“Don’t copy the behaviour and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think” (Romans 12:2, NLT).  

There’s a story of a boy who was so engrossed in chasing a little bird that he wandered too far into the forest before he realised that it was night. Having lost his bearings, there was no retracing his steps, at least not that night.  The world is just like that unruly bird, which plays a similar game with us—interesting but deadly; powerfully persuasive but superficial. And we, like that boy, can get so enthralled in this game. Except that where the boy only played this game till night, we might play it until death.  

Romans 12:2 cautions us not to copy the world’s behaviour and customs but to allow God to transform us mentally—even after spiritually (which happens at the new birth). What is so wrong about the way the world thinks, and for which we need God to transform our minds? Many things, definitely, but I want to focus here on how the world appraises value.  

It may be cliché, but it bears stressing: the world’s systems of value and validation diverge from God’s. For example, at a very general level, while experience, qualifications, expertise, and talent are useful for leadership positions both in the world and in the church, the kingdom of God privileges Christlike character (Acts 6:3; 1 Tim. 3:1–13; Matthew 20:25–28). The world privileges upward mobility over character development; and the way it shows you you’re valuable is by bestowing its validations on you—prizes, degrees, contracts, academic fellowships, jobs, publications, etc. Thus, when we display these things on our CV, we’re also, whether consciously or not, making a case for how much we’re worth. The greater our worth (as revealed in the wealth of the world’s validations we have), the more strategically positioned we are to receive even greater validations.  

But here’s the catch: while in both the world and in the kingdom of God, value is supposed to lead to validation, in the world, the latter is not always an accurate corollary of the former. What I mean is that a student can successfully graduate with a first-class degree, having dabbled copiously but surreptitiously in plagiarism. Elections may be rigged to favour a non-deserving candidate, just as a national service personnel can be retained at her workplace at the expense of more competent workers, because she agreed to have sex with the big boss. Solomon nailed it in Ecclesiastes 9:11 (NLT): “The fastest runner doesn’t always win the race, the strongest warrior doesn’t always win the battle…the skillful are not necessarily wealthy. And those who are educated don’t always lead successful lives. It is all decided by chance, by being in the right place at the right time.” Solomon’s thesis about the meaninglessness of life was in part inspired by this unpredictability and unfairness of life.  

Although the world’s validating systems can be problematic, there really is nothing inherently wrong with the existence of such systems. As Paul (speaking about worldly governing authorities) reminds us, honour should be given at all times to whom it is due (Rom. 13:7). The real problem, for the Christian, is how we define ourselves and our worth in the light of these validations. For example, to prioritize the world’s validations over God’s is to feel most fulfilled in the accumulation of wealth, even though Jesus has made it clear that quality of life transcends abundance of possessions (Luke 12:15). It would also mean to live hedonistically, ignoring God’s impression of eternity on our hearts (Eccl. 3:11). The tension is, perhaps, best capsulized in Luke 16:15: “What is highly valued among men is detestable in God’s sight.”  

Ensuing logically from the premise that God’s values are different from the world’s, God’s validation systems are also different from the world’s. Ultimately, the Christian’s final and most decisive validation comes in the afterlife, when he hears from his master, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant” (Matt. 25:21). But even here on earth, God may bless us with wealth, like he did Abraham and Job; and beauty, like he did Esther. Or he may make us rulers, like David or Joseph. In other words, God may make use of these worldly systems to bless us. Except that when God does this, these validations are neither (to be) flaunt-able nor ends in themselves, but to be resources to help achieve a greater cause—what we may call “calling.” Thus, God makes a Prime Minister out of Joseph for a greater purpose than the mere revelling in this promotion per se.   

Unfortunately, God’s validation on earth is not always as predictable as the world’s; nor is it always marketable in the world’s economy. When you sign up for a degree program, you know that all things being equal you graduate in four years and will receive a certificate as proof. But you can be praying concerning an issue for years, with (apparently) nothing to show for it. Yes, God’s validation may come with tangible worldly benefits, such as when He lifts the heads of Joseph (before Pharaoh) and Daniel (before Nebuchadnezzar). But when the validation comes, say, in the form of “This is My Son, in whom I’m well pleased. Listen to him!” (Matt. 17:5) or—as God said to the Levites—“I am your possession”, which company would hire/ promote you because of such a reference letter? Even worse, what if this validation comes through persecution, which Philippians 1:29 calls a “privilege”?  

