Where Then Is Boasting?

Let’s be clear: no one struts into God’s presence with a résumé. “Where then is boasting? It is excluded” (Rom. 3:27). Period. God’s grace strips us of our ability to brag. There are no spiritual VIPs. No gold stars. No first-round draft picks. Every last one of us gets in the same way—by mercy.

And don’t think you can make up for it by shining in front of men either. Jesus didn’t mince words: “If I glorify Myself, My glory is nothing” (Jn. 8:54). Translation? Self-glorification is worthless—even when cloaked in biblical language and fake humility.

Yet let’s be honest—who doesn’t like recognition? Who doesn’t crave a little applause? We love ceremonies. We collect degrees, titles, awards, medals. A few public pats on the back, and suddenly we start thinking we’re someone. But even the Bible gives room for healthy recognition—“Let another praise you, and not your own mouth; a stranger, and not your own lips” (Prov. 27:2). Appreciation isn’t sinful. It’s natural. And in the church, it’s actually commanded—“Show them great respect and wholehearted love because of their work” (1 Thess. 5:13).

But like every good thing, praise can be hijacked. It gets weaponized. Flattery becomes a tool of deception: “By smooth talk and flattery they deceive the hearts of the naïve” (Rom. 16:18). Fake praise isn’t harmless. It’s manipulative. It’s diabolical. And the people most vulnerable to it are those who need praise to function.

That’s where it gets dangerous.

If your self-worth hangs on being appreciated, you’re already in trouble. You’ve become emotionally dependent on human glory—a currency that Jesus explicitly rejected. “How can you believe, when you receive glory from one another and do not seek the glory that comes from the only God?” (Jn. 5:44). Let that sink in. Their addiction to praise prevented them from believing. Human approval was their idol—and it kept them from obeying the truth.

This is no small side issue. It’s the kind of subtle heart disease that slowly kills faith. You start serving others just to be seen. You do what’s right—but only as long as someone’s clapping. The moment you feel overlooked, underappreciated, or criticized, your commitment crumbles. Why? Because your service was never rooted in love for God. It was built on the shaky foundation of public approval.

That’s not service. That’s self-promotion.

So ask yourself: When I feel unappreciated, do I keep serving anyway—or do I sulk? When my spouse doesn’t honor me, do I still honor God’s standard for my role? Or do I justify disobedience because they’re being difficult? (1 Pet. 3:1–2). That reaction exposes the real motive. If resentment and withdrawal are your default settings, you’re not living for the glory of God. You’ve been seduced by the praise of men.

Real servants don’t need a spotlight. They don’t serve to be thanked. They serve because it’s right. “Let us not love in word or tongue, but in deed and truth. By this we will know that we are of the truth and assure our hearts before Him” (1 Jn. 3:18–19).

So which glory do you crave?

The cheap applause of a fading world? Or the praise, honor, and glory that will be revealed when Christ returns? (1 Pet. 1:7). One vanishes. The other lasts forever.

Choose wisely.

When Paul says, “ “Where then is boasting?” He isn't asking a casual question. He’s yanking the rug out from under every self-made man, every law-clinger, every religious show-off. "Where then is boasting?" Nowhere. It’s dead. It’s banned from the kingdom of God. Why? Because the way God justifies sinners leaves no room for bragging rights.

If salvation could be earned, we’d all be jockeying for position. The religious elite would be parading their spiritual résumés, turning righteousness into a competition. But Paul demolishes that nonsense: “It is excluded.” Not “limited.” Not “discouraged.” Excluded. Tossed out. Disqualified.

This isn’t the first time Paul has taken a sledgehammer to human pride:

“For by grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God—not as a result of works, so that no one may boast.”
— Ephesians 2:8–9

This is divine design. Grace and faith are structured precisely to kill boasting. God didn’t save us in a way that shares credit. He saves in a way that magnifies His mercy and humbles the sinner. Anyone who tries to steal a shred of glory from the cross is an idolater—robbing God to pay himself.

And Paul leads by example:

“But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ.”
— Philippians 3:7

His religious pedigree? Garbage. His moral résumé? Useless. His zeal, his status, his law-keeping? All trash compared to the surpassing worth of knowing Christ. And that’s the point: faith in Christ strips us of self-glory. It forces us to face the truth—we are the ones who needed saving. We were not the heroes of our own story. We were rebels, failures, debtors—saved only because God chose to be merciful.

“Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord.”
— 1 Corinthians 1:31

The only legitimate boast for a Christian is this: “Jesus saved me.” Not “I turned my life around.” Not “I’ve been faithful for 40 years.” Not “I know more Scripture than most.”

Just—“Christ crucified is my only hope.”

And it’s not just about salvation—it applies to every spiritual blessing:

Our standing: “By His doing you are in Christ Jesus…” (1 Cor. 1:30)

Our transformation: “It is God who is at work in you…” (Phil. 2:13)

Our endurance: “The Lord stood with me and strengthened me…” (2 Tim. 4:17)

God gets the glory from beginning to end.

And that means any time we start looking sideways—comparing ourselves to others, patting ourselves on the back, thinking “at least I’m not like them”—we’re betraying the very Gospel that saved us. Remember what Jesus said about the Pharisee and the tax collector? One bragged about his righteousness. The other beat his chest and said, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” Only one went home justified—and it wasn’t the guy with the spiritual résumé (Luke 18:9–14).

That parable wasn’t a suggestion. It was a warning: if you trust in yourself, you fall short of grace. And if you boast in your own performance, you prove you don’t understand the cross.

The Gospel leaves us no room to say, “Look what I did.” It compels us to say, “Look what He did for me.”

So again: Where is boasting?

Nowhere. It died at the foot of the cross.