My journalism professor Jim drilled this one axiom into our heads: You are not the subject of your story. But, but, what about Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein? We, the first generation of post-Watergate journalism majors, pointed to our heroes. Our professor didn’t budge. Doesn’t matter whose byline is on the story. You are not the subject of the story.

Another prof was fond of reminding us that today’s newspaper would line someone’s birdcage tomorrow. A polite reality check on lofty dreams of fame, and a reminder to not become so enamored with our writing, however clever it might be, that we forget our audience. (This professor also taught us that if someone says his name is John Smith, you ask him how to spell it.)

Although these professors taught when print was king, they would have transitioned gracefully into the digital age—after all, good writing is good writing. There is, however, one phenomenon that would have driven them batty: news reporters turned celebrities, whose names sell their shows, not the stories. I am sure that Jim would have voiced his opinion about news people who become the subjects of stories.

While the default is to blame and bemoan secular media for its bias, there is a truth here that goes beyond every side of the media spectrum. There’s plenty of blame to go around, because we all want to be the subject of the story, any story.

I share in the blame. A Bible study is my platform for my profound take on the passage; prayer request time turns into a game of can you top this; and thanksgivings recap all the good stuff that has happened in my life. I am not only the subject of my story, but also its author. Autographs anyone? Line forms to the right.

Imagine John the Baptist signing autographs in the Judean wilderness. “Who is this for again? Brood of vipers?” That autograph thing aside, John the Baptist had both platform—courtesy of the prophet Isaiah—and following, quite a large following according to Matthew 3:5, “Then Jerusalem and all Judea and all the region about the Jordan were going out to see him.” But he had no desire to be the subject of his story. It wasn’t about him; it was always about the one for whom he came to prepare the way. It was about the one whose sandals he wasn’t worthy to carry.

Even when pressured by the priests and Levites from Jerusalem, John knew his place in the storyline - he wasn’t the Christ or Elijah or the Prophet. No, he was simply the voice of one “crying out in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way of the Lord,’ as the prophet Isaiah said.” (John 1:23)

It’s popular for Christians to dissect the word “history” as “His story” to show that God is sovereign on a macro level in world events. I don’t have a problem with that. My problem is more on a micro level as in me micro-managing my life to ensure that I remain subject and author, instead trusting God’s goodness and ordering of my steps.

Once again, John the Baptist to the rescue. When his followers told him that all were going to Jesus, John didn’t start his own ministry or rebrand his message or insert himself in the story - he simply repeated the story line, he was not the Christ, but was sent before him. John the Baptist then gave the solution to my micro-managing: “He must increase, but I must decrease.” (John 3:30) John was confident of the story and its author.

My journalism profs were also strong advocates of rewrite, rewrite, rewrite. In life, we can't undo the past, but we can change point of view; we can move from first to third person, move something in the background to the foreground. I am going to follow their advice and edit myself out as subject of my life and like John the Baptist (on some minor micro-level), I am trusting the final version to the author and finisher of our faith.