Playing the world’s game is simply about borrowing the world’s instruments to gauge our worth. It is defining our value primarily through the validations of the world. It is the folly of being so absorbed in doing those things that enhance your CV so that you become more marketable (according to the world), but relegating those things that really count for eternity. It is loving and esteeming the praise of men more than God’s. Playing the world’s game is allowing our souls to feel falsely secure because of the superfluity of worldly validation boxes we’ve ticked, while God says to us, “You fool!” (Luke 12:20). The world’s game involves an inflated degree of worth because of what the world says about you. The world’s game is considering the world’s letters of recommendation as weightier than God’s. It is a game because—although it gets into our heads—it is not real. It is, in truth, make-believe. The Laodiceans were masters of this game. They looked into the world’s mirror and saw themselves as rich, wealthy, and lacking nothing. If they had looked into the mirror of God, they’d have seen that they were, in fact, wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked (Rev. 3:17). 

The irony is that the world doesn’t play on the church’s terms. The world, more than the church, listens to James, by keeping the distinction—enmity, even—between the church and the world intact. I was so scandalized to see a website that claims to score churches based on their LGBTQ+ policies. The temerity! But let’s bring the discussion closer to our subject. Assuming each Sunday church service is 2 hours and you’ve been going to church for 10 years, you’d have done an incredible 1,040 hours worth of attendance (not including weekday services). But to the world, a 50-hour edX course on coding is more profitable. You might be an ordained, Spirit-filled Bible teacher with 30 years of experience in reading, studying, meditating on, preaching and teaching the Word of God. But if a university wants someone to teach theology, an atheist with a PhD in Religion has a greater chance at being selected. A humorous example: speaking in tongues doesn’t count as language proficiency! Many academic positions now demand a statement of diversity: your experience of overseeing/fellowshipping in a church with diverse ethnic groups would however never matter as much as claiming affinity with the LGBTQ community. Or maybe try applying for a job for which one of the requirements is the ability to stick to projects from ideation to completion...and say that you have trained a set of disciples, beginning from prayerful selection to releasing them to fulfil their calling. Now, unless you repackage these “qualifications” in very marketable terms—in other words, neutralize their spiritual/ Christian essence—you would be thought crazy to think they would count at all. 

And yet, how we Christians love the world’s game! We even play it in church. Leadership positions are given to people because of their eminent statuses in the world. Sooner will we give the pulpit to a professor at so-and-so university than to the cobbler, regardless of spiritual growth levels. Chairpersons of fundraising committees are strategically selected based on financial status. Look at how we’re wont to introduce ministers (i.e., preachers and gospel musicians). We emphasize the number of books they have written, the degrees they have received, the number of countries they have preached in, the crowds they have preached to, and with which great people they have shared stages. There are those who brandish the awards they have received as proof of ministry fruitfulness, never mind that these awards were given by worldly institutions. I once heard a minister justify how impactful his ministry had been, seeing that he was the first African musician to fill a certain huge stadium in Britain. Such things are truly impressive, no doubt; but the idea that they are accurate markers of ministry fruitfulness is as preposterous as claiming to be a successful academic because you won a marathon.  

Another way we play the world’s game in church is by wearing as laurels what ought to be positions of/ opportunities for service. The world’s game is built on competition because the idea of marketableness relies on outdoing others. So the very (ministerial and charismatic) gifts and opportunities that God gives us to serve the church and the world—as well as the results of these opportunities—can be marketized, and incorporated into the world’s game. Consequently, we become interested, for example, in making ostentatious displays of titles, more than in taking delight in performing the service that title demands, whether or not we’re addressed by that title. If someone makes the fatal mistake of calling us pastor, when we’re in fact Prof. Archbishop. Aps. Gen., we immediately want to make the extremely salient correction.  

Can one earn validation from the world without playing the world’s game? Definitely! (I do not know that the Christian is to live in mediocrity, whether in the world or in the church; and excellence cannot be long unrecognized). Remember how Solomon embraced folly, with his mind still guided by wisdom (Eccl. 2:3). Of course, the world’s validations in themselves are not folly. But how we allow these validations to define our assessment of ourselves, as Christians, is what makes all the difference. Although it is decidedly difficult to meticulously delineate the boundaries, perhaps, a good place to begin thinking from could be whether we’re of any value to our families, the church, the world, and our God, if we’re suddenly stripped of all the world’s endorsements which we have accumulated.