We all know that one person who’s really into their spiritual life—maybe a little too into it. They’re at every church event, they serve on multiple teams, they can quote Scripture with ease. On paper, they’re doing everything right. But something feels off. There’s a subtle comparison happening, a quiet “at least I’m not like them” running underneath their spiritual resume.
Here’s the uncomfortable truth: that person might be us.
Pride has this nasty ability to hide in the places we’d least expect it—especially in our faith. It doesn’t always show up as obvious arrogance or boasting. Sometimes it disguises itself as gratitude. Sometimes it looks like spiritual discipline. Sometimes it even sounds like humility.
Jesus told a story about two men who went to pray. One was deeply religious—fasting twice a week, tithing everything, living a separated and disciplined life. The other was a corrupt tax collector who had built his wealth by exploiting his own people. And here’s the shocking part: the religious guy left that prayer session exactly where he started, while the corrupt guy went home right with God.
Why? Because mercy flows when humility bows. And pride—even sincere, well-intentioned pride—blocks our ability to receive what we desperately need.
Let’s start with how we approach repentance, because this reveals everything about where our confidence really lies.
Most of us pray something like this: “Lord, if I did anything wrong, if there is any sin in my life, please forgive me.”
Sounds humble enough, right? But here’s what’s actually happening… we know exactly what we did wrong. We know the time, we know the place, we know why we did it. But we want repentance to be as painless as possible. We want this soft approach where we can check the “asked for forgiveness” box without actually confronting our sin.
Real repentance doesn’t sound like that. Real repentance sounds like the tax collector in Jesus’ story: “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”
No vagueness. No “if.” Just honest acknowledgment of need.
“Repentance is an inward change that produces an outward action. It’s an internal submission to God and His grace.”
True repentance doesn’t excuse sin or condone it. It confesses it… specifically and intentionally. It names the sin, grieves over it, and turns away from it.
So how do you know if pride is hiding in your faith? Here are five questions that will surface what’s really going on in your heart:
Ask yourself: Am I worshiping to exalt Jesus, or to make myself feel or look spiritual?
There’s a difference between encountering God and performing spirituality. One is about Him. The other is about you. And the scary part? They can look identical from the outside. The only person who knows the difference is you.
Do you compare yourself to the people around you, or do you see yourself as dependent on God’s mercy?
Here’s a simple way to think about it: Pride looks sideways. Humility looks upward.
When you’re constantly scanning the room to see how you measure up—whether you’re more committed, more sacrificial, less messy than the person next to you—that’s pride. Even if you’re winning the comparison, you’ve lost the plot.
Humility says, “I can’t do this. I need You.”
Is your confidence in your actions, your service, your giving… or in Jesus’ finished work?
This is the critical question. Because here’s the thing: all those spiritual disciplines, all that service, all that commitment—it’s good. It really is. But the moment you start thinking, “Look what I’ve done for God,” you’ve shifted your confidence from His grace to your performance.
Pride says, “Look what I’ve done.”
Humility says, “Look what Jesus has done for me.”
Not vague prayers. Not “if I messed up” prayers. Real repentance that names specific sin, grieves it, and turns from it.
The difference between the religious man and the tax collector in Jesus’ story wasn’t their behavior—it was their honesty. One couldn’t see his need. The other couldn’t see anything but his need.
Pride is subtle. It hides in holiness, in service, in all the good things we do. But grace always exposes the truth—that we’re all sinners in desperate need of mercy, and Jesus is the only one who can give it.
The question isn’t whether you’re struggling with pride. If you’re human, you are. The question is whether you’re willing to see it.
Jesus ends His story with a proverb: “Everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but he who humbles himself will be exalted.”
You can leave your time with God like the religious man—full of confidence but empty of grace. Or you can leave like the tax collector—empty of pride but full of mercy.
One walked away justified. The other walked away exactly where he started.
If you look to justify yourself—pointing to your resume, your discipline, your track record—you won’t find what you’re looking for. But if you look for mercy from a holy, righteous, loving God and simply say, “I can’t do this. I need Your mercy,” He gives it.
Not because you earned it, but because that’s who He is.
Reflection Question: Which of these five questions makes you most uncomfortable? That discomfort might be pointing you toward the exact place where pride is hiding—and where grace is ready to do its work.