Ambition of Living Quietly
Theatre kids are not exactly known for being quiet. We work in an industry built on applause, recognition, casting notices, and visible success… the world’s ambition is loud and relentless.
“And in fact, you do love all of God’s family throughout Macedonia. Yet we urge you, brothers and sisters, to do so more and more, and to make it your ambition to lead a quiet life: You should mind your own business and work with your hands, just as we told you, so that your daily life may win the respect of outsiders and so that you will not be dependent on anybody.”
I Thessalonians 4:10-12
When Scripture urges us to “live a quiet life,” it can sound almost incompatible with a life around the stage. But Paul’s words don’t tell us to get rid of ambition, rather reframing how our ambition looks: loving others, valuing work, being respected. So what does Christian ambition look like for a theatre artist?
It begins with love. Interestingly, it centers this love on other believers. Paul praises the Thessalonians for loving believers throughout Macedonia, then challenges them to love even more. Perhaps obvious we should love the unbelieving people we work with… but Paul’s teaching starts with those spiritually closest to us, other believers in our area, the people we can personally serve and fellowship with.
As artists, we can naturally separate ourselves from other Christians, letting the theatre-label override our identity in the Church. We assume that we’ll never fit in, so why try? The more divided the Church becomes politically and culturally, the more we feel validated in loving only those who check our boxes.
Our self-importance becomes laughable when we think of the kinds of people in the early church the epistles were addressed to: rich, poor, ethnic and political divisions, men and women worshiping together. Christian love can’t be limited to only the people who “get it,” but across denominations, aesthetics, and maturity.
Love “at home” will spill over into our communities and workplaces. Celebrating each others’ wins, refusing to compete relationally, and choosing generosity in rooms where comparison is the default. In an industry fueled by scarcity, love becomes a radical witness.
“Live a quiet life” doesn’t mean don’t pursue excellence or don’t want meaningful work. In fact, the oppose. It means refusing to let your identity be ruled by visibility. For an artist, this looks like not obsessing over who got cast instead of you, or measuring your worth by applause or roles. It even means removing yourself from drama, gossip, or competitive traps.
Paul pairs quietness with something very practical, working with your hands. For theatre people, that’s rehearsal, training, practice. Showing up prepared. Doing the unglamorous work when no one is watching. Learning your craft faithfully regardless of whether you’re in a lead role, ensemble, or the audience. This kind of ambition is steady and faithful.
Paul finishes with a surprising result: “people who are not believers will respect the way you live.” Not because you said the right thing, or performed the best under pressure, but because you were dependable. In theatre, this might look like taking responsibility for your preparation, not expecting others to carry you emotionally or professionally. If God needed the perfect, unfaltering, always-likable celebrity to make friends and influence people on His behalf, He wouldn’t be asking any of us.
Independence isn’t isolation or perfection, it’s stewardship of whatever God has given you and working to not place an undue burden of your calling, finances, or validation on other people. That kind of maturity earns trust in rehearsal rooms and credibility beyond them.
So work we on building skills that allow us to contribute, not just consume. In turn, that will earn respect, and ultimately gives God the glory. Like the Thessalonians, love deeply, love more; stay focused on your own work; and let your character speak louder than self-promotion.
