In the new Downton Abbey movie released earlier this year, Lady Mary Crawley makes a statement that perfectly captures the spirit of our age: “I want my virtues to be celebrated, not my sins forgiven.” It’s a line delivered with the aristocratic confidence we’ve come to expect from the character—but it also reveals something deeper about human nature. Lady Mary wants recognition for her achievements, applause for her goodness. The last thing she wants is to be seen as someone in need of rescue.

She’s not alone.

The Exhaustion of Being Good

According to a recent Gallup survey, the world is tired of being charitable. After peaking between 2021 and 2023, global charitable activities declined significantly in 2024. The percentage of people who reported helping a stranger in the past month dropped from 62% to 56%. Financial donations fell from 37% to 33%. Volunteering decreased from 30% to 26%.^[1]

These aren’t minor shifts. Twenty-five countries experienced double-digit declines in helping strangers. The report suggests we’re experiencing “philanthropic fatigue”—a natural pullback after crises like the pandemic, or perhaps a response to mounting economic pressures.

But I wonder if something else is at work here. What if the decline isn’t just about fatigue? What if it reveals the fundamental unsustainability of trying to be good without grace?

The Trap of Virtue

There’s something deeply appealing about Lady Mary’s statement. We all want our virtues celebrated. We want to be recognized as good people—people who give generously, volunteer faithfully, help strangers in need. We want credit for the good we do.

The problem is that building an identity on virtue is exhausting. When your standing depends on your moral performance, you can never rest. There’s always another need, another cause, another person requiring help. And if you’re honest, you begin to realize that your motives aren’t always pure. Sometimes you help because you want to be seen helping. Sometimes you give because you want the recognition. Sometimes you volunteer because it makes you feel good about yourself.

This is the trap that even religious people—especially religious people—fall into. Jesus saw it in the Pharisees, who loved to parade their righteousness before others. They gave alms publicly, prayed on street corners, and made sure everyone knew they were fasting (Matthew 6:1-18). They wanted their virtues celebrated. The problem wasn’t their good deeds—it was their motivation and their sense that these deeds made them acceptable to God.

The Rich Young Ruler

One of the most striking encounters in the Gospels is Jesus’ meeting with the rich young ruler (Mark 10:17-22). Here was a man who had it all together. He’d kept the commandments since his youth. He was morally upright, religiously observant, financially successful. By any measure, he was a good person.

Yet when he came to Jesus asking what he must do to inherit eternal life, Jesus looked at him with love and said, “You lack one thing: go, sell all that you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me” (Mark 10:21).

The young man went away sorrowful, “for he had great possessions.” This is a devastating moment. Here was someone doing everything right—yet he couldn’t receive what Jesus offered because he was too invested in his own righteousness, his own achievements, his own virtue. He wanted eternal life, but he wanted it on his terms. He wanted his virtues celebrated, not his sins forgiven.

The disciples were astonished by this exchange. If someone this good couldn’t be saved, who could? Jesus’ answer cuts to the heart of the gospel: “With man it is impossible, but not with God. For all things are possible with God” (Mark 10:27).

Grace, Not Achievement

This is where the gospel parts ways with every other religious system and moral philosophy. The gospel doesn’t begin with what we can do for God. It begins with what God has done for us in Christ.

Paul makes this clear in Ephesians 2:8-9: “For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.”

Notice what Paul doesn’t say. He doesn’t say that good works are unimportant. He doesn’t say we shouldn’t help others, give generously, or serve faithfully. In fact, in the very next verse he says, “For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them” (Ephesians 2:10).

But the order matters. We don’t do good works to earn God’s favor. We do good works because we’ve already received it. We don’t serve to be saved. We serve because we are saved. This is the difference between religion and gospel. Religion says, “Do these things and God will accept you.” The gospel says, “God has accepted you in Christ; now go and live in light of that acceptance.”

The Danger of Moral Identity

When we build our identity on being good people—people who do the right things, who live morally upright lives, who contribute to society—we set ourselves up for one of two outcomes.

First, we might succeed (or think we succeed), which leads to pride. We begin to look down on others who aren’t as good, as generous, as committed. We become like the Pharisee in Jesus’ parable who prayed, “God, I thank you that I am not like other men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector” (Luke 18:11). Our virtue becomes a source of superiority rather than service.

Second, we might fail (which is more likely), which leads to despair or cynicism. We get tired. We burn out. We realize we can’t keep up the pace. And either we quit trying altogether—which may explain some of the decline in charitable giving—or we lower the standard and convince ourselves that we’re good enough.

Both outcomes miss the point. Both keep us from receiving what we most need: grace.

What the Gospel Offers

The gospel doesn’t call us to try harder to be good. It calls us to die to ourselves and be raised with Christ (Romans 6:4). It calls us to acknowledge that we are, in the words of the old liturgy, “miserable offenders” who have “erred and strayed like lost sheep.”[2] It calls us to confess that we cannot save ourselves—that all our righteous deeds are like filthy rags before a holy God (Isa. 64:6).

