The Rails We Run On

Jeremiah 44:10 - “They have not humbled themselves even to this day, nor have they feared…”

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Have you ever been walking around a downtown area when, almost out of nowhere, a train came roaring through? Most people notice the train—the size of it, the sound of it, the power of the engine pulling tremendous weight forward with remarkable force. But beneath every moving train are two quiet rails doing the slow, unnoticed work of keeping the entire thing aligned.

And this morning, as I reflected on Jeremiah 44, I could not help but think that humility and the fear of the Lord function much the same way in the life of a believer.

The Lord’s rebuke toward His people is painfully revealing: “They have not humbled themselves…nor have they feared.” Those two realities stand side by side in the text, and I do not think that is accidental. In many ways, they are deeply connected. Humility leads us into the fear of the Lord because the more honestly we see ourselves, the more clearly we begin to see Him. And the fear of the Lord produces humility because it is impossible to behold the greatness of God while remaining inflated with self-importance.

Together, they become the tracks the spiritual life runs on.

Ministry, leadership, and even life itself have a way of rewarding what can be seen. Gifts get noticed. Talent gets platformed. Vision gets celebrated. Productivity gets praised. And none of those things are inherently bad. God certainly uses gifted people. But over time, there is a subtle danger in beginning to believe that the visible strength of the train is what ultimately sustains it.

It is not.

A ministry may appear powerful externally while quietly drifting internally. A leader may still be moving fast while slowly losing alignment beneath the surface. And often, the drift does not begin with some dramatic abandonment of faith. It begins much smaller than that. Humility slowly gives way to self-reliance. Reverence gradually gets replaced by familiarity. Prayer becomes less desperate. Dependence becomes less instinctive. Before long, a person can still speak about God publicly while no longer walking humbly before Him privately.

Jeremiah’s words feel especially sobering because they remind us that it is entirely possible to continue moving while no longer being properly grounded.

“They have not humbled themselves…nor have they feared.”

Not could not. Would not.

Somewhere along the way, they stopped giving attention to the tracks.

And if we are honest, there is something in all of us naturally resistant to both humility and the fear of the Lord. Humility confronts our desire to appear self-sufficient. The fear of the Lord confronts our tendency to make ourselves the functional center of life. Yet these two realities are not burdens meant to restrict us; they are gifts meant to steady us.

Humility reminds us we are not God. That sounds obvious until life becomes difficult, leadership becomes demanding, or influence begins expanding. Then suddenly we start carrying pressures we were never meant to carry alone. We begin acting as though everything ultimately depends upon us. Humility pulls us back into reality. It reminds us we are dependent creatures upheld by grace moment by moment.

And the fear of the Lord does something equally important. It restores wonder. It rescues us from casualness with holy things. It reminds us that the God we serve is not merely useful, not merely inspirational, not merely helpful for building meaningful ministries and lives. He is holy. Glorious. Weighty. The beginning of wisdom itself.

In truth, many spiritual collapses begin long before the visible breakdown. The outward failure is often simply the final reveal of inward neglect that has been happening quietly for years. Little compromises. Unchecked pride. Prayerlessness masked by productivity. Familiarity replacing reverence. A life slowly lifting itself off the rails without realizing it.

Which is why these hidden foundations matter so deeply.

Not because humility and reverence make us impressive, but because they keep us near God.

And perhaps that is one of the great challenges of spiritual formation: learning to give careful attention to the parts of our lives that no one else applauds. To remain soft before God. Teachable. Dependent. Reverent. To become the kind of person who still trembles at His Word years from now. The kind of person whose private life with God remains stronger than their public image before people.

Because eventually, every life reveals what has been supporting it underneath.

And the beautiful thing is this: the Lord does not merely command humility and reverence from us; He Himself produces them in us as we continue walking closely with Him. The nearer we draw to Christ, the more both realities deepen naturally. We begin seeing ourselves more honestly and Him more gloriously.

Which means the invitation before us is not merely to try harder, but to stay nearer.

Near enough to God that humility remains alive. Near enough to God that wonder does not fade. Near enough to God that the tracks remain steady beneath the life being built.

Because no matter how fast the train moves or how impressive it may appear to others, it will never travel far without the rails beneath it. And the same is true for us.

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At VITA, we believe sustainable ministry and whole-person formation are built upon the quiet foundations of humility, reverence, and dependence upon God. Because the lives that endure faithfully are rarely the ones most obsessed with prominence, but the ones most committed to remaining properly aligned beneath Him.