09/03/2025
Jesus or Ego?
Lately, I’ve noticed how many loud voices in Christianity proclaim their lives for Jesus. They boast about their successes, announce their faith publicly, and punctuate it all with “giving God the glory.” On the surface, it can be amusing to watch, but on a deeper level I wonder: Is this truly what Jesus would do? Have we reduced His teachings to selfies, hashtags, and TikToks designed more for accolades than for authentic witness? Have we mistaken ego for devotion?
When I see these displays of “faith,” I can’t help but think they are more about seeking rewards here on earth than treasures in heaven. Maybe I’m old school, but as a teenager I loved the WWJD movement. That simple question—What Would Jesus Do?—was a grounding reminder. Jesus told us to love our neighbors as ourselves, to resist judgment, to show mercy, to heal, to feed, to serve. Would He hashtag His miracles? Would He take a selfie with the five thousand He fed? Would He scroll endlessly comparing His life to others? I believe He would condemn it all.
So the question becomes: are we actually living the teachings of Jesus, or are we feeding our egos? Have we turned Christianity into something we wear, like designer shoes, to show status? Have we built an internal caste system where wealth, influence, and public image determine who gets exalted? Meanwhile, the meek, humble, and faithful are left unseen. That doesn’t sound like WWJD—it sounds like ego.
Even pastors are not immune. Figures like Joel Osteen have built fame and fortune on prosperity theology—“Jesus doesn’t want you poor”—and amassed staggering personal wealth. And in our local communities, we see Christianity marketed on business cards, websites, and storefronts. Is this meant to signal honesty? To exclude? To sell? Either way, it feels more about branding than about living the gospel.
In truth, we’ve allowed ego—edging God out—to distort what it means to follow Christ. Ego is loud, demanding attention like a child’s tantrum. It shouts, “Look at me!” Ego will protect us with fear, whisper we might fail, call us names, and flood us with self-doubt. I’ve even named my ego—Mabel—so when she starts her cynical chatter, I can say, “Sit down, Mabel.”
But here’s the deeper truth: Jesus didn’t come to build platforms, accumulate wealth, or chase applause. He came to serve. He came to love. He came to remind us that God’s kingdom isn’t about ego at all—it’s about surrender.
So the next time you feel tempted to boast, compare, or judge, pause. Take a breath. Ask yourself honestly: Is this Jesus… or is this ego?
