For this reason my joy has been fulfilled. He must increase, but I must decrease. — John 3:29-30.
In the third chapter of John’s Gospel, we witness one of the most radical shifts in perspective in human history. John the Baptist, a man who had captivated the attention of a nation, suddenly finds his crowds thinning. His disciples come to him, concerned that “everyone is going to” this new teacher, Jesus. John’s response—”He must increase, but I must decrease”—is not just a polite concession; it is a masterclass in what it means to be a teammate in the game of life.
John’s reaction is entirely unnatural. Human nature is wired for the spotlight. We are taught to climb ladders, build personal brands, and maintain our “starter” status at all costs.
Think of the “Youth Team Star” analogy. When you have been the one scoring the goals, hearing the cheers, and seeing your name in the paper, seeing a younger, faster player take your spot feels like a personal loss. Even if the team wins, there is a stinging “I” that wants to be part of the glory. John, however, viewed himself not as the star, but as the friend of the bridegroom. His joy wasn’t in the applause he received, but in the success of the Mission.
To “take one for the team” as John did manifests in several ways in our modern lives:
Imagine a founder who built a company from a garage. There comes a day when the company grows so large that it needs a different kind of CEO—a “professional manager” with skills the founder doesn’t have. To step down and become a board member—to decrease so the company can increase—is the ultimate act of leadership. There is a bittersweet moment in parenting where your child no longer needs you to lead them by the hand. They begin to make their own decisions, win their own battles, and perhaps even surpass your own achievements. A “good coach” parent rejoices in being surpassed; they realize their success is measured by how well their child can stand without them. A great mentor pours their life into a protégé. The goal of every mentor is to eventually become unnecessary. When the student becomes the master, the mentor must be willing to “ride the bench” and watch from the sidelines with a fulfilled heart.
John likely had a “good coach” in his youth. In a spiritual sense, that coach was the Holy Spirit and his deep understanding of God’s sovereignty. John knew that his “season” was specific and seasonal. When we realize that our worth isn’t tied to our position but to our purpose, the bench becomes a place of peace rather than a place of punishment. John’s “star” faded, and his life ended in a lonely cell, but he died with a fulfilled joy because he knew he hadn’t lost—he had simply finished his leg of the relay.
When we leave the spotlight for another, we aren’t just “giving up.” We are creating the space necessary for a “greater good” to flourish. By riding the bench, you provide the encouragement the new starter needs to excel. By stepping back in a neighborhood project, you allow a new leader to find their voice. By decreasing our ego, we allow the light of Christ (or the needs of our community) to shine brighter.
“Taking one for the team” is a test of character. It requires us to trust that there is a better plan in motion than the one where we are the protagonist. Like John, we can find that our joy is “fulfilled” not when we are at the top of the stat sheet, but when we see God’s plan moving forward, with or without us in the starting lineup.
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