When Faith Became a Competition
Have you ever thought about what that happens when religion becomes more performance than worship. What begins as a way to love God turns into a way to prove ourselves. The same prayers that once lifted our hearts to heaven start to sound like speeches meant to impress people. The same good works that used to spring from gratitude begin to feel like points on a scoreboard.
That’s what happened to Israel in Jesus’ day. The Pharisees didn’t start out as villains. They were serious about obedience. They wanted to protect God’s Law and keep the people faithful. But over time, their devotion drifted into competition. The very signs that were supposed to point to God’s grace, prayer, fasting, and giving became badges of spiritual superiority.
Jesus saw it clearly. He said,
“Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to be seen of them: otherwise ye have no reward of your Father which is in heaven.”
Then He talked about those who fasted and disfigured their faces so people would know they were suffering for God. They weren’t really fasting; they were performing.
Performance religion always forgets the one truth that changes everything: we’re already accepted. The lie of religion is that God is still waiting to be impressed. The truth of the gospel is that God has already come near. In Jesus, He joined Himself to us, called us His beloved, and gave us His righteousness as a gift. Performance is the exhausting attempt to climb a mountain we’re already standing on.
And when we start performing, we start comparing. We measure our devotion against someone else’s. We judge our worth by what others see. One day we feel proud, the next day ashamed. Either way, the focus is still on us, not on the grace that set us free. But grace doesn’t compete. Grace doesn’t compare. Grace looks at the cross and whispers, “It’s finished.”
Jesus said,
“When thou prayest, enter into thy closet.”
Not because He didn’t want us to pray publicly, but because He wanted our hearts to be private places of trust, not performance stages. He wanted our worship to be love, not leverage.
The Pharisees had turned beautiful signs of devotion into measuring sticks. They were proud of their long prayers, their perfect tithes, their careful fasting. But Jesus said something that must have stunned them:
“Publicans and harlots go into the kingdom of God before you.”
Why? Because they weren’t performing. They had nothing to prove and nowhere to hide. They came empty, and grace always fills the empty.
When faith becomes a competition, we stop seeing people as fellow travelers and start seeing them as threats to our standing. We stop rejoicing when others are blessed and start resenting it. We stop loving and start grading.
You can see it even now. Someone shares a victory, and another believer feels smaller. Someone talks about their devotion, and someone else quietly feels like a failure. The whole thing becomes heavy. That’s the cruelty of performance; it builds ladders no one can climb.
But Jesus came to tear down the ladders. He came to show us that the Father’s pleasure isn’t earned, it’s given. God isn’t waiting for you to perform better so He can love you more. He already loves you fully, deeply, eternally. You can’t add to that love, and you can’t subtract from it.
The Christian life isn’t about trying to become what you’re not; it’s about discovering who you already are in Christ. That’s the freedom the Pharisees never knew. They were working to become what Jesus freely gave. And many of us still try to do the same.
The older I get, the more I realize how much energy I’ve wasted trying to prove what grace already settled. The cross already declared, “You are loved. You are forgiven. You belong.”
When that truth sinks in, performance stops. Comparison ends. You can breathe again. You can pray without pretending, serve without striving, and love without fear. Grace invites you to rest not perform on a stage to gain the approval of your friends.
That’s where real faith lives. Not in performance, but in peace. Not in climbing higher, but in resting deeper in the love that’s already ours in Christ.