Scottie Scheffler’s Ecclesiastes moment

America is drowning in its own hype. We swipe, scroll, and self-promote—curating our personas like digital avatars, convinced that if we just post the right picture or land the right job, we’ll finally feel whole. AirPods blur the line between presence and distraction. Social media crowns swagger over substance. Leadership is too often reduced to a glossy headshot and a title.

Then, unexpectedly, clarity emerges—not from a philosopher, psychologist or from the pulpit, but from a golfer.

While American media was buzzing over a viral photo of a CEO entangled with his HR chief at a Coldplay concert—a meme-worthy snapshot of our self-awareness deficit—Scottie Scheffler, the world’s top-ranked golfer, was quietly modeling something better across the Atlantic.

In a pre-tournament press conference at the 2025 Open Championship at Royal Portrush, Scheffler didn’t talk about his stats. He didn’t boast about his Masters wins or his Olympic gold. Instead, he spoke like a modern-day Solomon:

“You work your whole life to celebrate winning a tournament for a few minutes. … It’s fulfilling from a sense of accomplishment, but it’s not fulfilling from the deepest places of your heart.”

It was a stunning moment. A superstar—on the eve of a major—going full Ecclesiastes. “Vanity of vanities,” Solomon wrote, “all is vanity” (Ecclesiastes 1:2). Scheffler echoed that refrain, reminding a world addicted to applause that even our greatest victories leave the soul hungry without something deeper.

Days later, Scheffler would go on to win the Claret Jug—his fourth major—joining historic company by shooting under 68 in all four rounds. But there were no ego-driven mic drops. Instead, he said, “I’m blessed to play this game, but if it ever affected my wife or son, that’d be my last day out here.” For Scheffler, identity isn’t found in his swing—it’s anchored in his Savior.

In a world chasing novelty, Solomon’s ancient wisdom is both sobering and bracing. The man who had it all—power, wealth, influence, pleasure—looked at the sum of his life and declared, “All is vanity and a striving after wind” (Ecclesiastes 1:14). His conclusion? Success is fleeting. Fame is fickle. Even wisdom has its limits.

In Ecclesiastes 1:11, Solomon wrote:

“There is no remembrance of former things, nor will there be any remembrance of later things yet to be among those who come after.”

Scottie Scheffler understands this, and one can only assume he was meditating on Solomon’s words before crossing the Atlantic. Even in his fame, he carries himself with the humility of a man who knows his trophies will gather dust—but his impact as a husband and a father, and his soul, will endure.

In contrast, our culture seems addicted to self-importance. We praise CEOs who “disrupt” and influencers who monetize authenticity. Yet behind the filters and the personal brands is a striking lack of self-awareness. We don’t just forget that we’re mortal—we act as though we’re immortal.

Scheffler’s comments, and more importantly his character, point to a better way. His life aligns with Proverbs 3:5–6: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight.”

While others seek identity in what they do, Scheffler is grounded in whose he is. After his 2024 Masters win, he said simply:

“I’m a faithful guy. I believe in Jesus… It’s not anything I did.”

This isn’t performative religion. It’s a theology of the heart: one that understands the difference between excellence and idolatry, between achievement and identity.

Scheffler enjoys his craft. He excels in it. But he holds it loosely. He sees his gift not as a god, but as a grace. He reminds us of a modern-day Eric Liddell from Chariots of Fire—fiercely competitive, yet profoundly grounded. Like Liddell, Scheffler feels God’s pleasure when he plays. But Scheffler is defined by something far deeper: not the scoreboard, but the smile of his Savior. Victory doesn’t validate him—faithfulness does.

Let’s be honest. When you're on your deathbed, with all the tubes and wires, and loved ones by your side, you won’t be talking about the deal you closed in 2025 or the fancy car you leased in 2024 or shooting your age in golf or that once in a lifetime miraculous hole-in-one. You’ll talk about your faith. Your family. Your friends.

And that’s what Scheffler—like Solomon before him—is asking us to consider: If that’s what we’ll care about when we’re dying, why isn’t it what we’re living for now?

For a Church increasingly shaped by curated egos, platform-building, and dopamine-fueled distraction, Scottie Scheffler’s Ecclesiastes moment is not just a gentle reminder—it’s a quiet reckoning. In an era where even ministry can blur into performance, his life offers a radical alternative: You can pursue greatness without worshiping it. You can be excellent and still walk humbly with your God (Micah 6:8). You can lead with conviction without chasing applause.

Scheffler’s identity isn’t built on his win column, his brand, or even his public declarations of faith—it’s anchored in Christ alone. That’s a necessary challenge for pastors who preach for likes, believers who confuse busyness with holiness, and a Church tempted to measure faith by followers and clicks.

In a recent interview, Scheffler explained how he stays grounded: “I just try to live in the present moment. That’s something I learned through my faith—that God’s with me here and now, and that’s enough.” It’s a statement that echoes Psalm 46:10: “Be still and know that I am God.” It’s not just a golfing mindset—it’s a theological one. And in an anxious age obsessed with the next thing, it’s profoundly countercultural.

In a fame-addicted world, Scheffler’s example is a clarion call to recover what we’ve lost: a quiet confidence that comes not from résumé-building but from being hidden with Christ in God (Colossians 3:3). His Open Championship wasn’t merely a triumph of talent—it was a sermon on eternal perspective. When he embraced his wife, Meredith, and son, Bennett, after the win, it wasn’t just a touching image—it was a testimony. A man who knows exactly what matters—and what doesn’t.

Scheffler shows us what it means to live aware—aware of our mortality, our limits, and our eternal purpose. In a culture of noise, his faith invites us to return to stillness. In an age of self-invention, he reminds us to remember who—and whose—we are.