How to Deal With the Question of Selfishness as a Faith Writer

On a chilly evening in December 2019, I sat in the glow emanating from my computer screen. With the kids tucked in bed and my husband in another room, the only sounds were the clicking of keys. I wasn’t working on a grand project or plans for publication. I was journaling—giving the opportunity for the thoughts in my head to be born into black and white text. 

As my fingers scooted across the keys, a tingle rose up from my toes to the top of my head. A flash of delight lifted the corners of my mouth into a smile. The sensation came and went quickly, and I was left wondering what sort of half-mad lady sits by herself smiling goofily at a page of typed words about her oh-so-ordinary December day?

Quieting my inner critic (and jester), I reflected on that pulse of joy. I knew what brought it—my love of writing and the process of putting ideas into ordered, sensible strings of text. 

Two months later, I published my first faith-focused blog post. My writing came from the simple motivation of enjoyment. 

At that time, the question of whether writing is an act of selfishness or service wasn’t one I had even thought to consider. 

As the months ticked by, I noted the necessary trade-offs between writing and cleaning, writing and home projects, or writing and relaxation. In an online community of writers, I began seeing questions about how to handle those trade-offs. For many, feelings of guilt came when they chose to use their time for writing instead of other responsibilities. Questions such as “Am I being selfish by taking time to write?” or “I feel guilty when I leave my family to work on a writing project” began to make me consider the ideas of guilt and calling in my own life.

Since then, the question has tumbled around in the back of my mind: Is writing an act of selfishness? 

Maybe you’ve asked it too.

Origins of the question

From somewhere within the depths of many writers, this fear arises. I’m sacrificing time and energy that could be spent on relationships or a myriad of other activities for the sake of a hobby. We tend to view it as an optional side activity. And when we view it that way, it makes sense to stick it at the end of our priorities list:  God, family, church, friends, work, hobbies. There it is. At the end.

With this framework of thinking, I understand why we feel guilty about declining a work-related networking event or asking a grandparent to watch our kids so we can write. Looking at our list of priorities, family and work are likely higher up the chain than hobbies, so the logic follows that we should be spending time with the kids or investing in our careers. And it makes sense that we would hesitate when our church asks us to help with an event even though we’ve already made a personal commitment to finish a writing project by the end of the month. The church is a higher priority than our hobbies so we should volunteer.

One reason we might feel guilty and accuse ourselves of selfishness is because of the way we’ve defined our writing work as a hobby. (More about this in the next section.)

But let’s say you’ve succeeded in mentally bumping your writing life out of that hobby bucket and perhaps into the work category. You see it as a real, meaningful endeavor, and yet, you’re still struggling with the question of selfishness. 

Let’s start by asking this question: do we think other types of work are selfish? Is a software engineer selfish when she needs hours of uninterrupted time to code a project? Is a surgeon selfish when he requires half a day to complete a complicated procedure?

Writing work, along with many other artistic endeavors, is viewed differently by our culture and therefore by us, the writers. We say, “But I’m not making money as a writer.” And we say, “But my writing isn’t saving anyone’s life.” And we say, “No one values a lyrical turn of phrase the way they value a new app or technical advancement.”

We’re comparing the outcomes of our writing with the values our society places on work: money, innovation, and status.

When we can’t see how our writing work fits into any of those categories, we count it as less worthy and undervalue our contributions.

We believe as a society that giving our time and effort for the sake of money, innovation, or service is a sensible trade-off. Using our time to indulge in work that brings us delight but maybe not much else must be selfish, right? So our logic goes.

Let’s take a look at what selfishness is and isn’t.

Defining selfishness

First, we’ll go to good ol’ Merriam-Webster. There, selfishness is defined this way: “concerned excessively or exclusively with oneself : seeking or concentrating on one’s own advantage, pleasure, or well-being without regard for others.”

With this definition, we can see that almost any job could be considered selfish. The question of selfishness hangs on the person’s motivations and priorities, not their job title.

A CEO can work to her best ability “as for the Lord” while loving people and making a positive impact on her community (Col. 3:23). In a different scenario, the same CEO could work long hours to escape herself and drum up accolades to feed her self-esteem all while treating employees harshly. 

The job itself isn’t what is categorized as selfish or unselfish. In terms of where a job type falls on the selfishness spectrum, it lands square in the middle. The attitude and motivations we bring along to perform the job determine which category we’ll fall into.

The same goes for writing. There is a way to approach writing that seeks fame and prestige to the neglect of other human beings. And there is a way to pursue a writing life that honors and serves God and others.

Turning to the Bible, we could look at verses that speak to selfish ambition or denying ourselves, but I’ll focus on Psalm 119:36, a plea from the psalmist to God. “Incline my heart to your testimonies, and not to selfish gain!” Our sinful, human nature causes us to bend towards selfishness. If it weren’t the case, the psalmist wouldn’t need to pray for God to intervene and bend his heart towards God’s testimonies. Those testimonies are summed up by Jesus to love God and love people (Luke 10:27). The psalmist prayed for God to change his inclination, and we can pray this prayer as it applies to our writing lives and expect God to act—molding and bending our hearts toward his testimonies.

