is not driven by ego. It is driven by love.

It does not depend on being served. It depends on choosing to serve, even when nobody notices.

That is a hard truth because it cuts across something deeply human: the desire to matter. The desire to be valued. The desire to be recognized.

Those desires are not evil in themselves. Everybody wants to matter. Everybody wants to be known. The trouble is what the heart starts doing to secure that feeling. The trouble is when ambition becomes the compass. When the need to be seen becomes the fuel. When service becomes performance.

That is where Jesus refuses to play along. Not because Jesus is against greatness, but because Jesus is against the kind of greatness that leaves others lower.

 Firehouse temptation: the need to be somebody

In the fire service, there are good reasons to care about rank and responsibility. Titles can reflect training, accountability, and leadership structure that protects lives. Nobody wants chaos on a scene. Nobody wants freelancing when decisions are time-sensitive and safety is on the line.

But the spiritual danger is subtle: the heart can start turning identity into position.

It can start believing that value comes from the label on the shirt, the spot in the lineup, the seat on the rig, or the reputation in the department.

And once that happens, everything gets filtered through a quiet question the heart doesn’t always admit out loud: How does this affect my standing?

That question doesn’t make a person evil. It makes a person human. But Lent calls it what it is, then invites the heart to loosen its grip.

Because if the Kingdom is not about power or title, then the Christian life cannot be built on those things either.

There is a freedom in that. A strange relief.

If Jesus is not measuring worth by rank, then there is no need to keep proving worth. If the Kingdom is not about being above, then there is no need to protect ego like it is life support.

The spiritual life becomes less about image and more about love, which is a better way to live and a better way to serve.

Humility: not thinking less, but thinking true

Humility is often misunderstood as self-disgust or pretending to be smaller than reality. That is not humility. That is just a different form of self-focus.

Humility is truth.

It is seeing self clearly: strengths without pride, weaknesses without despair, dignity without self-worship.

Humility is the ability to do the job, do it well, and still know: everything is gift.

A person can be confident and humble at the same time. In fact, humility is what makes confidence clean. It prevents confidence from turning into arrogance. It prevents competence from turning into contempt.

In the fire service, humility shows up in ways that are both ordinary and heroic:
– listening to input without feeling threatened
– admitting a mistake without trying to explain it away
– choosing to teach without needing credit
– taking correction without resentment
– checking on a newer member after a hard call
– backing someone up quietly when nobody else notices

Humility is not weakness. Humility is strength that no longer needs to flex.

Service: the habit of lifting instead of leaning on

The devotional line also says something that gets to the heart of Jesus: caring for one another and lifting up the lowly.

That is not poetic language meant for stained-glass windows. It is practical. It is daily. It is gritty. It is the kind of love that actually costs something.

The lowly are not just people far away. The lowly show up in the ordinary places:
– the person who feels invisible
– the coworker who is struggling with grief and hides it behind humor
– the new member who is trying not to look nervous
– the person who calls 911 for something that seems small but feels huge to them
– the elderly resident who is embarrassed to need help getting up
– the neighbor who has no support system and no one to talk to
– the family whose house is damaged and whose life just got flipped upside down

Jesus consistently moves toward those people. The Kingdom looks like that movement.

And the hard truth is this: it is possible to do a job of service while slowly losing the posture of service. It is possible to respond, lift, carry, treat, transport, and still become internally impatient, dismissive, or cold.

Sometimes that happens because of burnout. Sometimes it happens because of repeated exposure to chaos. Sometimes it happens because the world teaches self-protection as the highest virtue.

Lent does not scold that reality. Lent invites a return.

Not to naïveté. Not to endless emotional output. But to the heart of Christ.

The quiet places where selfish ambition hides

Selfish ambition does not always look like arrogance. Sometimes it looks like constant comparison.

Who is respected. Who gets the assignments. Who gets the praise. Who gets the attention. Who gets overlooked.

Sometimes it looks like the need to be right. The need to win. The need to have the last word.

Sometimes it looks like bitterness that grows slowly, fed by perceived slights, unspoken resentments, and the story the mind repeats at night.

Sometimes it looks like spiritual pride: being sure that personal standards make someone better than others.

And sometimes it looks like something more subtle: doing good work, but doing it in a way that demands recognition.

Lent is a season for honesty about those things.

Not to shame. To free.

Because ambition is a cruel master. It is never satisfied. It always wants more. It always moves the goalposts. It can turn a good person into an anxious person.

The Kingdom is not like that. The Kingdom gives peace, even in effort. The Kingdom teaches a person how to serve without being consumed by the need to be noticed.

A Lenten practice for the fire service heart

The simplest Lenten practices are often the most effective. Here are a few that fit real life and real shifts:

Pray one sentence before each call:

“Jesus, make me a servant.” 
Or: “Lord, let me bring peace.” 
Or: “Holy Spirit, guide my words and decisions.”

Fast from one form of ego-feeding.
This could be the urge to comment, the need to correct, the habit of complaining, or the temptation to replay arguments in the head. A fast does not have to be food to be real.

Do one hidden act of service every shift.
Clean something nobody wants to clean. Refill a supply that everyone uses. Check on someone and do not announce it. Offer encouragement privately. Let the act belong to God.

End the day with one question.
Where did selfish ambition show up today? 
Then: Where did humility show up, even in a small way?

This is not about creating guilt. It is about creating awareness. Awareness is where grace starts working.

The humility of Jesus is not abstract

Jesus did not simply teach humility. Jesus lived it.

Jesus did not cling to status. Jesus moved toward the lowly. Jesus touched the untouchable. Jesus listened to the overlooked. Jesus served in ways that would never trend, never impress the powerful, and never look glamorous.

That is the Kingdom.

And Lent asks a practical question: if that is the Kingdom, what kind of person should a firefighter become?

Not just externally competent, but internally formed.

Not just brave on scene, but gentle in spirit.

Not just ready to lead, but ready to serve.

Not just committed to the craft, but committed to love.

Closing

That line in the little parish devotional is simple, but it is a direct challenge to the parts of the heart that still want to climb.

“His kingdom isn’t about power, or title, or selfish ambition.”

It is about humility and service.

It is about caring for one another.

It is about lifting up the lowly.

Lent is a season to let those words become more than a quote. Lent is a season to let them become a posture. A way of moving through the station. A way of moving through the world. A way of doing this job with the heart of Christ, one call at a time.

Saint Florian, pray for us, that we would serve with courage and humility.

Mary, Mother of the Church, pray for us, that we would love without needing recognition.

Lord Jesus, form our hearts into Your own. Amen.

Pro Dio et Populo – For God and the People.