On a chessboard, the pawn stands small and unassuming, a mere foot soldier dwarfed by the towering presence of kings, queens, and knights. To the untrained eye, it’s the least impressive piece—just one of eight lined up as a shield for the real players. Yet, hidden in its humble march lies a mystery: the power to become the mightiest of all. What if this simple rule, buried in a game of strategy, whispers something profound about God’s ways? As someone who’s no chess master—just a curious soul struck by the pawn’s quiet potential—I’ve come to see it as more than a game piece. It’s a parable, etched in black and white, of humility, destiny, and divine promotion.
The Pawn’s Potential
In chess, the pawn is the underdog. It starts in a row, eight strong, tasked with inching forward one square at a time (or two on its first move, if it dares). It can’t leap like a knight or sweep across the board like a bishop. Its role often feels expendable—sacrificed early to protect the “important” pieces. But there’s a twist: if a pawn endures the perilous journey to the opponent’s back rank—the eighth rank for White, the first for Black—it earns a rare privilege called “promotion”. It can shed its lowly status and become any piece except the king, most often transforming into a queen, the game’s most powerful figure.
This isn’t a trick every pawn pulls off. With eight starting out and the board a battlefield, the game often ends before many—or any—reach that distant line. What’s more, only the pawn has this ability to transform. Knights stay knights, rooks stay rooks, but the pawn, the weakest of all, carries a hidden potential no other piece can claim. Its slow, fraught path mirrors the rise of an underdog, proving that even the least can become the greatest—if guided well.
A Biblical Mirror
That idea stopped me in my tracks one day, tugging at something deeper. Doesn’t this sound like the way God works? Jesus said, “The first shall be last, and the last shall be first” (Matthew 20:16), flipping the world’s pecking order upside down. The pawn fits that mold perfectly—starting as the “last,” the least of the pieces, yet holding the promise of becoming “first” through promotion. It’s a living echo of how God chooses the overlooked to fulfill His purposes. Look at Jesus Himself, the Son of Man, who “humbled Himself and became obedient to death—even death on a cross” (Philippians 2:8). He took the form of a servant, the least of all, yet God “exalted Him to the highest place and gave Him the name that is above every name” (Philippians 2:9), far above all authorities and powers. The pawn’s rise reflects that same astonishing arc—from humility to glory.
Think of David, the shepherd boy in 1 Samuel 16. When the prophet Samuel arrived to anoint a king, David’s father, Jesse, didn’t even bother calling him in from the fields. His older, stronger brothers seemed the obvious picks. Yet God saw David’s heart and lifted him from obscurity to royalty. Scripture says it plainly: “God chooses the base things of the world to confound the wise” (1 Corinthians 1:27). The pawn’s surprising rise mirrors that—lowly, underestimated, but destined for more. Or consider the kingdom of heaven, which Jesus likened to a mustard seed, ‘less than all the seeds that be in the earth,’ yet ‘it grows up and becomes greater than all herbs,’ with ‘great branches’ where ‘the fowls of the air may lodge under the shadow of it’ (Mark 4:31-32). What starts as the least becomes a towering, overshadowing presence—another pawn-like tale of humble beginnings leading to greatness.
Then there’s Jesus’ words: “Many are called, but few are chosen” (Matthew 22:14). In a chess game, all eight pawns have the chance to reach the back rank, but only a few—if any—make it. It depends on the player’s strategy and the game’s unfolding. In life, too, many are given opportunities or callings, but only some persevere or are destined to rise through God’s will. The pawn’s journey isn’t a free-for-all; it’s guided by a hand greater than its own.
Lessons in Humility
That’s where the chessboard gets even richer. Pawns teach us more than potential—they show us the power of humility. Often, a pawn is sacrificed, its loss clearing the way for a bigger move. It might block a threat or open a path for another pawn to advance. This whispers of the Christian theme of sacrifice—Jesus Himself being the ultimate example—where what looks like defeat paves the way for victory. A pawn’s “death” might be the key to another’s promotion, much like selfless acts in faith ripple beyond what we see.
The journey matters, too. Promotion isn’t instant—it’s a step-by-step trek across a contested board, dodging knights and bishops, enduring threats. That’s the Christian life in miniature: a process of growth, of sanctification, where perseverance through trials builds something greater. And while pawns start as a uniform line, each one’s path diverges—some fall, some press on—reflecting how believers, united as a “body” (1 Corinthians 12), walk unique callings shaped by God’s plan.
There’s an opponent, too, trying to block the pawn’s progress. In chess, it’s the other player; in faith, it’s the struggles or spiritual forces testing us. Yet, just as a skilled player can guide a pawn through chaos, God steers His “pawns” toward their destined place.
