by John Bishop, Director of Spiritual Formation, based on this week's MS/HS chapel

Once the Israelites were delivered from Egypt, God began to order their society and establish the structures necessary for them to live faithfully as His people. He empowered Moses and Aaron as leaders, gave them the law to shape their lives together, and appointed priests to steward His presence and make atonement for sin. God’s order was not oppressive or restrictive—it was a gracious gift, meant to guide His people into freedom, stability, and flourishing.

Yet the very structure God provided became a source of strife. Korah was a Levite, which meant he already held a respected and privileged position within the community. He was close to the work of God and entrusted with sacred responsibility, but he was not Moses. In Numbers 16, Korah, along with 250 other leaders, envied the God-given authority of Moses and Aaron and demanded greater recognition and power for themselves. Their complaint was framed in spiritual language, appealing to fairness and equality, but at its core was dissatisfaction with the role God had assigned them. What followed was not reform or faithful challenge, but rebellion, and the consequences were severe.

It is easy to read this story and assume we would never act like Korah. Yet his struggle is far closer to home than we might like to admit. Many of us know what it feels like to live under authority that limits us, overlooks us, or places us in seasons of obscurity. And often, rebellion does not begin with outward defiance, it begins quietly in the heart, where resentment, comparison, and entitlement take root.

I experienced this firsthand while serving on staff at a large church. I was given a prominent position of influence as a campus pastor. I was regularly on stage, seen by others, and affirmed for my leadership. When that season came to an end, I was moved into a role that was largely behind the scenes. What surprised me was not the change in responsibilities, but the grief I felt as my ego struggled to be okay with obscurity. I did not launch a rebellion against those in authority over me, but I did have to confront the rebellion forming within my own heart. What I learned was that the cost of obscurity is paid in the currency of ego; and that feels painful in the moment. However, as I learned to trust God with my situation, my ego became less 
important and the gift of God’s love for me overwhelmed how I felt about my circumstances. God humbled me, and it was hard, but He also revealed a depth of His love I could not have otherwise known, and that was amazing.

So how will you respond when God calls you to submit to the authorities He has placed in your life? Will you allow your ego and sense of entitlement to rise, demanding to be seen and heard, or will you allow God to do the quieter work of freeing you from the emptiness of status to reveal His great love for you?

That is where Korah’s story presses us toward the significance of salvation. When our identity is rooted in position, visibility, or applause, any loss of status feels like a threat. But salvation reminds us that our worth is not in our status, it is secured by God’s grace through Jesus. When we truly grasp what God has already given us in Christ, the hunger for status begins to loosen its grip. The emptiness of status gives way to the lasting significance of belonging to God.