(Read Philippians 3)
Gary was good at his job. Really good.
Top-ranked salesman in his division, year after year. Plaques on the wall. President’s Club trips. The kind of performance numbers that made his name show up in company-wide emails. He wasn’t the loudest guy in the room — he just quietly outperformed everyone else. And honestly, I think that’s where the trouble started. Success became the thing he built his identity on. His ego lived there. His sense of worth. The sales numbers told him who he was, and for a long time, they told a flattering story.
Gary and I weren’t close, not really. But we had those occasional conversations that go deeper than the surface — the kind where someone lets their guard down for a minute and you see what’s actually going on underneath. I valued those moments. I think he did too.
What most people didn’t see was what was happening behind closed doors. The drinking started slowly, the way it usually does. A few drinks after a hard day. Then a few drinks after a good day. Then just a few drinks. His wife saw it before he did, but by the time she said something, Gary had already decided she was the problem. The kids walked on eggshells. The marriage cracked, then split. Affairs. Broken promises. Nights that nobody in that house wanted to remember. They were on a straight line toward divorce — and Gary, talented Gary, kept showing up to work like none of it was happening.
Then came the diagnosis. And then, not long after, the end. He died before the papers were signed. Before apologies were made. And here’s the part that stays with me: in all those close conversations we had, I never once heard him express regret. Never heard him reach for something beyond the next number, the next deal, the next drink. Maybe he did in private. I hope he did. But I don’t know that. And that’s the sad part.
Paul knew exactly what that scoreboard looked like. In Philippians 3, Paul doesn’t mention his credentials in passing. He lays them out deliberately. Hebrew of Hebrews. Tribe of Benjamin. Pharisee. Zealous. Blameless under the law. This wasn’t a humble man downplaying his accomplishments — this was a man who had genuinely earned every title, every honor, every ounce of respect his culture could offer. By every measurable standard, Paul had made it.
And then he called it garbage.
But whatever were gains to me I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.
Philippians 3:7-8
The word Paul uses — some translations say “rubbish,” others are a little more colorful — is not polite. He’s not saying earthly achievements are slightly less important than faith. He’s saying the comparison isn’t even close. It’s the difference between a genuine treasure and something you scrape off your shoe. That’s a hard word for a culture that celebrates winners. Here’s what I love about Paul’s story, though. He didn’t always see it that way.
Before his conversion, Paul was doing what he genuinely believed was right. He wasn’t sitting in a back office dreaming up evil schemes. He was devout. Driven. Convinced that his mission — hunting down and destroying followers of Jesus — was holy work. He was doing God’s will, or so he thought, with everything he had. That’s the part that should stop us cold. It’s possible to be fully committed and completely wrong at the same time. Paul was. He had zeal without truth. Passion without purpose. He was pouring his whole life into a cause that was, in his own words, garbage — he just didn’t know it yet. It took a blinding encounter with the risen Jesus on the road to Damascus to knock him off his horse and rearrange everything he thought he knew. Most of us won’t get a Damascus road moment. But I’d argue we get smaller ones all the time if we’re paying attention.
Gary got them too. I believe that. He just didn’t stop long enough to look. That’s the quiet tragedy underneath his story. It wasn’t that Gary lacked intelligence or opportunity or even exposure to faith — he knew enough. But somewhere along the way, the scoreboard became more real to him than the God who made him. The ranking. The deal. The next drink. The next distraction. Each one promising something it couldn’t deliver. And the people closest to him paid the price.
I’m not telling Gary’s story to judge him. I’m telling it because I’ve seen pieces of him in myself. The rationalizing. The priorities that drift without me noticing. The way I can fill every hour with motion and still be moving away from what matters most. Paul’s warning in Philippians 3 isn’t aimed at obvious villains. It’s aimed at people like Gary. Like me. Like you.
Their mind is set on earthly things.
Philippians 3:19
That verse doesn’t describe monsters. It describes people who simply never looked up long enough to reorient. Here’s what I love about what Paul does next. He doesn’t leave us in the wreckage.
Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.
Philippians 3:12
Paul wasn’t writing from a spiritual mountaintop. He was writing from prison. He hadn’t arrived. He was pressing. There’s something deeply human about that word — pressing. It implies resistance. Effort. Some days feeling like you’re moving backward. But notice what he does with that pressure. He doesn’t use it as an excuse to slow down. He uses it as fuel. He keeps his eyes forward because he knows what’s ahead is worth more than anything behind. Gary ran out of time to press forward. Most of us haven’t. That’s not guilt — that’s grace. An open door that Gary never walked through is still open for you.
So here’s the honest question Paul’s words put in front of us. What am I actually measuring my life by? I can say the right things on Sunday. I can post the right verses. Serve on a committee. Check every religious box on the list. And still be leaning my ladder against the wrong wall. Jesus doesn’t want our resumés. He doesn’t need our credentials. He’s not impressed by the President’s Club plaque or the performance rankings. He wants us. Surrendered. Present. Eyes forward.
Join together in following my example, brothers and sisters, and just as you have us as a model, keep your eyes on those who live as we do.
Philippians 3:17
Find the people who’ve made the trade. The ones who’ve handed over earthly glory for eternal purpose. Are they missing out? Or do they have something the scoreboard crowd can’t explain? I know which ones sleep better at night. Letting go of what can’t save you isn’t a sacrifice. It’s the only trade that actually pays.
Life Application:
- Take an honest inventory this week. Write down three things you spend the most time, energy, or money pursuing. Then ask yourself: am I pressing toward these because they point me toward Christ — or because they point people toward me? Don’t judge the answer. Just be honest. Then bring it to God and let Him do what He does best — reorder what’s out of order.
- The ladder might need to move. Better to know now than later.