Trustworthy | Live for an Audience of One (Titus 3)

Living for family, friends, our social media followers, or even just our own view of ourselves is overwhelming and leads to a constant fear of imposter syndrome and not good enough. Our second Biblical truth leading to a truly great life is living every moment of every day for an audience of one! When we live for that ONE, it changes how we view ourselves, how we engage with others, and the power to overcome the past which has haunted and dominated our identity.

Transcript

I want to tell you a story, but to protect her, I’ll call her Jada. I met Jada years ago. She didn’t come to church for the music or the kids’ programs. She came because something inside her was breaking. Her husband—after abusing her—had walked out. Left her and the kids behind without so much as a backward glance. She’d had dreams once. A career. A plan. But when the floor fell out, she did what so many courageous mothers do: she sacrificed. She raised those kids with everything she had. And then came the second heartbreak: two of them resented her for it. Blamed her for a life she never asked for. Meanwhile, cancer grew in her body. Treatments drained her. The friends once close became distant. She lived alone, hoping the next scan wouldn’t bring the end. But here’s the part I’ll never forget. She looked at me, no bitterness in her voice, no sarcasm in her eyes, and said: “God has been so kind to me.” That’s the kind of sentence that unearths your soul. It’s raw. It’s holy. It doesn’t come from someone who’s lived for the approval of others. It comes from someone who’s learned to live for an Audience of One. Because living for the world—your family, your friends, your followers, even your own approval—is exhausting. It leads to imposter syndrome and an identity in shambles. But when you live for One—the One—that’s truly living.
To understand how radical this calling is, let’s zoom into the world Paul is writing to. The Cretan culture of Titus’ day was notorious. Ancient historians like Polybius accused the Cretans of being “addicted to gain and lust,” calling them liars and brutes. They lived by the motto: “Get what you can, however you can, from whomever you can.” Truth was optional. Humility, outdated. Self? That was the god of the age. Sound familiar? Social psychologist Jonathan Haidt describes our cultural moment this way:  “When life is lived as a performance for others, and identity is rooted in fragile reputation, the result is anxiety, polarization, and burnout.” In other words, the world keeps telling you to look inside yourself. But when you make you the center of your identity, the burden becomes unbearable.
In Titus 3:3, Paul lays out a spiritual x-ray, a cycle of the self-run life. And if we’re honest, he’s not just talking about them. He’s talking about us: “At one time we too were foolish, disobedient, deceived and enslaved by all kinds of passions and pleasures. We lived in malice and envy, being hated and hating one another.” Let’s walk this through slowly:
Foolish. This isn’t intellectual. It’s spiritual. It means not knowing God—not fearing him, not needing him. In our world today, we’ve replaced “reverence” with “relevance,” and the first casualty is wisdom. Basil the Great once said, “He who does not know God is a fool, even if he be acclaimed wise by the world.” Disobedient. Once you dethrone God, guess who climbs up? The self. And we live in a culture that glorifies disobedience. “Be your own truth,” they say. “Live your truth.” But when everyone lives their own truth, the result isn’t freedom—it’s friction. Deceived. The deception grows so deep we can’t see reality anymore. We think we’re evolving, but we’re unraveling. Like a man lost in the desert who sees water that’s not there, we run to mirages of meaning—money, sex, career, comfort, things. And then collapse. Ephrem the Syrian said it hauntingly well: “The one who drinks of self-love will thirst forever.”
Enslaved. Paul says we’re “enslaved by passions and pleasures.” That’s the irony, right? We think we’re free—until we try to stop. The anger, the gossip, the secret screen addictions, the craving for affirmation—it rules us. Self is a terrible master. Envy. Now we start comparing. Social media has made this worse, but it’s nothing new. Envy thrives where identity is weak. It thrives where the self is enthroned, because we can never rest—we must always be better than. Hating and being hated. Finally, it poisons our relationships. And the Bible’s definition of hate? It’s not just violent rage. It’s seeing others as obstacles to your will. And when everyone becomes a pawn in your self-game, eventually someone flips the board. This isn’t just Cretan culture. This is modern America. This is our hearts without Jesus. If you want a sobering look at where it leads, just open Genesis. After Adam and Eve chose self over God, the world unraveled. Cain killed Abel. Lamech sang songs of his vengeance. The world filled with violence until the flood came. That’s where the self-cycle ends: drowning in our own desires. So now the question: What should God do with people like that? What should he do with me?
