“Lawrence! What like Lawrence of Arabia?” So bellows Gunnery Sergeant Hartman in the opening moments of Full Metal Jacket. But no, not this time, Gunny. It’s Trevor Lawrence, rather, who we’re discussing today. Football fans with any modicum of attention to the game will be familiar with his name and likely even more familiar with his inimitable college success at Clemson. Ohio State fans, such as myself, bore the full weight of Lawrence’s brilliance and resolve over a year ago in a bitterly fought semifinal that weighed heavy on their minds until a pandemic-themed rebuttal was issued in early 2021.

Lawrence was handed only the second loss of his entire college career that day, the only other one coming at the hands of a historically brilliant LSU team in January of 2020. For a truly mind-bending stat, consider the fact that Trevor Lawrence went from his sophomore year in high school to his sophomore year in college without losing a game. I’ll wait while you reposition your freshly dropped jaws. Beyond his exceptional talent, he is an unbelievably blessed man—two loving parents, a gorgeous wife, income security most will forever dream of, genetics drawn from the pools of the Greek gods, and for goodness sake even the man’s hair is perfect…all at the ripe young age of 21.

Given all this, it will surprise some to realize that sitting atop the body of this uniquely qualified and fortunate prodigy is an unquestionably humble and well-adjusted head. A few weeks ago, Sports Illustrated ran a piece on the soon to be No. 1 draft pick, detailing the remarkable calm with which Lawrence approaches the football world. He is not out to prove anything, the drive of a Super Bowl doesn’t consume his every waking thought, and there is no chip on his shoulder. From the piece we read words from Lawrence’s father: “My advice to him, even in high school: ‘God has given you a great gift. But you know, at some point when the game’s taken more from you than it’s giving to you, you need to step away.’ ” In the sports world, where grudges, chips on the shoulder, and obsession tend to reign supreme; Lawrence stands as an anomaly, a hard worker but content apart from his profession all the same.

With every reason in the world to be proud, Lawrence models a genuine humility — giving excellence in his work, the product of which he could appreciate just as much if another had done it. C.S. Lewis might have said about him: “If you do dislike him it will be because you feel a little envious of anyone who seems to enjoy life so easily. He will not be thinking about humility: he will not be thinking about himself at all.” Without a doubt, Lawrence’s Christian faith has had its due impact.

But to make a pass at teaching the lesson described in the title, we turn now to the Atlantic, where Alan Noble describes the ever present phenomenon many of us have recognized as the Western Christian martyr complex. With persecution and martyrdom being baked into the DNA of Christianity, many have struggled in the Western world with the sense that they are just not getting it good and hard enough on the suffering front. It reminds me of Mrs. Doyle from the show Father Ted, who says before going on vacation, “I want a good, miserable time to keep me on the straight and narrow…” And so, the good professor Noble pens these words:

The problem is that for most of U.S. history, Christians haven’t been persecuted—at least not in comparison to early believers or even what Christians in places like Iraq face today. So, the question for American Christians is what to make of the Bible’s warning that we will be persecuted. For many evangelicals, the lack of very public and dramatic persecution could be interpreted as a sign that they just aren’t faithful enough: If they were persecuted, they could be confident they are saved. This creates an incentive to interpret personal experiences and news events as signs of oppression, which are ostensibly validations of our commitment to Christ. The danger of this view is that believers can come to see victimhood as an essential part of their identity.

Of course, Noble is correct, for suffering alone cannot be a marker of our devotion to Christ. What then would we make of those outside the body of Christ who suffer terribly or of the inordinately blessed such as Trevor Lawrence who are within it? This view will not do justice to the great pictures of blessing being heaped upon the righteous in books such as Proverbs. The answer is necessarily more complex than this.

Finding the link among Trevor Lawrence, Alan Noble, and the martyr complex may seem a Sisyphean task, but I believe the link is more readily available than may be presumed. What the martyr complex misses, what Noble recognizes, and what Lawrence embodies is a contentment of place and person — an identity found not in emotion, work, or circumstance but in one’s own unique position in Christ. I must presume the humble person Lewis described is the one who has ascertained their unique role as a member of the body of Christ, living in relation to God as only they can, and, perhaps it should be noted, only as they should. The really sinister face of pride is that it takes prisoners in all directions; the national braggart is really no worse than the malcontent seeking approval and self-worth through a manufactured and inward-facing form of suffering.

What then is our response? The same as it has been, and the same as it shall be, “So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.” (1 Cor. 10:31). Trevor Lawrence will in all likelihood live a marvelously successful and prosperous life. At the same time, there will be thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of believers who face real persecution for the call of Christ. It speaks then to the glory of God that He has called both into his kingdom, each to receive their reward for faithful and genuine service. For the rest of us, that same call remains, to commit our ways to Him, to be discerning in our actions, and to faithfully follow Him where He leads us. And in doing so, may each of us hear in his own time,

“Well done, thou good and faithful servant.”