Rodney Reeves writes in his Story of God Bible Commentary on Matthew, “False piety is a huge problem today. The reason I know that’s the case is because fame is an unquestioned social good in our culture—even in the ‘Christian’ world.” I wholeheartedly agree. Fame is celebrated as a platform that can be used for good, a way to win back culture, or even as a sign of God’s favor. Reeves rightly laments that “even though Jesus taught that social approval subverts genuine piety, we act like fame and religious devotion are fraternal twins of Christian success.”

I began reading Rodney Reeves’ Story of God Bible Commentary on Matthew—edited by Tremper Longman III and Scot McKnight—as part of my doctoral studies, particularly drawn to their reflections on the Lord’s Prayer. While I appreciated the academic and pastoral insights throughout, it was in the “Live the Story” section that Reeves offers a prophetic and practical challenge I couldn’t ignore—and felt compelled to pass on.

Reeves is not wrong. Just the other day, I saw someone online arguing that fame is the fruit of a life lived well—rather than seeing it as the threat it is to the quiet, sacrificial life of devotion modeled by Jesus. Reeves hammers the point home: “A powerful public image is indispensable to creating a platform of influence built on adoration.” And as I scroll through my own social feeds, I can’t deny it—I see good content, but much of it feels like branding. I see church stages modeled after Hollywood sets, pastors preaching for likes and follows rather than faithfulness.

Something has gone terribly wrong.

A Circus of Righteousness?

Even when we claim to resist these temptations, our actions betray us. As Reeves writes, “Whether we are talking about TV preachers who strut like peacocks before large audiences, Christian celebrities who are celebrated as champions of the gospel, or musicians pursuing rock-star status in the industry, we have created a circus of righteousness for consumers looking for a good show.”

Is this what a Christian witness has become—a good show for spiritual consumers? And worse, we’re funding the very platforms that entertain us. Crowdfunding campaigns and social media algorithms reveal that we’re not just tolerating this culture—we’re building it.

But Jesus had something entirely different in mind.

What Jesus Actually Said

In Matthew 6:1–18, Jesus prophetically warns us: “Fame and piety don’t mix.” Reeves puts it bluntly: “To [Jesus], fame is a huge problem for pious people.” Jesus calls us to pray in secret, fast privately, and give without recognition. He warns that “public approval is the dangerous, slippery slope to hypocrisy—for all of us, famous or not.”

And yet, we keep showing up for public prayer rallies, political platforms, prime-time testimonials, and viral influencers. We treat celebrities who vaguely gesture toward faith as our spokespeople. Our spiritual heroes live on “Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, YouTube—whatever your drug of choice,” as Reeves names it. And through them, we absorb a dangerous theology: that public approval is the same as divine affirmation.

But Jesus says otherwise. He warns us of “the addiction of public approval” and insists, through words and example, that “the only way to make sure you’re not a hypocrite is to keep your good deeds a secret—a terrible blow to maintaining the image we’ve carefully created.”

My Confession: I Feel the Pull Too

As I’ve shared before, I feel called to a life of downward mobility. I’m trying to lead a quiet life, just as Paul urges in 1 Thessalonians 4:11. But even in me, I sense the tension. I feel the temptation to build a platform, to measure significance by stages and stats. I tell myself it’s for the Kingdom, but the whispers of pride are always nearby.

That’s why Reeves’ words hit home: “I’m rather pessimistic about the prospects of Christians giving up the pursuit of fame. Seeking immediate social approval is just too easy.” Social media has made fame feel accessible to everyone—or at least something we should chase. On both sides of every political and theological divide, people are striving for applause and approval, even if it comes at the cost of scriptural faithfulness.

“One wonders if it will ever reach a critical mass of devastating implosion,” Reeves writes. “Will we ever get sick of seeing ourselves striking a righteous pose? I doubt it.”

And yet, this struggle is not new.

A Timeless Temptation, A Timely Prayer

This desire to be known, admired, and applauded has been around since the Garden. In a world of curated images and spiritual performances, the only faithful path forward may be the one Jesus taught us to pray: Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. And not just pray it—but live it.

To walk out that prayer means actively resisting the systems of fame and power, even the ones in the church. It means walking in quiet obedience, finding joy in hidden faithfulness, and practicing secrecy in a world that screams for attention.

As Reeves concludes, “The more people applaud your efforts, the more likely you will act like a hypocrite and seek their applause.”

A Better Way Forward

Reeves doesn’t leave us without hope. He offers seven ways to resist the draw toward stages and significance. These are practices that help us reclaim our ambition—not to be seen, but to be faithful. These are rhythms that invite us into the quiet life. I’ll be writing more about those seven practices soon.

The next time something good happens to you-especially if it is seen as the evidence of your success don’t post it on social media. Rather than use “blessings” as a way to boast about yourself, promote the success of others. The next time you happen to be in the company of a celebrity, don’t take a selfie. Instead of deriving your sense of self-worth from others, find your identity in Christ. The next time a political fight breaks out among Christians, don’t advertise which side you’re on. Rather than try to prove to everyone how righteous you are, quietly help the victims of political injustice. The next time you attend a Christian conference (or especially if you’re invited to speak at that conference), don’t tell anyone about it. The next time you help someone financially, do it anonymously. The next time you’re asked to pray, keep it short. The next time someone owes you money, forgive the debt.

For now, let this be a humble invitation, not a condemnation. A prophetic call to resist the celebrity culture that has invaded our churches and souls. A reminder that the Kingdom of God is often hidden, often quiet, and often small. But it is no less powerful.

Let’s resist the urge to perform. Let’s make it our ambition to live quietly, to love deeply, and to serve without applause.