Christian Legalism: People-Pleasing and Performance Traps

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Christian legalism is the bane of religion. It’s the persistent nemesis lodged deep in all of our hearts. Though we often associate legalism with how a person comes to salvation, what I am addressing here is different—how legalism operates after a person has been born again. I’m speaking about how it subtly hijacks the process of sanctification. Most Christians I encounter do not struggle with a “works salvation.” Their real struggle is not how they were saved but how they live as saved people. It’s how they think about their lifestyle after God regenerates them.

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Pass or Fail

These believers fully embrace Ephesians 2:8–9 as the only way to come to Christ. They understand they are saved by grace through faith and not by their own doing. But there is still a deeply embedded temptation to smuggle a disguised form of legalism into their daily Christian experience. It’s a subtler form. It’s not salvation-by-works, but it’s adjacent to it. It’s Christian legalism, and it is fueled by two insatiable masters: people-pleasing and performance traps. These believers live under unspoken pressure. According to their most recent behavior or perceived spiritual performance, they operate with an internal grading system: pass or fail, success or shame. They constantly judge themselves—often harshly—based on how well they think they’re doing. There are two primary reasons this legalistic mindset creeps into their sanctification:

• Their Adamic nature is legalistic. They were born with a works-based orientation.
• Their shaping influences—family, church, and culture—taught them that love must be earned and worth must be proven.

The effects of this mindset are not always immediately visible, but the signs are there. Some of the common symptoms of Christian legalism include self-pity, discouragement, fear, worry, anxiety, people-pleasing, perfectionism, boasting, arrogance, fear of man, materialism, criticalness, and unforgiveness. Each of these traits functions as a comparison word. That is, they reveal a heart constantly comparing itself, either against a self-imposed standard or against others. Two of the more common manifestations of this trap are self-pity and discouragement.

Heretical Thinking

Let me introduce you to Biff—a believer who lives with low-level self-pity and a gloomy sense of pessimism. You’ll sometimes hear him describe how unworthy he feels. He frequently replays his past failures. These patterns of thought tend to spring from two sources:

• He silently replays his most recent mistake, measuring his current standing with God by it.
• He quietly compares himself with others and finds himself lacking.

In a counseling session, Biff once said, “I am unworthy. I’ve done so many horrible things. How could Christ love me?” This kind of internal despair is common. You’ll hear the same thoughts expressed in different ways by many Christians who deeply desire to follow God. Whether it’s Biff or someone else—perhaps even you—listen carefully to what’s being said. Even if you haven’t done the same things Biff has done, the temptation to think like him is ever-present. So, pause and ask yourself: Do you see the heresy hidden in this theological reasoning? Let’s restate Biff’s comments through a theological lens:

I am a terrible person. I am so bad that God cannot possibly love me. If I were not this bad, God would like me. I need to be a better person. I need to make myself more presentable than I am so that God will love me.

This hypothetical self-talk accurately reveals Biff’s practical theology—what he believes deep down and how he interprets life. His intellectual theology may affirm the truth: “For by grace God saved me through faith… it was not my doing, it was a gift from God, not a result of works” (Ephesians 2:8–9). But how he lives says something else entirely. Though he has the right answers in his head, the freedom he longs for continues to elude him because, functionally, Biff doesn’t trust what he knows. For many people, this is where sanctification breaks down. The disconnect between Bible knowledge and orthopraxy—right practice—becomes paralyzing.

I’m Okay. You’re Okay

The saying is trustworthy and deserving of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost (1 Timothy 1:15).

None is righteous, no, not one; no one understands; no one seeks for God. All have turned aside; together they have become worthless; no one does good, not even one (Romans 3:10–12).

I remember talking with Mable, a crack addict. She tried her best to convince me she was a good person. “I’m a good person,” she said with glazed eyes. She desperately wanted me to believe that, and she hoped our conversation would end with my agreement. I didn’t tell her what I was thinking. It wasn’t the right time. She was too high, not in a place to receive Paul’s sobering testimony about being the foremost of sinners. In that moment, theological precision would have sounded like condemnation. But the issue was obvious: Mable did not want to wrestle with the truth about her wretchedness. She wanted to feel okay.

She needed me to think she was better than Scripture says we all are. She wanted my affirmation so she could double down on the illusion: “I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re all okay.” But the gospel says otherwise. Biff and Mable resist unworthiness. One is a Christian, and one is not. But both are tangled in the trap of performance. Biff keeps punishing himself because he fails to meet his internal standards. Mable, aware that her standards are low, tries to deceive herself and others so she can feel better. Self-righteousness—what the world might call high self-esteem—has captured both of them. Their performances are falling short of the unrealistic expectations they’ve set. But if either of them truly changes, it won’t be because they tried harder. It will only be when they accept their unworthiness—when they finally admit that they cannot earn God’s favor and do not deserve it.

Are You Sick?

Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I came not to call the righteous, but sinners (Mark 2:17).

The problem with Biff and Mable is that they both have too high a view of themselves. This self-righteousness keeps them from admitting they aren’t as good as they want to believe. Have you ever expected to get a good grade only to receive a failing one? That sinking feeling captures what’s going on in their souls. They want to pass, but life keeps giving them failing marks. And because they won’t accept their true condition, they live in distress. They’ve built a theology that places them higher than the Bible does. They are clinging to a higher grade of worthiness that their lives consistently disprove. When Mable surveys her life, she sees brokenness. That realization discourages her. But instead of repentance, she turns to crack—it lifts her up, numbs her guilt, and helps her escape. For Biff, being a Christian means he can’t use drugs, so he self-medicates with self-pity and despair—his drugs of choice. In the end, both are addicts. One to crack. One to shame. Both are enslaved. What they need is not better performance but better theology. They need to embrace their unworthiness before God.