The Divine Player
Here’s the clincher: the pawn doesn’t promote itself. Its fate rests with the player, an external force deciding when and how it rises. That’s the heartbeat of this metaphor—promotion comes from the Lord, not from man. As Daniel 4:25 says, God “takes away kingdoms and gives them to whom He chooses.” The pawn’s transformation is a gift, bestowed after a faithful journey, not a prize seized by ambition.
This ties into a verse that hit me as the perfect capstone: “God resists the proud but gives grace to the humble” (James 4:6; 1 Peter 5:5). The pawn doesn’t strut like a knight or dominate like a queen—it moves quietly, often unnoticed. The proud pieces, with their flashy power, might symbolize those who lean on their own strength. But God “resists” pride, just as an opponent targets those threats. The pawn, humble and unassuming, receives grace—exalted to a queen “in due time” (1 Peter 5:6), not by its own doing, but under the mighty hand of the player.
That’s what got me excited about this idea. I’m no chess expert—just someone who saw a spark in the pawn’s story. It’s a reminder that God’s kingdom doesn’t run on human logic. He lifts the overlooked, the “base,” in ways we’d never expect, and it’s His hand, not ours, that moves us forward.
Your Move
So next time you see a chessboard, look at the pawns. They’re not just soldiers—they’re a lesson carved in wood or plastic: true greatness lies in humility, patience, and trust in God’s timing. Humble yourself under His mighty hand, and in due time, He may lift you up. Where in your life might He be moving you, step by step, toward promotion? What small, faithful move is He asking of you today?
The chessboard holds more wisdom than we might think—a quiet invitation to live like the pawn, trusting the Divine Player to turn the least into the greatest.
After reading The Pawns Promotion…, I was astonished and captivated by the message. Indeed, the chessboard and its players hold more wisdom than one might imagine. The article is rich with powerful images capturing spiritual truths in such a beautiful and remarkable way. The flow was that of a seamstress, weaving the “golden threads of truth” into a beautiful tapestry for all to look upon with admiration. Every paragraph held golden nuggets of truth, one of which centered on the pawn’s humble place on the chessboard of grace. You wrote, “The pawn doesn’t strut like a knight or dominate like a queen, it moves quietly, often unnoticed.” Wow, this is such a great truth, a superb comparison to the Lord Jesus Christ, and a reminder for us to walk as Jesus walked (1 John 2:6).
Near the beginning of the article you wrote, “Doesn’t this sound like the way God works? Jesus said, ‘The first shall be last, and the last shall be first’ (Matthew 20:16), flipping the world’s pecking order upside down.” This is so true, reminding me of a true story that folds into your message. I hope you do not mind if I share.
The Story
A family lived in a shack on a small parcel of land. On that land was a garden. At night, one of the family members would go out to the garden and dig up a package. Then after bringing the item back into the house, the family would slowly unwrap it. You would think it was a treasure of some type. It was. Inside was a small pocket Bible with tattered and soiled pages.
Compared to the average Christian family in America, this family was very poor having nothing but a God who filled their hearts with hope and joy, just from reading a few pages in their Bible. Why would they hide their Bible? They hid the Bible outside (after dark) because they never knew when government officials would search the home. This place where you dare not mutter a Christian word is North Korea, an evil country, a wicked land, one of the worst for abusing the poorest Christians on earth. And yet these, the poorest among nations, are the richest and mightiest of all. “In what way” would these pawns gain the favor of the Divine Player?
End of Story
“In what way?” Imagine the American Christian. They open their Bibles without fear, live in luxury homes, attend mega churches. They have no worries. Life is perfect on the chessboard of grace. But the thoughts and ways of the Divine Player are unlike our thoughts and ways (Isaiah 55:8). Rather than looking upon well-to-do pawns with no worries, He scans the world over to find those having glorified Him in their faithful suffering.
The Apostle Paul wrote about suffering believers, like the pawns mentioned above that are daily “… hard pressed on every side, yet not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed…” (2 Corinthians 4:8-9).
These lowly pawns, in my opinion, do more to win God’s favor than any other. They glorify the Divine Player by enduring “where positioned” on the chessboard of grace, always believing, trusting, never losing hope. Truly, the first shall be last and the last shall be first. We may well imagine the Divine Player will “flip the script’ and “promote these faithful pawns” to “first-in-line,” well ahead of many others.
In closing, all glory goes to God alone, the Divine Player. He has graciously allowed you, me, and so many others (on the chessboard of grace) to move about as lowly pawns to do our part, if only to write articles that glorify Him. Again, thank you!
Blessings!
Jim
Note: Portions of the above story are from one of my articles published online.
Dear Jim,
Thank you for your heartfelt and inspiring response to “The Pawn’s Promotion”. Your kind words about the article’s imagery and message truly bless me, and I’m humbled that it resonated so deeply with you. Your description of the “golden threads of truth” woven into a tapestry is a beautiful reflection of what I hoped to convey, and I’m grateful for your encouragement.
