Ryan M. Reeves
The internet recently erupted with a viral spectacle: a man’s morning rituals, meticulously documented in a haze of Instagram reels and TikTok clips. Shirtless, intense, he plunges his face into ice water, chugs a kale smoothie, and recites affirmations to a mirror—an oddly mesmerizing blend of self-discipline and self-promotion.
These videos, like much of the digital age’s cultural detritus, teeter between earnest wisdom and performative excess. They spotlight habits, those daily rhythms that promise to sculpt a better self, while flirting with the absurd: a parade of behaviors less about substance than spectacle.
Yet beneath the noise lies a truth that resonates deeply, especially for men of faith. Habits are not mere routines; they are the scaffolding of a life, capable of anchoring a man to his purpose or luring him into a hollow chase for control.
For evangelical men, the stakes are higher. Called to lead families through turbulent decisions, to stand resolute in faith amid a crashing world, and to embody patience when every nerve is tested, these men pursue a purpose rooted in divine calling. Habits are the invisible architecture of such a life—quiet moments with Scripture, a steadfast commitment to family dinners, or the discipline of prayer in a chaotic world. But habits are a double-edged sword.
When wielded with humility, they can mold a man into a living reflection of Christ. When twisted by pride, they risk casting him as the hero of his own story, chasing a mirage of self-made glory that drowns out the gospel’s call.
Habits Can Seduce a Man into Playing God
The allure of habits lies in their promise to tame life’s chaos. There’s a primal satisfaction in mastering the morning: ticking off a checklist—prayer, a punishing workout, sticking your face in ice for no reason —feels like seizing the day’s reins. In a world that often feels like a runaway train, this illusion of control is intoxicating.
The self-help industrial complex feeds this hunger with relentless fervor. Influencers flood social media with “life-changing” routines, peddling apps to track your sleep, smartwatches to count your steps, and meditation hacks to sharpen your mind. The message is clear: optimize enough, and you’ll become unstoppable—a demigod of your own design.
This is a seductive lie, and it’s one that can quietly shove faith to the margins of a man’s heart.
Scripture offers a sobering counterpoint. “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick,” Jeremiah 17:9 warns. No regimen, however disciplined, can heal what’s broken within. Too often, men grind through spiritual checklists—daily devotionals, fasting, church attendance—not out of devotion but as a bid to prove their worth.
This isn’t faith; it’s a performance, a one-man show where the actor plays both savior and audience. When habits become a stage for self-glorification, they cease to be worship. They morph into a personal empire, built brick by brick with every completed task, yet destined to crumble under the weight of its own hubris.
The danger is subtle. A man might start with noble intentions—praying to deepen his faith, exercising to steward his body—but the world’s relentless drumbeat of self-optimization can twist these acts into idols. The morning routine becomes a shrine to self-reliance, where the goal isn’t godliness but a polished, Instagram-ready version of masculinity.
Left unchecked, this mindset risks alienating a man from the very grace that sustains him, leaving him to wrestle with a paradox: the more he strives to master his life, the further he drifts from the One who holds it together.
Habits Are a Proving Ground for Godliness
Yet habits are not the enemy. Far from it. They are the gymnasium where God hones a man’s soul, a space for incremental growth that mirrors the slow, steady work of sanctification. The Apostle Paul, writing to Timothy, urged, “Train yourself for godliness” (1 Timothy 4:7). The word “train” is deliberate—it evokes not a single, heroic moment but a daily commitment to show up, even when inspiration wanes. Just as a weightlifter builds strength through repetitive, unglamorous lifts, a man builds spiritual resilience through the quiet repetition of faithful acts. It’s the grind that forges character, the discipline that transforms.
Spiritual habits operate on this same principle. Reading Scripture daily, praying with a spouse, serving in a church community—these acts are rarely flashy, but their cumulative power is profound.
A friend, Will, started reading a Proverb each day. Nothing fancy, just a verse or two. A year later, he’s calmer, wiser, and leading his family with a steady hand he didn’t have before.
This is the paradox of godly habits: their power lies not in their scale but in their consistency. They don’t earn God’s favor—Christ’s work on the cross already secured that—but they shape a man into the person God has called him to be.
Like a river carving a canyon over centuries, these habits erode pride, deepen humility, and align a man’s heart with his Creator’s. They are not about perfection but persistence, a daily surrender to the process of becoming. In a culture obsessed with quick fixes and viral transformations, this slow, steady work is a radical act of faith.
The Gospel Transforms Habits into Worship
The true alchemy of habits lies in their connection to the gospel. Without Christ, even the most disciplined routines are just self-help with a spiritual veneer—a treadmill of effort that leads nowhere. But when anchored in the truth that Jesus’ sacrifice is sufficient, habits become more than tasks; they become acts of worship, expressions of a life already redeemed.
The gospel reframes the morning prayer not as a box to check but as a conversation with the God who sees and loves. It transforms the commitment to family dinner into a reflection of the communal table Christ invites us to share. Habits, in this light, are not about striving for approval but about living out an identity secured by grace.
This shift changes everything. A man rooted in the gospel doesn’t approach habits as a means to build his own kingdom but as a way to participate in God’s. His daily Bible reading isn’t a bid to impress; it’s a chance to hear from the One who spoke the universe into being. His service at church isn’t a resume bullet but a response to the Servant who washed His disciples’ feet.
The gospel infuses habits with meaning, turning the mundane into the sacred. It liberates a man from the tyranny of self-improvement, inviting him to rest in Christ’s finished work while still pursuing growth with purpose.
This is the call for men of faith: to embrace habits not as a path to self-made glory but as a rhythm of surrender. In a world that exalts the optimized self, the gospel offers a better story—one where habits are not the hero but the humble tools of a life devoted to God. They are the quiet forge where a man’s soul is shaped, day by day, into the image of the One who made him.
