The messenger is not the message
There is a scene in Prison Break that has stayed with me.
John Abruzzi is surrounded by the police. He has nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and no negotiation left to make. They tell him to kneel.
And he refuses.
His response is simple:
“I only kneel to God.”
It is a line about pride in the show.
But outside the show, I think there is another lesson hidden inside it.
Who do we kneel to?
Not literally.
Who do we place so high in our minds that we begin treating them like they cannot be wrong?
Who do we admire so much that their mistakes become difficult for us to accept?
Who do we build our identity around?
Because recently, a friend of mine said something that made me think about this.
He told me:
“I want to be like you, my bro.”
And honestly, it sounds nice.
There is something flattering about knowing somebody sees something in you worth becoming.
I have said similar things to people myself, sometimes seriously and sometimes as a joke.
But this time, I didn’t want to laugh.
I wanted to correct him.
Don’t be like me.
Not because I don’t appreciate the compliment.
But because I know myself.
I know the parts of me people see.
And I know the parts they don’t.
I have flaws.
I have made mistakes.
I have things I am still learning.
I have battles that nobody knows about.
I have moments where I don’t even live up to the person I think I should be or the person I can be.
And that’s the problem with putting human beings on pedestals.
You only see the person from the ground.
You don’t see everything holding the pedestal together.
There are people I look up to.
Of course there are.
There are people whose character inspires me, whose discipline challenges me, whose faith encourages me, whose achievements make me think, I want to become better too.
But I have learnt that there is a difference between admiring someone and making them your standard for perfection.
The first can inspire you.
The second can destroy you.
Because eventually, the human being will disappoint you.
It is only a matter of time.
You could look up to a pastor for years.
Then one day, you hear that he committed adultery.
And suddenly, your entire faith begins to shake.
You could admire a father who seemed like the perfect man.
Then you discover something he hid for years.
You could idolise a celebrity, athlete, mentor, friend—even someone you personally know.
Then they make a decision that completely contradicts everything you thought they stood for.
And suddenly you’re asking:
“How could they do this?”
But perhaps the better question is:
“Why did I expect them not to?”
They are human.
And humans are complicated.
This doesn’t mean we should stop respecting people.
It doesn’t mean mentors are useless.
It doesn’t mean pastors shouldn’t be held accountable.
It doesn’t mean parents shouldn’t be honoured.
It doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have people whose lives inspire us.
It simply means we should remember the difference between a role model and a god.
A role model can show you a direction.
God should be the destination.
Because every human being eventually reaches a point where they cannot be the example anymore.
Every human being has a limit.
Every human being has a secret battle.
Every human being has a version of themselves that the world doesn’t see.
Even the people who look like they have everything figured out are still figuring something out.
That is why I don’t want anybody’s faith to depend entirely on another human being.
If your Christianity exists because of your favourite pastor, what happens when the pastor falls?
If your motivation exists because of your favourite celebrity, what happens when they disappoint you?
If your identity exists because of your favourite person, what happens when that person changes?
If your entire definition of goodness is attached to a human being, what happens when you discover their humanity?
And perhaps that’s why Jesus is different.
Not because He gives us another person to put on a pedestal.
But because He gives us the standard that humanity keeps failing to reach.
The Bible itself is full of imperfect people.
David was a king, a worshipper, a warrior—and deeply flawed.
Peter loved Jesus and still denied Him.
Moses was chosen by God and still struggled with anger.
Elijah was a prophet and still experienced moments of fear and exhaustion.
The Bible doesn’t hide the humanity of the people God used.
And perhaps that’s the point.
God has never needed perfect people to accomplish His purposes.
So why do we keep expecting perfection from one another?
I think my friend should still look up to people.
Just not only to people.
Look at someone’s discipline and learn from it.
Look at someone’s faith and let it challenge yours.
Look at someone’s character and ask what you can adopt.
Look at someone’s success and let it remind you of what is possible.
But don’t forget that you’re looking at a human being.
Take the lesson.
Don’t worship the teacher.
Because one day, the teacher will make a mistake.
And when that happens, you shouldn’t lose your faith.
You should simply remember that the person you admired was never God.
So, to my friend who says,
“I want to be like you, my bro.”
I appreciate it more than you probably realise.
But please don’t.
Be better than me.
Learn from my good qualities.
Avoid my mistakes.
Take whatever wisdom you find in me.
But don’t build your life around becoming me.
Because I am still becoming.
I am still learning.
I am still failing.
I am still growing.
And there are parts of my story that you haven’t seen.
There are things I am still asking God to change in me.
So don’t make me your standard.
Look higher.
Look to the One who doesn’t have the limitations I have.
The One whose character doesn’t collapse when human beings disappoint you.
The One who remains God when everyone else proves that they are human.
There are many people worth looking up to.
But there is only One worth ultimately looking toward.
And perhaps that’s the real lesson behind Abruzzi’s words.
We can respect men.
We can admire men.
We can learn from men.
We can even become inspired by men.
But there should always be a point where our eyes move beyond the man standing in front of us.
Because no matter how great the man is, he is still just a man.
And I don’t want to be the person somebody kneels to.
I want to be the person who points them toward the One worth kneeling to.
