You can learn a lot about a person by driving their car.
My wife and I used to work at Autobell together—she was my boss, and she still loves to tell you that. We drove other people’s cars constantly, and we saw all kinds of things. But of all the cars I’ve ever driven, one sticks out. It’s not fancy. It’s not even messy. It’s my mom’s car, and I remember it because of the door handle.
Open the pocket in the driver’s side door, and you’ll find—I promise you—a multitude of salt packets. The tiny ones you get at a drive-thru. Because no one on this planet loves salt like my mom.
I get it. Salt doesn’t just make food better. It makes it different. Take a bite of a hot, fresh french fry and realize it’s unsalted, and something in your soul breaks a little. It should be a crime.
Jesus told his followers they’re supposed to be salt and light in the world (Matthew 5:13–16). Peter picks up that same idea later, writing to churches scattered across the Roman Empire. He calls them “elect exiles”—people chosen by God to live in the world but be different from it (1 Peter 1:1).
That’s really the heartbeat of the whole letter:Iif you belong to Jesus, your life should look different.
And tucked into chapter 4, Peter shows us one of the places that difference gets trained into us.
Serving.
Here’s why that makes perfect sense. Jesus said it about himself first:
“Whoever would be great among you must be your servant… even as the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” (Mark 10:43–45)
In the Roman world, powerful people had servants. Important people didn’t wash floors, take out trash, or clean dirty feet. Servants did that.
But Jesus said his kingdom is different.
And then he proved it.
Hours before his arrest, Jesus tied a towel around his waist, knelt down, and washed the feet of the men he had discipled for three years.
And Peter, of all people, tried to stop him.
“Lord, do you wash my feet?”
He couldn’t make sense of it—the King of Glory taking the posture of a slave to clean the dirt from his disciples’ feet.
But Jesus knew exactly what he was doing.
He was teaching us something the church is still talking about two thousand years later:
Serving isn’t about how high you can rise. It’s about how far down you can reach.
That’s the gospel, actually.
God didn’t stay at a distance and watch us from afar. He came down to us in Jesus, who took the form of a servant and ultimately gave his life for us.
And if that love has changed you—if you’re following Jesus—then serving isn’t an optional decoration on top of your faith.
It’s part of how Jesus makes you like himself.
So let me ask it the way I asked our church this week: when it comes to serving, where are you?
Jesus didn’t wash feet so we would admire him.
He washed feet so we would imitate him.
We serve because serving makes us like Jesus.
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