“Prosperity knits a man to the world. He feels that he is 'finding his place in it,' while really it is finding its place in him.”
— C.S. Lewis
“Still others, like seed sown among thorns, hear the word; but the worries of this life, the deceitfulness of wealth and the desires for other things come in and choke the word, making it unfruitful.”
— Mark 4:18-19
A CULTURE OF CAREFULLY CRAFTED LOSSES
About a year ago, I listened to a sermon by Jon Tyson that I’ve since returned to again and again. It’s a sermon on living a life without regret. A message laced with wisdom, warning, and the kind of urgency that makes you stop and ask, What exactly am I building my life around?
Tyson walks through the kinds of regret that sneak up on you, not because you were lazy or reckless, but because you were aiming at the wrong thing.
It’s sobering. Clarifying. Necessary.
But there’s one particular line from that message that echoes in my mind even long after the sermon ends. He said, “We are living in a culture that has been carefully curated to give us losses disguised as wins.”
That phrase cuts deep.
Losses disguised as wins.
Because when I look around, honestly when I look within—I can see it.
The subtle deception. The way the world hands us hollow trophies and calls it a reward. We are surrounded by messaging, marketing, media, and metrics that make us feel like we’re winning.
More followers, more revenue, more recognition.
But quietly, those same “wins” are chipping away at a malnourished soul.
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF A RIGGED GAME
In the sermon, one of the most powerful examples given is in regard to casinos.
Casinos have done the research. They’ve learned that they can get you to put in a dollar and win back eighty cents—and still make you feel like you’ve won. Why? Because they’ve studied the dopamine spikes, the lights, the sounds, the sensations. They know how to manipulate the feeling of reward, despite walking away with less.
Isn’t that like so much of life?
You make partner at the firm, but in the process, you lose your marriage. Outwardly it looks like a win—title, status, financial security. But when you come home to silence, to a strained relationship, to the ache of absence—it doesn’t feel like winning. Success without intimacy leaves you hollow.
You build a massive platform. You’re known widely, celebrated publicly. But you can't remember the last vulnerable conversation you had. You’re celebrated by strangers and unknown by friends. You’re visible—but alone.
You built the resume. You say yes to every opportunity, chasing influence, but you become a stranger to your own kids. On paper, your calendar is full and your name is known. But your children are growing up without your presence. You miss the ordinary moments—bedtime stories, shared meals, inside jokes—Their memories don’t include you. Your highlight reel cost you a place in their story.
You secure the bag, but forfeit your peace. The numbers go up, the bank account grows, but your soul feels more restless than ever. You can’t sleep. You can’t slow down. You can’t remember the last time you stopped long enough to hear a prompting from the Lord.
This is what Jesus warned about in Mark 4 when he spoke about the third soil. He warned of the power of:
The cares of this world.
The deceitfulness of riches.
The desire for other things.
The third soil is perhaps the most terrifying because it starts off right, it receives the word. But over time, it becomes choked out—not by violence or obvious rebellion, but by distraction, ambition, and good things that became ultimate things.
We convince ourselves that it’s just a season.
Just a little more hustle. Just until we hit that next milestone.
But seasons have a way of becoming lifestyles. You can destroy your integrity in a season. You can lose your family in a season. You can compromise your calling in a season.
WINS THAT LOOK LIKE LOSSES
Jesus didn’t just warn us about this—He flipped it on its head.
If our culture is designed to disguise losses as wins, then the life of Jesus teaches us the opposite: some of the greatest wins in the kingdom look like losses to the world.
Obscurity over spotlight:
Jesus spent 30 years in Nazareth, doing ordinary carpentry before ever stepping into public ministry. In today’s world, that's wasted potential. But He was being formed. Obscurity was not punishment. It was preparation.
Towel over title:
In John 13, Jesus washes His disciples' feet. The King of Kings puts on a servant’s towel. No accolades. No crowd. Just hands in dirty water. To the world, it looks like weakness. But in the kingdom, it's leadership.
Silence over self-defense:
When falsely accused, Jesus remained silent. He didn’t justify Himself. He didn’t prove His point. He let the Father be His defender. In a world obsessed with optics, silence looks like surrender. But it was true strength.
The cross over the crown:
The greatest moment of victory in human history looked like total defeat. Blood. Suffering. Mockery. Jesus was crucified like a criminal. The crowd saw a loss. But heaven knew...this was the win that would change eternity.
Redefine the Win
If we want to avoid the trap of losses disguised as wins, we need to redefine the win. Not according to culture, but according to Christ.
Faithfulness over fame (Luke 16:10)
Character over charisma (Proverbs 22:1)
Quiet obedience over loud performance (Matthew 6:1-6)
Presence over productivity (Psalm 46:10)
Sacrifice over self-interest (Philippians 2:3-4)
Jesus didn’t come to offer us empty success. He came to give us life—abundant life (John 10:10). But that life doesn’t come through hollow victories. It comes through the narrow road. The hidden path. The one marked by love, truth, humility, and trust.
A FINAL CHARGE
This Holy Week, slow down long enough to examine your life.
Take an inventory of your thoughts, actions, and ambitions:
What areas of my life look like wins to others, but feel like losses in my soul?
What have I sacrificed in the name of ambition?
What am I chasing that is choking out my love for God?
This isn’t about guilt. It’s about clarity.
It’s about making sure you don’t climb a ladder your whole life, only to realize it was leaning against the wrong wall.
God isn’t trying to rob you of success.
He’s trying to anchor your life in something that won’t collapse when the applause fades.
Jesus did every act with intentionality.
Every step was obedience. Every move was surrender.
Even when it looked like loss. Especially when it looked like loss.
Let His life be your lens. Let His cross be your compass.
Work hard. Build well. Dream big. But not at the cost of the things that matter most.
Don’t gain the world and lose your soul.
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