When our oldest son, Will, was about eight or nine-years old, he played on a Little League baseball team. I’ll never forget that at the end of the season, the coaches planned a pizza party at the local Cici’s Pizza near the baseball park close to where we lived.
After consuming vast quantities of pizza and Coca-Cola, the team sat down for the annual awards’ ceremony, and the coaches came out of the back room carrying two boxes filled with shiny trophies for the eagerly attentive young athletes.
Rather than handing out trophies to the Most Valuable Player, the Most Improved Player, and other awards one tends to think of in a setting like that, the head coach said, “This year, we want to recognize that EVERYONE is a champion! You all did a great job, so we’re giving everyone a trophy!” The boys erupted into cheers and celebration, especially those who might not otherwise receive a merit-based trophy. (I won’t tell you where my son stood in those classifications.)
Ever since that Little League experience where everyone is a champion, I’ve been thinking. Is everyone a champion…really? Not to be negative towards any underachievers, as I myself have been many times, my question is: What does it say about our culture when everyone, regardless of merit, effort, or achievement, is declared a winner?
In her excellent book, Insight, Tasha Eurich describes this as a shift from the Age of Effort to the Age of Esteem. And the ensuing results are not very glamorous. According to Eurich, the Age of Effort lasted hundreds of years and was founded on core principles of hard work, grit, and resilience. It reached its apex with the so-called Silent Generation (born between 1900 and 1945) and fostered a collective mentality that shunned self-glorification.
But with the start of the self-esteem movement in the middle of the 20th century, the Age of Effort started to give way to the Age of Esteem. Psychologists Carl Rogers and Abraham Maslow encouraged people to see themselves with “unconditional positive regard.” In our hierarchy of needs, the top of the food chain was self-actualization—that is, total happiness and fulfillment.
After seventy years of telling people they don’t need to become great; they only need to feel great, one would think we would be a much happier, healthier society. But are we?
What the Age of Esteem has led to is a culture obsessed with the Feel Good Effect, where our younger generations are woefully ill-equipped to deal with the tiniest bit of criticism, crushed in the face of the smallest mistake, and devastated by any minor setback on the path to their “predestined greatness” (ibid., 71).
If we want a stronger, more resilient, hard-working, humble, dedicated, resolved, and well-lived society, we need to learn from our forefathers and foremothers who lived in the Age of Effort. We need to recapture the biblical values of self-sacrifice (Luke 9:23), putting others before ourselves (Philippians 2:3-4), and a work ethic that glorifies God (1 Peter 2:13-17).
When we do so, we will not simply avoid suffering; we will know how to endure it. We will not necessarily be happier by worldly standards, but we will discover the true source of joy and fulfillment — a joy that doesn’t come from self-esteem or applause, but from surrendering to Jesus, who fills us with His presence and purpose regardless of the challenges we face.
When everyone is handed a trophy, the word “champion” loses its meaning. A true champion is not defined by recognition or praise, but by perseverance, humility, and faithful effort — by showing up when no one is watching, by getting back up after failure, by enduring with courage. The gospel does not promise plastic trophies; it promises a crown that lasts forever.