Your story about the North Korean family hiding their tattered Bible moved me profoundly. It’s a powerful testament to the pawn’s humble yet steadfast faith on the chessboard of grace, glorifying the Divine Player through unwavering trust in the face of persecution. Your reference to 2 Corinthians 4:8-9 and the reminder that “the first shall be last, and the last shall be first” (Matthew 20:16) beautifully ties their story to the article’s theme of God’s upside-down kingdom. It challenges me to reflect on the privilege of freely opening my Bible and the call to walk humbly as Jesus did (1 John 2:6).
I’m honored that you shared such a poignant story, and I agree—these faithful pawns, enduring where positioned, shine brightly in God’s eyes. Thank you for reminding us that our role, whether writing articles or living quietly, is to glorify Him alone. May we continue to move as lowly pawns, trusting the Divine Player’s perfect plan.
Blessings to you, Jim, and thank you again for your uplifting words!
In Christ
I feel this article perfectly mirrors the ‘Soul-Making Theodicy’ of John Hick. Thank you for writing it Thomas. It’s the realization that pawns are not throwaway pieces; they are the only ones with the potential for promotion. As Hick argued, dominion wasn’t given to the angels—who were granted instant perfection—but to the pawns who must fight for it.
Leo Tolstoy spoke of the tension between our animal bodies and our soul’s logic. We were given dominion over the animal kingdom, but that mandate begins with taking dominion over the ‘animal nature’ within ourselves. Yet, we don’t just conquer the self; we must nourish the soul. Mastering the instinct is the ‘learned knowledge’ that cannot be gifted; it must be experienced. This is why we aren’t given ‘solid food’ at the start (1 Corinthians 3:2); we have to develop the capacity through ‘constant use’ (Hebrews 5:14). Even the Son ‘learned obedience’ through what he suffered in the flesh (Hebrews 5:8).
As Lewis famously put it, faith is the art of holding onto your reason when your moods (or animal instincts) try to overrule it. Pawns, when faced with enemies, cannot avoid them and are not strong enough to take them head-on but must sit with them (Psalm 23:5). Faith isn’t ‘knowing’ the truth; it is the trust to stay the path when you feel alone.
Through distance, we learn faith.
Through weakness, we learn the impact of strength.
Through pain, we know empathy.
Through death, we value life.
As Hick and Lewis both suggested, a spirit granted instant perfection would be hollow—in His image, but not His likeness.
We are being forged like clay in the mud of the board to better understand why the Divine Player makes His choices (Jeremiah 18:6 / Isaiah 64:8). While it may feel like a miry bog (Psalm 40:2), it is the only way to reach the final rank. The demons we face aren’t watered down (contested board). When we reach that final rank, we aren’t just ‘saved’—we have mastered the animal, nourished the soul into maturity, and are finally fit to rule.
Peter,
Thank you for this—truly. You didn’t just read the piece; you stepped onto the board with me and played a few moves ahead. That kind of engagement is rare and fuel to the fire.
You’re dead right: this is Hick’s soul-making theodicy wearing chess pieces instead of Sunday clothes. Pawns aren’t cannon fodder; they’re the only ones who can become queens. Angels got the gift-wrapped perfection, but we get the bloody, bruising promotion run. And yes, that run is the point.
I love how you tie Tolstoy’s animal/soul tension to the dominion mandate. We’re handed the leash to the entire created order, but the first beast we have to collar is the one snarling inside our own ribcage. No shortcuts. No angelic bypass. This is one of my favorites you’ve quoted. The Son Himself got no hall pass—He learned obedience through the furnace of flesh, the Captain of our salvation made perfect through what He suffered (Heb 2:10; 5:8). If the King had to walk the full rank as a pawn, who are we to complain about blocked files and hanging pieces?
Your line about faith—“the trust to stay the path when you feel alone”—cuts deeper than most sermons I’ve heard. The pawn can’t leap the enemy, can’t slide past, can’t castle out of trouble. It has to sit there, one square at a time, staring down the piece that wants to remove it from the board. Psalm 23 in chess terms: “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.” The table is the very next square. The feast is the advance. The enemies are still there, teeth bared, but the pawn keeps moving because the Player sees the queening square we can’t.
And that final point: instant perfection would leave us in His image but never in His likeness. A factory-stamped angel might reflect the light, but only a pawn who’s crawled through the mud knows why the light is worth reflecting. We’re not just being saved from the board—we’re being forged into players who can one day sit at the table and understand the moves.
So yes, the board is contested. The demons aren’t watered down. The path is narrow, slow, and often lonely. But every pawn that refuses to resign, every soul that keeps advancing when reason and mood both scream “trade me off,” is proving Hick right: the long, ugly game is the only one that produces queens.
Grateful for you, brother. Keep fighting your rank—I’ll keep fighting mine.
Onward,
Thomas