Becoming the Holy Fool

Why relevance can’t shepherd a soul, and why God sometimes leads us into obscurity to teach us how to rest.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

For the past six months, there has been a tension in me—slow, persistent, almost painful. Ministry has never been about achievement, yet the world around ministry can trick you into chasing shadows. Somewhere along the way, I began picking up trophies I never asked for: follower counts, platform invitations, green rooms with people I had watched for fifteen years.

And yet, when I finally stepped into the places I once thought meant arrival, nothing in me transformed. My heart didn’t expand. My anxiety didn’t retreat. My soul didn’t stand up straighter with pride. The light was bright, but the room was hollow.

It echoed with the words of Jesus:

“What does it profit a person to gain the whole world and forfeit their soul?” — Mark 8:36

Apparently, even “Christian success” can quietly demand your soul if you aren’t paying attention.

The Weight of Relevancy

While navigating the newness of these spaces, another pressure crept in—the need to stay relevant. To keep feeding the machine. To say the right things online. To produce. To be witty. To align yourself with the right tribes.

Half the time I didn’t even know what “right” meant—only that the quiet voice in me said I’d fall behind if I didn’t keep up.

But relevancy is a fragile god, and it demands sacrifice. Usually gentleness. Usually peace.

God doesn’t form souls in the spotlight or the scroll. He forms them in quiet places:

“In quietness and trust shall be your strength.” — Isaiah 30:15

My strength had been leaking for months.

My Strange Escape Plan

At one point, exhausted by the pressure of being “seen,” I applied to work in the cafeteria at my kids’ school. Not because God told me to leave ministry… but because I didn’t want to feel the weight of it anymore. I wanted out of the noise.

But as soon as I applied, a different ache surfaced—the knowing that God hadn’t released me from ministry. Not yet. Not in spirit. Not in Scripture. Not in prayer.

This wasn’t surrender.

This was escape.

And I could hear God gently whispering,

“Be still and know that I am God.” — Psalm 46:10

But I didn’t yet know how to be still.

The Three Fools

One afternoon, while sitting with my friend Josh Butler, he introduced the idea of “the three fools”—and it felt like someone turning on a light in a dim room.

1. The Successful Fool

This fool rises endlessly—platform to platform, applause to applause—never pausing long enough to see the emptiness taking shape beneath their feet. Their hands are full, but their soul is starved.

I saw how easily my last ten years could shape me into that fool without ever touching my heart.

“Whoever loves money never has enough…

this too is meaningless.” — Ecclesiastes 5:10

Success without God is a treadmill.

Sacred work without presence becomes hollow work.

2. The Bitter Fool

Then there’s the fool whose steady rise suddenly shifts. Something breaks. Something changes. The trajectory that once felt divinely blessed becomes unpredictable, static, strange.

Here bitterness grows like a weed—slow, venomous, familiar.

Around my 30th birthday, I felt this.

Tension in places that once felt secure.

A disruption in what I thought was stable.

A temptation to walk away from everything—community, ministry, relationships—because suddenly everything felt harder than it used to.

And bitterness always lies:

“See to it that no root of bitterness grows to trouble you…” — Hebrews 12:15

I didn’t want bitterness, but for a few weeks it seemed easier than trust.

The Third Fool: The Holy Fool

Then Josh introduced the third fool—

the one that made everything inside me exhale.

3. The Holy Fool

The Holy Fool is the one who is content in God alone.

Who refuses to be shaped by success or ruled by bitterness.

Who finds God in obscurity and glory alike.

This is the person whose heart rests in the simple truth:

If I know God and God knows me, then nothing I do is wasted.

“My soul finds rest in God alone.” — Psalm 62:1

The Holy Fool believes that folding laundry can be holy work.

Cooking lunches can be holy work.

Walking dogs can be holy work.

Staying sober can be holy work.

Preaching can be holy work.

Crying out to God on tired mornings can be holy work.

Holiness is not earned by visibility—

it is found in proximity.

A New Kind of Freedom

As this vision settled into me, something began to shift.

The pressure to stay relevant began to loosen its grip.

The shame of slowing down no longer felt like failure.

The fear of being forgotten softened into peace.

I could imagine a future where I simply work quietly, faithfully, unseen—

and it doesn’t terrify me.

I could imagine continuing ministry without the rat race—

and that no longer feels fragile.

Because whether I am preaching or wiping counters or raising kids or sitting in obscurity, God remains the same.

And so the Holy Fool prays:

“Better is one day in Your courts than a thousand elsewhere.” — Psalm 84:10

What makes a day holy is not the size of the task.

It’s the presence of the One who is with you in it.

Where I Am Now

I don’t want to be the Successful Fool.

I don’t want to be the Bitter Fool.

I want the freedom of the Holy Fool—

a life anchored in God,

a heart unmanipulated by applause or abandonment,

a soul at rest no matter the season.

A life where preaching to thousands or folding laundry before bedtime is equally sacred because God is equally present.

This is the invitation I’m receiving now—

to live quietly, faithfully, honestly,

to let God be enough again,

and to trust that obscurity and visibility

both belong to Him.

And if the next decade of my life is hidden or small or simple,

I want to be able to say with peace:

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” — Psalm 23:1

Even if the world calls it foolishness.

Especially then.