My dad William “Bill” Burgess, as a long-time high school and college football coach, never cared much for accolades that were heaped upon rookie players. I was never fortunate enough to play for my dad in college, but I played for him for three years in high school. Dad ran an excellent program at Oxford High School in Oxford, Alabama. It was rare that a season did not include his team playing for a regional championship. Due to this success, his high school varsity teams almost always featured only junior and senior players. There was almost never a sophomore in the starting lineup, much less on the sideline.
I was a sophomore in 1980 when, surprisingly, four of my teammates and I were pulled up to the varsity team. This was highly irregular, but the coaching staff had decided that the five of us were needed to provide some depth. You cannot imagine five guys more pumped up.
Things went better for me and my friends than we could have imagined. When fall practices ended leading up to that season, not only did we stick with the team, but I was one of four sophomores in the starting lineup. The 1980 Oxford Yellow Jackets ended up having a good season. We would win the Region Championship and move on to the state playoffs, where we would lose to one of the top teams in our classification by one point on the game’s last play. Though we fell short of the ultimate goal, it was a very successful year.
Heading into the fall of 1981, we all arrived confident that we had a team with enough talent and depth to win it all. I remember how much different this fall practice felt compared to the previous year. I wasn’t nervous at all. I was very confident.
My dad firmly believed that accolades received too early in a player’s career impacted their development. Players who received too much praise too soon usually failed to live up to their potential. Many of them had a tendency to coast, living off the success of the past rather than buckling down and continuing to strive for excellence. My dad had seen too many young players begin to think they had arrived. They lost humility.
Proverbs 27:2 says, “Let another praise you, and not your own mouth; a stranger and not your own lips.” My dad was a man of many sayings. He had a special one for those who tooted their own horn, especially if they did so prematurely. Dad would listen to a person going on about their performance or about their achievements and say, “You know the thing about an empty wagon? It rattles really, really loudly.” Dad didn’t put it quite like Solomon in Proverbs, but the point is still the same.
In the Fall of 1981, I wasn’t quite rattling like an empty wagon, but I can look back and admit that I wasn’t overly concerned about my spot in the starting lineup. As far as I was concerned, it was a done deal.
It was August, and in Alabama, that means blazing hot weather. I played defensive tackle, and after the first play of the full pads practice, I heard the whistle blow. As the play stopped, I noticed my dad approaching the defense with a look that never meant anything good. It was apparent he wasn’t thrilled with something, and it didn’t take long for me to realize that something was me.
Dad’s voice required no bullhorn as it pierced Alabama’s thick, humid air and was likely heard by anyone within a mile of the practice field. That voice directed its full force at me and ordered me to stand on the sideline. I was replaced by another player, one my dad said actually wanted to earn a spot on the team and wasn’t as likely to loaf on the next play as I had just done.
As I sat there watching my replacement take the reps at the position, I had understood to be mine, my dad walked over and stood beside me. I will never forget what he said in a voice only I could hear: “Son, nobody cares what you did last year.” And there it was: the lesson. My dad was trying to tell me that last year’s accolades didn’t earn me a starting position on this year’s team. He taught me early on not to rest on your laurels. Was I going to live off the stellar sophomore season I had? Or would I show everyone what an even better junior year I would have? Last year’s performance isn’t good enough for this year. You are either getting better or getting worse. It’s impossible to be the same.
Men, what a profound truth this is for our spiritual lives. Too many men live on last year’s (or last decade’s) spiritual growth. We must ask ourselves, “Are we growing in our relationship with Christ, or are we fading?” What efforts are we making to ensure that we are growing and getting stronger in our faith?
There’s a very interesting story in Acts chapter 8. It’s the story of Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch. Philip, who would come to be known as Philip the Evangelist in church history, was one of the seven deacons chosen by the apostles in the early church to help distribute food to widows and serve the community (Acts 6:1-6). Philip was known for his strong faith and was described as full of the Holy Spirit. Philip quickly became known not only for his service but also for his powerful preaching and evangelism. In other words, he was the kind of guy you want on your team, a faithful jack of all spiritual trades.
In Acts 8, Philip is directed by an angel of the Lord to go south on the road from Jerusalem to Gaza. This was somewhat of an unexpected request because this was a desert road, more or less in the middle of nowhere. On the way, Philip meets an Ethiopian eunuch, an important official in charge of the treasury for the queen of the Ethiopians, who is returning from worshiping in Jerusalem. The Ethiopian is reading aloud from the book of Isaiah, which must have gotten Philip’s radar up. He had to sense that this was why the Spirit had led him there.
The Spirit prompted Philip to approach the chariot. Philip addressed the Ethiopian, at which point the eunuch admitted that he did not understand what he was reading. The Ethiopian invited Philip to sit with him, and Philip explained the passage, showing how it pointed to Jesus. He shared the good news of the gospel with him.
As they traveled, they encountered some water, and the Ethiopian asked to be baptized. Philip baptized him. If the story stopped there, it would be miraculous enough. But here’s where it gets wild. We’re told in Acts 8:39-40 that when the Ethiopian came up out of the water, “the Spirit of the Lord carried Philip away, and the eunuch saw him no more, and went on his way rejoicing.”
But Philip found himself at Azotus, and as he passed through, he “preached the gospel to all the towns until he came to Caesarea.” Every part of this story is absolutely amazing. Can you imagine how Philip must have felt? Being led by the Spirit, experiencing this fruitful, meaningful encounter, and then being whisked away by the Spirit to a different city entirely? It’s so much it’s hard to even fathom.
Men, let’s be honest with ourselves. If we were in Philip’s shoes, many of us would have lived off the eunuch story for years. We would have got so much mileage out of it. We would have told it repeatedly, wringing every bit of glory out of it. Many men would have had this experience and rested on the laurels of that great moment of being used by God.
Aren’t we glad Phillip didn’t do that? Scripture and church history tell us that Philip later settled in Caesarea, where he is described as having four daughters who also prophesied (Acts 21:8-9). His legacy is that of an obedient, Spirit-led evangelist who played a crucial role in spreading the gospel beyond Jewish communities, demonstrating God’s heart for all nations. It never crossed his mind to live on last season’s growth.
I encounter too many men who still rattle on about that one mission trip they took 20 years ago and haven’t done much for the Kingdom since. There’s nothing wrong with remembering our past spiritual victories. But if there aren’t fresh ones to celebrate, what are we doing? This isn’t the example we see from the early church leaders. When it came to their obedience and faithfulness, they were never satisfied that they had done enough.
They seized every opportunity to reach one more person for Christ or preach the gospel. They didn’t see themselves as having arrived. They were constantly pushing for more. It’s amazing that Jesus gave up His very life on the cross to purchase our lives. Yet, the response of many Christian men is to live off their past spiritual experiences. That’s not the life Jesus bought for us.
When did you last pour yourself out for the Kingdom of God? Was it this year? I hope so because nobody cares what you did last year.
