The Joy of Becoming Less

St. John the Baptist and the Freedom of a Hidden Life

“He must increase, but I must decrease.”

— John 3:30

There are few saints whose birth the Church celebrates.

We celebrate the birth of St. John the Baptist because from the beginning his life was ordered toward a single purpose: to prepare a place for Christ.

John’s greatness did not consist in what he accomplished. It did not consist in the crowds that gathered around him, the power of his preaching, or even the austerity of his life in the desert. His greatness lay in the fact that he understood who he was and who he was not.

He knew that he was not the Christ.

This may seem obvious to us, but the entire spiritual life unfolds within that realization.

Much of our suffering comes from trying to become something. We strive to become important, successful, influential, admired, respected, holy, wise, or indispensable. Even our religious life can become another attempt to establish ourselves. We labor, often sincerely, to become the person we imagine God wants us to be.

Yet the strange work of grace often leads in the opposite direction.

God spends years dismantling our illusions. He loosens our grip on the identities we have carefully constructed. He allows us to discover our weakness, our limitations, and our inability to save either ourselves or anyone else. He strips away the things that once gave us certainty and leaves us standing before Him with empty hands.

The desert fathers understood this well.

They fled into the wilderness not to become extraordinary but to learn humility. Their struggle was not simply against sin but against the subtle desire to place themselves at the center of their own lives. They sought purity of heart, that blessed state in which nothing remains but the desire for God.

In this sense, St. John the Baptist is the great desert father before the desert fathers.

Everything about him points away from himself.

He gathers disciples only to lose them.

He preaches only to direct attention elsewhere.

He becomes known only so that Christ may become known.

When some of his disciples complain that others are leaving him to follow Jesus, John does not defend his position. He does not cling to his influence. He does not resent being forgotten.

Instead, he says:

“He must increase, but I must decrease.”

These are not the words of resignation. They are the words of joy.

John has found freedom.

The world teaches us to increase ourselves. We are encouraged to build platforms, establish reputations, cultivate influence, and ensure that our voices are heard. We fear becoming invisible. We fear being forgotten. We fear reaching the end of our lives only to discover that our accomplishments have vanished like smoke.

Yet the Gospel presents another path.

The saints become great precisely because they cease seeking greatness.

The holiest men and women often leave behind very little that the world considers important. They disappear into monasteries, hospitals, hidden acts of service, quiet prayer, and ordinary fidelity. Their lives are not monuments but offerings.

They make room for Christ.

There is a particular wisdom in John for those who are growing older.

Many of the identities we once carried begin to loosen with time. Strength diminishes. Plans remain unfinished. Doors close. Roles change. The future becomes smaller than it once seemed. We discover that we cannot accomplish everything we hoped to accomplish.

At first this feels like loss.

Yet perhaps it is also a mercy.

Perhaps God is teaching us what He taught John.

The purpose of life is not to become someone remarkable. The purpose of life is to belong to Christ so completely that others can encounter Him through us.

John’s final years were not triumphant by worldly standards. He ended his life in a prison cell. He did not witness the Resurrection. He did not see Pentecost. He did not watch the Gospel spread throughout the world.

He simply fulfilled the task given to him and entrusted the rest to God.

There is profound freedom in this.

Most of us will not see the full fruit of our labor. Much of what we begin will remain unfinished. Much of what we love will pass into other hands. The people we help may never know the sacrifices made for them. The prayers we offer may bear fruit long after we are gone.

This is enough.

The Nativity of John the Baptist reminds us that the goal of life is not to leave behind a monument to ourselves but to prepare a place for Christ.

Blessed is the one who no longer needs to be the center.

Blessed is the one who rejoices when another light begins to shine.

Blessed is the one who can stand quietly in the desert of the heart and say with joy:

“He must increase, but I must decrease.”