Taking these definitions, we can examine our motivations toward writing. Some questions to ask may include:

1. In my writing life, am I seeking my own gain exclusively?
2. Am I neglecting the well-being of others so that I can write?
3. Does my writing life conflict with God’s commandments to love him and love people?

The writers I know who have struggled with guilt about prioritizing their writing would be able to answer a solid “no” to each of those questions. By examining our hearts and bringing our honest answers before God, perhaps we can begin to let go of the false accusation that the time and effort spent writing is in pursuit of selfish gain.

Is spending time with God selfish?

I could stop there, but I think there is another important piece of the conversation to consider.

Most writers I know would say writing fits into one of the categories of hobby or work. But as a writer on topics of faith, I see there is another large component at play—the writer’s relationship and interaction with God.

As someone who connects my heart with the heart of the Father best when I’m writing out my thoughts, questions, and prayers, I see the activity as something more than a hobby or even a job. It’s living out the way God wired me to know him.

Writing is more than a hobby or a job. It’s living out the way God wired me to know him. Share on X

Thinking of writing as a connection point with God makes me prioritize the activity differently than if I consider it only as a hobby or job.

I’ve heard it said somewhere that for writers, the act of writing allows them to become more fully their true selves. I would alter that for writers of faith to say that writing forms us to become more who God intends for us to be. I’ve seen how God has used it for my sanctification, and I’ve also been honored to hear of how it impacts the faith journey of others. 

As we invite God into the creation process he sparks our thoughts, inspires our phrases, and illuminates our minds. And when we pass on these words to others, we do so with the trust that he will use them for the good and growth of others. A piece of writing advice I read (I can’t remember where) said that if you don’t feel anything when you’re writing, then the reader won’t feel anything as they’re reading. Similarly, if we want our readers to encounter God’s glory through our writing, then we first need to encounter his glory in our own hearts and in the privacy of our own written pages. 

I’ve never heard someone ask or consider whether spending time with God is selfish. By writing and entering into the presence of God, he transforms us and gives us peace. We carry those resulting gifts to our families, friends, and the world. Making him known was what we were made to do.

We may not ever gain material wealth, fame, or status through our writing. But if we’re spending time in God’s presence as we write, we’re gaining something far greater.

Writing as an act of service

I’m not the first person to wrestle with the question of whether spending time on writing is selfish. A common antidote to the selfishness problem sounds something like this: Your writing can’t be selfish if you’re offering it as an act of service to the people who need your words.

When I first considered this mindset, I thought, “Yes, that’s right! I’m writing to help people. If that’s my mission then it’s okay to sometimes prioritize writing over other responsibilities.” 

But soon after adopting it, I began to struggle with this framework of thinking. I thought, “Is it only okay to prioritize my writing if I publish it for the world to see?” And, “If no one responds to my writing, how can I know if I’m helping anyone?”

Comments, likes, and email subscription notifications became profoundly important. It’s how I measured whether I was serving people and therefore whether I could justify the time and energy I spent writing. Even more paralyzing, I began to question what made my often-anonymous reader a more worthy recipient of my acts of service than my neighbors, friends, or children. 

There are many tangible ways to serve people in this life. I could cook a meal for a neighbor, clean my church, or volunteer at a homeless shelter. If my goal is to serve, then I could engage in any of these very worthy activities. When we answer the question, “Is my writing an act of selfishness?” with “No, because you’re serving others,” we’re over-simplifying the reasons we write. It can be an act of service, but it can also be so much more.

I write because it’s a powerful way to connect with God.

I write because I can love my people better when I’ve processed my own thoughts and emotions on the page.

I write because God is providing for me every day, and I want to remember his record of faithfulness.

I write because God may use my words to encourage someone else.

Writing is about God. And about you. And about people.

Summing it all up

Ephesians 2:10 says, “For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.”

After a lot of praying and listening, I’ve determined that for now, writing is one of the good works he prepared for me. And maybe it is for you too.

In any and all of our work, we can strive to do it for the Lord with love for the people around us and awareness of their needs. Whether we have readers or write privately and whether we know our readers or they remain anonymous, we can work and toil over our art with a posture of love for God and people. We can trust that he is faithful to gather and shape his people. Perhaps he may even use our words and stories to make much of his glory. What an honor to participate with him in the work of gently drawing a soul down the path of following him. And whether we receive fame and applause for our writing is aside from the point and perhaps is in that way, selfless. 

I’ve thought a lot about this question, and if you write about faith topics, you probably have also. I’d love to have a conversation in the comments. Have you struggled with the question of whether writing is selfish? And how have you handled it? I’d love to hear. (If you’d prefer to chat privately, you can contact me here!)

*Featured image by Nick Morrison on Unsplash