The Gospel for the Achievement Addict

By Ben Wenzl, Resonate Monmouth

I set my guitar down, walked off-stage, and clenched my fists. 

“That was terrible. Miserable. Distracting. Embarrassing,” I thought to myself. 

For the rest of the night, I had a difficult time looking people in the eyes. I simultaneously felt anger and humiliation. I was frustrated because our band didn’t meet my expectations. I was ashamed because I’d no longer be perceived as flawless.

You’d appropriately assume that we were in some “Battle of the Bands” competition, where our musical competence and performance would earn us some kind of gold medal or prize money. 

Sadly, I’m describing what happened during a Sunday Gathering in Monmouth, Oregon. What was originally meant to be a transcendent and worshipful environment for the gathered church became a performance for me. As we tore down our equipment and gear, I kept replaying the moment in the evening where our band had messed up in my head. As far as I was concerned, my image was tainted. 

As an immature and young worship leader in our church, at some point, I had begun to ultimately believe that I was loved for my performance - by other people, certainly, and in some moments, even by God himself. When I “led well,” I was confident, secure, and joyful. When there was a moment of stumbling and failure, all of that faded away. 

Similarly, one night, my wife Jess and I got into some conflict during the first year of our marriage. Neither of us remember the issue that actually started it, but at one point, I began selfishly attacking her rather than the problem. 

At the apex of our “disagreement,” the front door to our apartment swung open to reveal two college students who were in our village. Our village hung out on Tuesday nights. It was a Tuesday. I panicked. 

“This is terrible. Miserable. Distracting. Embarrassing.” 

In that very moment, all of the attempts that I’d previously made to project the idea that I was a perfect husband flew out the window. I immediately began trying to devise a plan to maintain my image. Was there anything I could do to show my village that I wasn’t nearly as bad as they had perceived in that moment? What could I achieve to prove something to them?

In some ways, achievement is woven into our world and culture like a language that’s unanimously spoken: 

In sports, an athlete's performance determines their success or failure. In school, a student’s achievement determines their grade mark. Socially, accomplishment is often what is projected and celebrated, whereas a lack of it rarely is (imagine that someone posts a selfie on Instagram with the caption, “I accomplished nothing today!”). Often, our humanity is reduced down to production and output. More than ever, we’re seeing the crippling effects of it - maybe in our own lives, and certainly in the lives of those around us. 

Addiction begins to happen when we buy into the lies that are promised but never delivered on. If I can just win one more championship, sell one more car, get 100 more followers, then it will be enough. It never is.

The question is, is there freedom? 

The Cure in the Pain 

“Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stood by himself and prayed: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.’” (Luke 18:10-12)

According to Jesus’ parable, we’re not exempt from our perspectives of achievement and success infiltrating our theology. What begins as small slivers of pride wedged in our hearts can turn into belief in false gospels, which rob us of joy while robbing God of the glory and worship that he’s due. At the core of the Pharisee’s prayer is this:

“God, I am loved by you because of what I achieve.” 

The Pharisee ultimately believes that God can love him, accept him, and delight in him because of his religious performance. 

You and I have likely not prayed the exact same words that the Pharisee uses here. But if we honestly examine our hearts, would we find that perhaps, we’ve said or thought the same types of things? 

“I’m glad I’m not like that village leader.”

“I’m glad I’m a better husband than that guy is.”

“At least I didn’t blow it like she did.”

“I’m thankful I engage in my spiritual disciplines better than my roommate does.” 

The Monday morning following that Sunday that I described above, I began trying to examine what was going on inside of me. Why was I so devastated by such a small thing? Why was I ashamed to the degree that I wanted to hide and avoid people? What would have been my response if I hadn’t led our band to make that silly mistake? 

As I thought through these questions and went to God, I realized that the healing process could actually begin now that my need for healing was revealed. The cure was revealed in the pain. 

Free to Be

“But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’

I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God. For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” - Luke 18:13-14

Jesus continues. The tax collector, the one who was painfully aware of his lack of religious achievement (and certainly wouldn’t have been popular in his community), goes home with good standing (justified) before God - something that the Pharisee doesn’t receive. 

The key to freedom from achievement addiction is not to give up on everything and quit. The key to freedom is to admit that you and I cannot and will not be loved by God because of our accomplishments and achievement. Rather, freedom truly ensues when we cling to Jesus and trust what he accomplished perfectly on our behalf - in his perfect life, atoning death, and victorious resurrection and ascension. 

The Christian is the only person on Earth who can confidently say that they’ve been accepted by God while remaining truly humble. Why? Because righteousness is imputed to the disciple of Jesus through repentance and faith, not works. The Christian, who’s been freed from the need to earn acceptance and love via achievement, can actually go on to achieve and accomplish much because they have already been loved in the gospel of Jesus. Because of a purchased identity, those who belong to Christ are empowered to take risks in faith and even face moments of failure. In this, there is true freedom. 

Radically Different 

It is in this freedom, that the power of the gospel is made evident and tangible to others.

In a world and culture that is driven by the pursuit of accomplishment and success, there’s something irresistible about a person who’s relinquished the need to be impressive. 

Jesus called his disciples the salt of the earth (Matt. 5:13) and the light of the world (Matt 5:14). In other words, Jesus said that his Church, purchased by him, would be a group of people that look radically different in the world they temporarily inhabit. Could it be that an aspect of this radical difference is in the visible fruit of being united with Christ and experiencing freedom in him?

Think about it: when you come across someone who truly feels no need to prove themselves, there’s an inherent desire to draw near to that person. Likewise, the person who’s obsessed with projecting a perfect image exhausts those around him or her. I recently heard a pastor ask the question, “How much energy do you exert trying to maintain your image?” It stuck with me, and I’ve been pondering how it not only says something about my own heart but about the way by which I present myself to others. 

Might it be that as we interact with our lost neighbors, co-workers, and classmates, they need less of our impressive Christianity and more of an impressive Christ? 

If we give our lives to maintaining an image of perfection or performance, we very well may alienate others from the good news of the gospel of Jesus, while wrecking our souls in the process.