We have all become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous deeds are like a polluted garment. We all fade like a leaf, and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away (Isaiah 64:6).

And when I passed by you and saw you wallowing in your blood… (Ezekiel 16:6).

Embracing Unworthiness

Without question, you and I were pitifully guilty. We stood in God’s courtroom, condemned, with nothing to offer in our defense. The verdict was undeniable. We were guilty of the greatest crime: sinning against our holy Creator. The evidence was overwhelming. We were silent before Him, with no argument to justify ourselves. Though we may have wanted to think better of ourselves, there was no way to spin our guilt. The Lord, the righteous Judge, laid out the case against us. His accusations were not assumptions. They were facts—clear, condemning, irrefutable. We were guilty, and our only hope was a mercy that had to come from outside of us. And that’s when the gospel broke in. In our unworthiness and despair, the good news of Calvary came into view. We saw the cross. And there, we saw that the only answer for people like us is not self-improvement but the worthiness of Another. The sick don’t heal themselves. They cry out to the Great Physician.

But now the righteousness of God has been manifested apart from the law, … through faith in Jesus Christ for all who believe … justified by His grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus (Romans 3:21–24).

Biff is a believer. He needs to reacquaint himself with this gospel. He needs to understand that justification isn’t just a doctrine—it’s a declaration that speaks to his deepest insecurity. God, the Judge, already slammed the gavel and said, “Not guilty!” Christ finished the work. There’s nothing more for Biff to do. God did not accept Biff because of Biff’s merit but because of Christ’s.

Flipping Justification

Mable needs to be acquainted with the gospel. She doesn’t need a pep talk or a self-esteem boost. Mable needs to hear and believe the good news of the Savior’s atoning death. Mable needs to accept that Christ’s death was for her and that she cannot be the good person she pretends to be. She must find her goodness not in herself but solely in the finished work of Christ. Both Biff and Mable have flipped justification and sanctification in their theology and daily practice. According to a proper understanding of biblical doctrine, justification comes before sanctification. It is a foundational reality that never rests on our progress or performance. Justification is a verdict, not a process. But according to Biff and Mable’s practical theology—their lived-out beliefs—they act as if sanctification comes first, and that justification depends on how well they are doing in the Christian life. In their hearts, they believe that sanctification (doing right) makes them justified (accepted by God). Their efforts are backward.

Their logic sounds like this: “If I work enough or behave better, I will feel acceptable to God.” They would never use theological language, but their functional belief system boils down to this sentiment: “I would feel better about myself if I were more holy.” Biff might even argue with you on this point. He knows Ephesians 2:8–9 to some extent. He can quote it. But knowing it intellectually and applying it practically is not the same. You’ll need to walk with him gently but firmly. You’ll need to show him how his lived-out theology contradicts the doctrine he claims to believe. Biff doesn’t need a new verse. He needs a new lens through which to interpret the gospel he already knows. I would appeal to Biff to recalibrate his understanding of the gospel. He must see that what he’s doing is a form of legalism—not the overt, salvation-earning kind—but the subtler, sanctification-by-performance kind. He feels good about himself when he thinks he’s doing well. He feels ashamed and depressed when he knows he’s not. That’s not gospel freedom—that’s bondage to self-made righteousness. I want him to see three liberating truths:

1. His endless self-pity over his failures is not humility—it’s a stronghold of unbelief.
2. He must accept the reality of his badness, not to wallow in it, but so he can embrace his need for the One who is perfectly good.
3. When he repents of trying to be righteous in his strength, he will finally receive God’s mercy, the kind that cannot be earned.

Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost. But I received mercy (1 Timothy 1:15–16).

Call to Action

Paul didn’t stop with his badness in 1 Timothy 1:15. He didn’t write only about being the worst of sinners. Yes, he declared himself the chief of the wretched. Paul knew how broken he was. He didn’t minimize it. But he didn’t camp there either. God showed mercy. That’s the difference between gospel transformation and religious despair. Jerry Bridges once said—paraphrased here—that a diamond sparkles most brightly when it’s set against a black velvet backdrop. The darker your view of self, the more radiant the gospel appears. So let me ask you:

1. What kind of unworthy are you? Are you the kind that propels you to Christ in desperation or the kind that causes you to double down in self-effort and performance? Is your unworthiness driving you to grace—or guilt?
2. Are you tempted to balance the scales? After doing something wrong, do you immediately scramble to do something good to earn your standing back? Do you try to make up for sin by serving more, giving more, or performing more? Or—when you sin—do you run to the only good One who can truly make things right?
3. Do you realize that your good works do not make you any more saved? They add nothing to the work of Christ. And do you also know that your evil works do not make you any less saved? If you are in Christ, your sin may grieve Him, but it does not unseat you from His mercy. Justification is not fragile.
4. The broader the gap you recognize between your unworthiness and Christ’s overwhelming, unchanging goodness, the deeper your gratitude will be. The wider the gap, the higher the praise. The more you see your spiritual poverty, the more you’ll treasure the riches of His grace.
5. Are you working to win His favor, or are you rejoicing because you already have it? That is the difference between legalism and gospel rest.

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Rick Thomas

Rick launched the Life Over Coffee global training network in 2008 to bring hope and help for you and others by creating resources that spark conversations for transformation. His primary responsibilities are resource creation and leadership development, which he does through speaking, writing, podcasting, and educating.

In 1990 he earned a BA in Theology and, in 1991, a BS in Education. In 1993, he received his ordination into Christian ministry, and in 2000 he graduated with an MA in Counseling from The Master’s University. In 2006 he was recognized as a Fellow of the Association of Certified Biblical Counselors (ACBC).