This is humbling. It’s humiliating, even. Lady Mary was right to dread it. Who wants to admit they’re not as good as they thought? Who wants to acknowledge that their virtues are mixed with selfish motives and that their best efforts fall short? Yet this is exactly where the gospel meets us. Not in our strength, but in our weakness. Not in our achievements, but in our failure. Not when we have something to offer, but when we come empty-handed.

And here’s the remarkable thing: when we stop trying to have our virtues celebrated and instead receive the forgiveness of our sins, we discover something we never had before—rest. We discover that we don’t have to perform for God’s approval. We already have it in Christ. We don’t have to prove our worth. Christ has already done that on the cross.

This doesn’t make us passive. If anything, it frees us to truly serve others—not to earn something, but out of gratitude for what we’ve already received. We give because we’ve been given to. We forgive because we’ve been forgiven. We love because we were first loved (1 John 4:19).

The Unsustainability of Self-Righteousness

Perhaps the decline in charitable giving reveals something we should have known all along: self-righteousness is unsustainable. We simply cannot bear the weight of being our own saviors. The world is full of people trying to do good—and that’s commendable. But doing good is not the same as being redeemed. Helping others is not the same as being reconciled to God. Charitable giving does not address the fundamental problem of our sin and our separation from our Creator.

This isn’t to diminish good works. The world desperately needs more people willing to help strangers, volunteer their time, and give generously. But if those actions are rooted in anything other than the gospel—if they’re done to establish our own righteousness, to earn God’s favor, or to quiet our guilty consciences—they will eventually fail us.

The Pharisees were good people by any objective measure. They fasted. They tithed. They studied Scripture. They obeyed the Law. Yet Jesus said to them, “Unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matt. 5:20). How can our righteousness exceed theirs? Not by trying harder, but by receiving the righteousness that comes through faith in Christ (Phil. 3:9).

A Different Way

The gospel offers us a radically different way forward. Instead of exhausting ourselves trying to prove we’re good enough, we can rest in the finished work of Christ. Instead of building an identity on our moral achievements, we can build on the solid foundation of God’s grace.

This doesn’t mean we stop doing good. Far from it. But it means our good works flow from a different source. They’re not motivated by guilt or the need for approval. They’re motivated by gratitude and love. When we understand that we are deeply loved—not because of what we’ve done, but in spite of what we’ve done—we’re freed to love others in the same way. When we grasp that we’ve been forgiven a debt we could never repay, we’re freed to extend that same forgiveness to others. When we experience the grace that meets us in our weakness, we’re freed to show that same grace to those around us.

This is what makes the Christian life sustainable. This is what prevents burnout and cynicism. This is what enables us to serve for the long haul—not because we’re trying to earn something, but because we’re living out of the overflow of what we’ve already received.

The Choice Before Us

Lady Mary’s statement presents us with a choice. We can insist on having our virtues celebrated, building our identity on our moral achievements and good deeds. Or we can humble ourselves, acknowledge our need for forgiveness, and receive the grace that God offers in Christ.

The first path looks appealing. It feeds our pride and allows us to maintain the illusion that we’re in control. But it’s ultimately exhausting and unsustainable. It leads either to pride or despair—and often to both at different times.

The second path requires humility. It means admitting we’re not as good as we thought. It means acknowledging that we need rescue, not recognition. But it’s the only path that leads to genuine rest, lasting joy, and transformation.

The decline in global charitable giving may be a symptom of a deeper problem: we’re tired of trying to be good enough. We’re exhausted by the performance. We’re worn out by the constant effort to prove our worth.

But the gospel says we don’t have to prove anything. Christ has already done that for us. Our sins can be forgiven. Our guilt can be washed away. Our relationship with God can be restored—not because we’ve earned it, but because Christ has purchased it with His blood.

That’s a message the world desperately needs to hear. Not “try harder to be good,” but “come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).

Questions for Reflection

● In what ways have you tried to build your identity on being a “good person”? How has that worked out?

● Do you find Lady Mary’s statement appealing? Why or why not?

● Have you experienced “philanthropic fatigue” in your own life? What might be causing it?

● What would it look like for you to stop trying to have your virtues celebrated and instead receive the forgiveness of your sins?

● How might resting in God’s grace change the way you serve others?

Prayer Points

● For humility: Pray that God would give us the humility to acknowledge our need for His grace rather than insisting on the recognition of our virtue.

● For rest: Pray that believers would find their rest not in their own achievements but in the finished work of Christ.

● For sustainable service: Pray that Christians would discover the joy of serving others out of gratitude rather than guilt, out of grace rather than performance.

● For the weary: Pray for those who are exhausted by the effort of trying to be good enough—that they would encounter the gospel and find the rest Christ offers.

[1] “Global Generosity: World Felt Less Charitable in 2024”, Gallup, February 25, 2025. https://news.gallup.com/poll/657200/global-generosity-world-felt-less-charitable-2024.aspx. Accessed November 4, 2025.

[2] The Book of Common Prayer (1662), “A General Confession,” Morning Prayer.