We’ve all heard the phrase—“The greatest among us are our servants.” But let’s be honest: for many, especially in American and Caribbean history, that word servant carries weight far beyond its biblical meaning. Too often, it was just a dressed-up way to say slave, maid, or indentured laborer—a backhanded label meant to enforce quiet submission under the guise of respectability.
And let me say this plainly:
As a Black man in America, I’ve never stomached the glorification of slave movies. I’ve often felt they’re degrading, micro-suppressing, and quietly traumatic—reminding us not just of what we’ve endured, but subtly reinforcing a ceiling on how we’re perceived. There’s a way society celebrates Black suffering while failing to honor Black strength truly.
So when I hear the word servant, I hear the tension. I hear the ache. I hear the insult disguised as humility.
But still—beneath that painful veneer lies something holy.
Something dignified.
Something powerful.
That word—servant—called to me. It made me want to explore its history, its baggage, and its mystery. Because while being a servant is sometimes a choice, it’s also often a calling—a role born not from weakness but from deep, unwavering love.
When Service Becomes a Full-Time Job
Think about your mother. Or your father. Imagine loving someone so deeply that caring for them becomes your full-time role—not because you’re paid, but because your heart won’t let you do otherwise.
In relationships, aging strips us of our independence. When that happens, who shows up? Who does the bathing, the feeding, the heavy lifting—literally and emotionally? The answer is: servants. The kind you don’t always see. The kind who give because they choose to.
Let’s talk about caregiving for a second. It’s often overlooked, looked down on, or entirely invisible. But let’s be real: every single one of us will need some form of care in our lives. And yet we treat it like a luxury.
An average assisted living facility in this country costs between $6,000 and $8,000 per month—more than the average American makes in a month. Who can sustain that? For how long? And what happens when the money runs out?
Most people think they’ll retire comfortably at some magical age of “convenience.” But the reality? Care is expensive. And dignity doesn’t come cheap.
Why Jesus Washed Feet
Now let’s bring it back to Scripture. Jesus said, “The greatest among you shall be your servant.”
In a society that valued status—where being “someone” meant the difference between royalty and imprisonment—Jesus chose to stoop low. He knelt and washed the feet of His disciples, a job reserved for the lowest servant in the house. Why?
Because he understood something most of us still don’t:
Power doesn’t scream. It kneels.
Jesus had every right to command worship. He could feed thousands with a loaf of bread. And yet—He served. He humbled Himself. Not because He lacked power, but because true power is earned through humility, not demanded through dominance.
Who’s Really Holding the World Together?
The greatest leaders aren’t always the ones with medals and microphones.
They’re often the ones with no audience at all.
They’re:
• The single mother quietly working two jobs while caring for a disabled child.
• The husband fulfilling his wife’s dying wish to pass at home, not in a sterile facility.
• The underpaid teacher choosing between lunch and dinner while shaping the future.
• The exhausted social worker trying to rescue vulnerable elders from hoarded apartments with a budget that barely covers a dumpster.
• The overlooked caretaker battling depression in silence, still showing up.
• The quiet neighbor who brings groceries to an elder with no family.
• The veteran who returned—and the one who didn’t.
Because holding the world together doesn’t always wear a uniform.
Sometimes it wears scrubs. Or rubber gloves. Or tired eyes.
And sometimes… it doesn’t return home at all.
I’ve seen it up close.
I’ve lived it.
These people may not get plaques or press conferences—but they represent humanity in its rawest, most sacred form.
The Hidden Abuse of Those Who Serve
Let’s dig a little deeper into the world of caretakers—because not all wounds are physical. In our society, we still have a long way to go in how we value contribution.
We idolize celebrities.
But we ignore cleaners.
We praise entrepreneurs.
But overlook caregivers, landscapers, farmers, aides.
We reward those in the spotlight—while those holding the entire system together are treated like they’re disposable.
Before I founded Life Cycle, I was a well-dressed Business Development Manager—trained, respected, and wearing crisp Brooks Brothers suits. I was used to direct eye contact and firm handshakes. Full conversations.
But when I started Life Cycle—and began showing up in homes to help clean, care, and coordinate—everything shifted. Instantly.
People went from expecting thoughtful conversation…
to assume I could barely speak English.
The tone changed.
The body language changed.
The dismissiveness—the entitlement—was loud.
It gave me a firsthand glimpse of what so many of our workers endure every day: being treated like they don’t matter, like their labor is expected but their voice is irrelevant.
That experience changed me.
It made me vow to train and hire only the best—and to protect them at all costs. To not just pay them fairly, but to guard their dignity. To shield them from the passive abuse so common in homes where caretakers are spoken down to or ignored.
And do you know what happened?
I stopped hiring people who were “just looking for a job.”
And I started building a team of people who were ready to devote their lives to a mission.
Because when you protect your people, they protect your vision.
And the real difference between a task and a calling… is how you’re treated while you do it.
The Last Shall Be First
There’s something poetic—almost divine—about the irony of life.
Picture the wealthy tycoon. Once feared, revered, sitting at the top of his empire. Multiple marriages behind him, estranged from his children, surrounded by assistants, lawyers, and admirers—until none of them are there anymore.
Now, he lies helpless in a hospital bed.
At the mercy of a $10-an-hour home health aide.
A person he wouldn’t have made eye contact with in his prime.
A person he once saw as invisible.
He who once barked orders now must humbly ask for water.
He who once held court is now praying someone shows up on time to help him eat, bathe, or even speak to him with dignity.
His prestige doesn’t matter. His money doesn’t command love.
Because in the end, power fades—and only mercy remains.
And that aide, the one he wouldn’t have held a door for?
She’s the one holding his life together now.
That’s why the last will be first, and the first will be last.
And why the same people you pass on your way up… you’ll meet again on your way down.
I’ll never forget something Matt Paxton said to me during one of my very first shoots on the set of Hoarders. We were filming in brutal heat. The production assistants—PAs—were hustling in the background: running water bottles, adjusting lights, hauling equipment, keeping the cast shaded under umbrellas. It was nonstop.
Matt leaned over to me, half-joking and half-dead serious, and said:
“Whatever you do—treat those guys like royalty.
Because in this business? Those same PAs?
They’re the future producers. The future executives.
The Sony studio heads who’ll be cutting your checks one day.”
We laughed—but I never forgot it.
Humility isn’t just good character—it’s survival.
Because titles change. Power shifts.
And no matter how high you rise, you’re never above respect.
Why I Wear the Title ‘Servant’ Proudly
When all the applause fades—when the jobs, the houses, and the social media posts disappear—what’s left?
For me?
What remains is a caring, loving, loyal servant.
That’s who I am at my core.
Not because I had to be.
Not because I was forced to be.
Not because I made poor choices.
But because it was my calling—
And I proudly answered the call.
Service is not a curse. It’s a crown. And I wear it with pride.
