Monday Read: The Idol of Success

James and John approached Jesus with an audacious request: "Let one of us sit at your right and the other at your left in your glory" (Mark 10:37). They'd watched Jesus heal the sick, cast out demons, and teach with unmatched authority. They knew something big was coming and they wanted the best seats when it happened. Jesus's response cut through their ambition: "You don't know what you are asking. Can you drink the cup I drink?" (Mark 10:38). They thought success meant throne-sitting; Jesus knew it meant cross-bearing.

Success has become American Christianity's functional god. We measure churches by attendance numbers, pastors by book sales, ministries by social media reach. We celebrate Christian celebrities, compete for platform, and treat influence as evidence of God's favor. We've baptized worldly success metrics, slapped Jesus's name on them, and called it kingdom building. But Jesus measured success by faithfulness, not numbers; by obedience, not outcomes; by character, not crowds.

Paul could have claimed remarkable success—churches planted across the Roman Empire, thousands converted, miracles performed, persecution endured. Instead, he described himself as "the scum of the earth, the garbage of the world" (1 Corinthians 4:13). He measured success not by ministry results but by faithful stewardship: "It is required that those who have been given a trust must prove faithful" (1 Corinthians 4:2). Faithfulness was his metric, not effectiveness.

Jesus's own ministry would have been considered a failure by modern standards. He never traveled more than a hundred miles from home, never wrote a book, never built an organization. His movement consisted of twelve ordinary men, one of whom betrayed him. He was executed as a criminal at age thirty-three, dying with only a handful of followers who mostly abandoned him. Yet this "failed" ministry transformed human history and established God's eternal kingdom.

The idol of success is particularly dangerous because it can coexist with genuine ministry. You can preach true sermons while pursuing platform. You can lead people to Christ while seeking personal glory. You can plant churches while building your brand. Success-worship doesn't reject ministry—it hijacks it, redirecting glory from God to self, transforming service into self-promotion.

When ministry success becomes your identity, ministry failure becomes your crisis. If your worth is tied to attendance numbers, declining membership devastates you. If your value comes from speaking invitations, rejection crushes you. If your identity is wrapped up in being recognized, anonymity terrifies you. But if your identity rests in being God's beloved child, you're free to serve faithfully whether anyone notices or not.

What does success look like in your life? How do you measure whether you're accomplishing what matters? When you imagine your funeral, are you more concerned with what people will say or what God will say? The goal isn't failure—it's faithfulness measured by eternal rather than temporal standards.