If the story ended here, we’d all walk out crushed today. But Paul didn’t stop. Even more, God didn’t stop. “But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us…” Not when we figured it out. Not when we cleaned ourselves up. Not when we got our lives together. But when His kindness appeared. Even the way Paul writes is surprising. He says “God our Savior.” That’s the Father. Then he speaks of the Holy Spirit poured out on us. And then Jesus Christ—our Savior again. The whole Trinity leans toward you in mercy. “Not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy.” Mercy. God not giving us what we deserve. You deserved wrath. He gave rescue. You deserved rejection. He gave adoption. You deserved distance. He gave His very presence. Martin Luther once preached: “The love of God does not find, but creates, that which is pleasing to it.” He didn’t find you lovable. He loved you into new life. He sent our brother Jesus to loveless people like you and me, and through the cross he has made us lovely, holy, redeemed. 
And how did that mercy arrive in your story? “He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit.” That’s baptism. Not a photo op. Not a ritual box to check. A death and resurrection. A divine declaration: “You’re mine now.” He didn’t just forgive your record. He buried it. And in its place, He gave you a new one. His. Now here’s the turn that changes everything:“…so that, having been justified by his grace, we might become heirs having the hope of eternal life.” You are justified—declared righteous. That’s your identity. You are heirs—adopted into God’s family. That’s your future.  You have the hope of eternal life—that’s your joy. You don’t have to live for an audience anymore. Because you already have the only approval that matters.
Now, just to be clear: Living for an Audience of One doesn’t mean living with an audience of none. We’re still in the world. Still seen. Still engaged. But we no longer need people’s applause to feel whole. It’s like a kid playing in a big game. They’re surrounded by a roaring crowd. But you know who they’re looking for in the stands? Mom. Dad. Coach. Because when you know you’re loved, you want to make them proud—not to earn their love, but because you already have it. So it is with your heavenly Father.
Because the gospel doesn’t just forgive the sin cycle. It reverses it. Let’s walk it in reverse, with gospel in hand: Spiritual Wisdom. You don’t wake up every morning grasping for meaning or chasing affirmation like a hamster on a wheel. You know who God is. You know He made you. Redeemed you. Named you in baptism. You know you belong. So you live with perspective. You parent with eternity in mind. You lead your business knowing it’s not about your platform. You grieve—but not as those who have no hope. This is what real wisdom looks like: clarity in the storm, stillness in the noise. 
Obedience. You obey—not to earn love, but because you already have it. So you stay faithful in your marriage, even when romance feels like routine. You honor your parents, even when they don’t understand you. You tell the truth at work, even if it costs you the deal. You say no to the temptation late at night—not because you’re strong, but because you belong. Obedience isn’t legalism. It’s love in motion. 
Truth. You no longer fall for every lie that whispers, “You are what you achieve,” or “You are who you sleep with,” or “You are only as valuable as others say you are.” You know better now. Your life is hidden with Christ in God. You are not your past. You are not your failures. You are not your likes or your following. You belong to the crucified and risen One—and that truth anchors you. 
Freedom. You’re no longer ruled by addiction, comparison, or guilt. Maybe you used to binge to numb the pain. Now you confess the pain and let Christ enter it. Maybe you used to compare your parenting to every other Instagram mom. Now you rest in the call to be faithful, not flawless. Maybe shame from your past haunted you every night. Now, when the memories knock, you remind them: That version of me died in Christ. I am new. Freedom doesn’t always feel like a parade. Sometimes it’s simply the power to say. “I don’t need that anymore, because I have Jesus.” 
Joy. You celebrate others now. Not because you’re naive, but because you’re secure in Christ. When your friend gets engaged and you’re still single, you smile—because your worth isn’t tied to a relationship status. When your coworker gets the promotion and you don’t, you congratulate—because your treasure’s in heaven. When someone else’s child seems more obedient than yours, you don’t spiral—you bless them, and keep loving your own. You don’t need to win the imaginary contest. You’ve already been chosen. 
Love. You’re no longer hating or being hated. You forgive. You serve. You bless. You forgive your ex—not because they deserve it, but because Jesus forgave you. You serve your elderly parent who doesn’t say thank you—because love isn’t about applause. You speak gently to that coworker who slanders you—because your peace doesn’t come from their approval. You can even love your enemies—because Jesus did and now he gives you the grace to follow him. He loved you when you were His enemy. That’s what it means to live for an Audience of One. And it’s the only way to truly live.
It takes me full circle to where we started: Jada. I think about her often. I think about what kind of person it takes to say after all she has endured, “God has been so kind to me.” It takes someone who was once foolish—but has been made wise. Someone mistreated—but held by mercy. Someone who’s been baptized into a living hope—and who is waiting for a crown no cancer can steal. She’s not trending on TikTok. Not publishing books. Not doing a podcast. But her life whispers what the world cannot fake: A soul anchored in grace. Quietly content before the throne of One. She lives for an Audience of One. And today… by grace… So do we. Amen.