If you have a moment, I have an early morning observation to share.

Sometime last week, a conversation erupted in an online forum for families associated with our local school district. Essentially, a collection drive was orchestrated, and for those elementary students who participated and ultimately reached a particular goal, a celebratory activity would be their reward. The original post was from a woman bothered that her child was excluded from the activity. Did she and her child participate in the collection drive? No. And yet, her problem was that while the kids who did participate had their fun, the students who didn’t were kept busy off to the side doing something else, but still within view of the other kids. This mother felt it was inappropriate to keep any of the children from enjoying the activity, especially when all the children could see it happening.

I don’t know how you feel about this, but I have at least two observations I’d like to offer. And I won’t lie to you. They feel somewhat contradictory. Still, give them a chance. I think you’ll see that the two thoughts, while seemingly in tension, actually point to the same underlying concern that many of us have, which, in the end, boils down to the formation of character. In other words, both revolve around the same question: What kind of people are we trying to raise?

I’ll start with the more contentious of the two, just to get it out of the way.

The first is that it’s troubling we feel the need to entice children with rewards in order to prompt benevolent behavior. It may seem harmless to offer a small celebration for those who participate. And yet, beneath this is the subtle and unfortunate lesson that doing good is only worth our time if there’s something in it for us. In other words, when generosity is trained to function as a transaction, it ceases to be true generosity. Children begin to associate helping others not with compassion or responsibility but with the personal perks that follow. That kind of moral formation may produce momentary results, but over time, it undermines the deeper virtues we hope to cultivate. True goodness, if it is to mean anything at all, should stand even when no one is looking—and especially when no one is offering a reward.

Personally, if I were to rule the world, I would not allow these types of activities in schools at all. Instead, I would build rhythms of service into the classroom life—moments where students are invited to help not for a prize but because someone needs help. I would normalize the idea that compassion is part of being a decent human being, not a means to an end. Rather than gamifying kindness, I would frame it as a basic responsibility, just as we expect students to clean up after themselves or treat their peers with respect. When we treat generosity as performative, kids internalize the notion that doing good is about being seen. But when we treat generosity as expected and ordinary, kids begin to understand it as part of who they’re meant to be.

Again, I won’t lie to you. On occasion, we organize activities in our Christian school, such as the one described above. And yet, for the most part, I think we lean far more into the former frame of mind than the latter. Interestingly, our incoming Kantor made such a comment this past week. While visiting among the students, he said he experienced a spirit of genuine care and concern for one another that he’d never experienced among students anywhere else. That, of course, made me smile.

The second point I wanted to make is much easier, and it steers directly into the woman’s concern, which was that everyone deserves the reward, regardless of whether or not they earned it.

I say, probably like many of you, not everyone deserves a trophy. I know that sentiment has become somewhat cliché in our cultural discourse, but in this case, it’s deeply relevant. If a student didn’t participate in the effort, regardless of the reason, then it stands to follow that he wouldn’t be included in the celebration meant to recognize those who did. Those were the parameters, and the school families were well aware of them in advance. To bend the rules or to insist otherwise is to flatten the meaning of both achievement and reward. It cheapens the accomplishment of the children who gave their time and energy while simultaneously reinforcing the idea that effort is optional and that outcomes should be distributed equally, regardless of the input.

This isn’t just about collection drives or school events. It’s about a broader cultural confusion between fairness and sameness. Fairness involves recognizing and rewarding effort, commitment, and virtue. Sameness, on the other hand, insists that everyone be treated identically, even when their choices and behaviors differ. When sameness becomes the goal, excellence is discouraged, and mediocrity becomes the norm. Worse still, it breeds resentment, resulting in anti-achievement. Children who do what’s right may begin to ask why they should bother if the rewards are the same for everyone.

In short, if we want to raise children with integrity, we can’t afford to teach them according to the first point, which is that virtue is transactional. But neither can we teach them according to the second point, which is that one’s effort is irrelevant.

I suppose in the end, as with all things, the Bible weighs in on this discussion, coming to rest in character’s domain, which is a land that prizes humility, integrity, charity, good order, and so many other godly traits. And by the way, they’re not negotiable characteristics, but rather, they are essential for society’s stability and flourishing.

Concerning the first point, I don’t have to go far to hear straight from the God-man’s mouth that when we give, we should not do so “as the hypocrites do… to be honored by others,” but instead secretly (Matthew 6:1-4). This behavior is a fruit of faith, one that already understands it isn’t meant to be paraded or purchased—it’s meant to be lived for its own sake. If it can be an open reflection of God’s goodness at work in us for the sake of encouraging faith in others, then so be it (Matthew 5:13-16; Ephesians 2:8-10). God will work that result. In the meantime, we understand the first concern regarding these things. When we train our children to do good only for what they can gain, we inadvertently lead them into works-righteousness and away from the heart of Christ, who gave freely and called us to the same.

God’s Word also affirms the principle of just reward. In Galatians 6:7, Paul writes, “Do not be deceived: God is not mocked, for whatever one sows, that will he also reap.” This isn’t about merit in the salvific sense—grace remains unearned—but it does speak clearly to how the world is meant to function when aligned with God’s order. Labor deserves its wage (1 Timothy 5:18). Diligence bears fruit (Proverbs 13:4; Proverbs 10:4; Galatians 6:9). Obedience and discipline are not to be dismissed as elitist virtues but as marks of maturity and wisdom (Hebrews 12:11; Proverbs 12:1; John 14:23). When we ignore those distinctions, when we give everyone the same outcome regardless of participation or effort, we cultivate confusion and ultimately injustice (Proverbs 17:15; Romans 2:6; Luke 19:17).

That’s why both points, while perhaps initially sounding as though they are at odds, are really part of the same conversation. We’re called to raise children who are generous without self-interest and responsible without entitlement. That’s no small task in today’s world. When I look around and see the popularity of celebrating self over sacrifice, and I see online celebrities being applauded, even though they’ve accomplished nothing, I worry that the next generation is learning to give little and expect much.

I know it seems like heavy lifting. Nevertheless, it’s worth the effort to push back on this, if only because the world our children have (in a sense) already inherited desperately needs help. But not the kind of help this culture is willing to provide. That kind of help is no help at all. Instead, it needs help from hearts aligned with Christ and anchored in genuine truth.