Check out a highlight from last week’s podcast: Hanging by a thread? Hear this word from Mark 9
I can’t tell you how many times I went to church simply because it was what was expected of me.
The Performance Trap
I can’t tell you how many times I went to church simply because it was what was expected of me.
As a young father, I thought it was just one of the boxes I needed to check to give my kids a solid upbringing. We joined a local church with plenty of activities for children and young families. Before long, our calendar was packed with church events—and yet deep down, I knew something was off.
The sermons were seeker-friendly. The music was uplifting. I’d look around and see people genuinely enjoying themselves—singing loudly, even the occasional hand raised (hey, it was a Baptist church, so let’s be honest… that was practically revolutionary).
Me? I moved my mouth, but the sound barely came out. I told myself singing just wasn’t my spiritual gift. I convinced myself it was better to appreciate those who worshipped like that instead of actually engaging in anything that resembled real worship.
In my mind, my spiritual life had become just another process to manage. Show up weekly. Execute efficiently. Get it done. The more streamlined I could make Sunday mornings, the better father and husband I thought I was being.
I approached church the exact same way I approached a monthly expense report at work.
I knew precisely when we needed to leave the house to secure prime parking. I had mastered the most efficient route from Sunday School to the sanctuary to claim my preferred seating. I knew the least noticeable time to slip out for a restroom break. I even perfected the graceful early exit during the final hymn—because the countdown to kickoff was a legitimate concern.
If there were crowns in heaven for efficiently managing a Sunday morning routine, I was confident I had a whole row of them waiting for me.
And when someone asked, “How are you doing?” I knew the acceptable, scripted responses:
“Blessed and highly favored.”
“Better than I deserve.”
Or the safe and simple, “We’re doing good.”
Anything deeper felt risky. So I stayed in the safe zone. Keep it surface-level. Check the boxes. Get in and get out with minimal effort.
If I’m honest, it was all a performance. An effort to maintain perception. And from what I could tell, almost everyone else was playing the exact same game.
I rarely heard genuine vulnerability—outside of prayer requests for sickness or grieving families. As heavy as those moments were, they usually centered on praying for external circumstances. It was rare to hear someone admit an internal heart struggle. A battle with pride. Doubt. Lust. Anger. Fear. The uncomfortable stuff.
We act like we have to have our faith 100% figured out before we step through the doors, but Scripture paints a totally different picture. In Mark 9:24, a desperate father comes to Jesus and cries out, “I do believe; help my unbelief!” He didn’t put on a mask. He didn’t try to look holy or polished. He brought his messy, conflicted, struggling heart straight to Christ.
Instead, so many of us choose performance over raw honesty. Jesus confronted this exact mindset head-on with the Pharisees and scribes—men who were far more concerned with outward appearances and religious polish than cultivating a real, authentic relationship with God.
I’ve learned something since those box-checking days: the more you chase performance and perception, the more authenticity suffers. And feeling like you’re faking it spiritually is far more common than any of us are willing to admit.
My prayer moving forward is that we stop pretending. That we deal with uncomfortable truths sincerely. That we leave the fake, sanitized version of ourselves at the door.
It’s time to get real—once and for all.