If sportswriters have adequately appreciated Scottie Scheffler as a professional golfer, they have generally shanked their assessments of him as a man. He has been dubbed “boring,” partly as an homage to the monotonous succession of hit fairways and greens that characterizes a typical Scheffler round, partly in reference to his understated demeanor. While his athletic prowess is undisputed, Scheffler’s Christian piety has consistently been greeted with awkward silence. To adapt the old saw about Episcopalians, the quickest way to get a golf journalist to look at his shoes is to talk about Jesus. Yet to ignore Scheffler’s faith is to misunderstand the man entirely.
Scheffler’s on-course success is generally attributed to his superlative iron play and disciplined course management. He currently leads the PGA Tour in strokes gained off-the-tee, from tee to green, and on approach. His unorthodox swing mechanics (the “Scheffler Shuffle”) must be seen to be believed. His putting, formerly a relative weakness, has improved dramatically since his switch to a mallet-style putter last year. Over the past 113 consecutive weeks that he has held the top spot in the Official World Golf Rankings, Scheffler has separated himself from his formidable generation of competitors — among them Rory McIlroy, Bryson DeChambeau, John Rahm, and Xander Schauffele. Across the four majors conducted in 2025, two of which Scheffler won outright, he shot a combined 32 under par. His next closest competitor, Masters champion Rory McIlroy, shot a combined 11-under.
Last Sunday, Scheffler notched his first Open Championship, drawing abreast of Raymond Floyd and Young and Old Tom Morris (4 majors apiece). Should he secure a U.S. Open next summer at Shinnecock Hills, Scheffler will be only the seventh golfer to complete the so-called “career Grand Slam,” joining four men who require only a surname to identify them (Sarazen, Hogan, Player, McIlroy), and two who require only a given name (Jack, Tiger). Eclipsing Nicklaus’s 18 major championships, a feat of which not even Woods (15) has proven capable, seems out of reach for Scheffler at 29 years old. Still, commentators have begun to whisper that double-digits may be attainable.
Scheffler is universally regarded for his skill and sang-froid on the course. Everywhere else, Scheffler seems to bewilder the press. Nowhere was the misapprehension of Scheffler’s character more evident than in the collective befuddlement in response to his pre-tournament press conference last week at Royal Portrush, site of the 153rd Open Championship (more commonly known as the British Open).
Asked by a reporter, “What would be the longest you’ve ever celebrated something, and what was the most crushing loss?” Scheffler delivered a five-minute disquisition on the ephemerality of human accomplishment. Scheffler’s discursive response touched on three principal themes.
First, introspection: “[W]hy do I want to win this golf tournament so badly? Why do I want to win the Open Championship so badly?” Second, gratitude: “Is it great to be able to win tournaments and to accomplish the things I have in the game of golf? Yeah, it brings tears to my eyes just to think about it because I’ve literally worked my entire life to be good at this sport.” Third, sic transit gloria mundi: “[I]t feels like you work your whole life to celebrate winning a tournament for a few minutes. It only lasts a few minutes, that kind of euphoric feeling.…I literally worked my entire life to become good at golf, to have an opportunity to win [the Byron Nelson Tournament, contested near Scheffler’s Dallas home]. And you win it, you celebrate. You get to hug your family…. It’s such an amazing moment. And then it’s like, O.K., now what are we going to eat for dinner?”
Scheffler continued: “To get to live out your dreams is very special, but at the end of the day, I’m not out here to inspire the next generation of golfers. I’m not out here to inspire someone to be the best player in the world, because what’s the point?”
Predictably, ESPN dismissively headlined its coverage of this arresting press conference: “Scottie Scheffler’s take on success in golf: ‘What’s the point?’” Golf Twitter lampooned Scheffler as a “nihilist” mired in existentialist ennui. To be sure, the specialist golf press was more impressed by Scheffler’s candor, for example, Shane Ryan of Golf Digest (“British Open 2025: Scottie Scheffler gave the best (and deepest) press conference answer we’ve ever heard”). The leading golf podcasts — No Laying Up, Foreplay, and Fried Egg Golf — struck a similar tone of bemused wonderment that a man so prodigiously talented could so openly disclaim the competitive fire that we associate with our leading sportsmen.
Scheffler’s recent statements were anything but an expression of Weltschmerz. Nor were they mere “wise beyond his years” platitudes. Consider his remarks in the context of his most recent Masters victory, in April 2024, after which Scheffler tearfully related the following anecdote:
I was sitting around with my buddies this morning, I was a bit overwhelmed. I told them, ‘I wish I didn’t want to win as badly…as I do.’ I think it would make the mornings easier. I love winning. I hate losing. I really do. And when you’re here in the biggest moments, when I’m sitting there with the lead on Sunday, I really, really want to win badly. My buddies told me this morning, my victory was secure on the Cross. And that’s a pretty special feeling; to know that I’m secure forever, and it doesn’t matter if I win this tournament or lose this tournament. My identity is secure forever.
His Christian faith is never far from Scheffler’s mind, most especially on golf’s grandest occasions. Scheffler supposedly met his caddie, Ted Scott, at a Bible study. After his first major victory in 2022, also the Masters, Scheffler stated that “the reason why I play golf is I’m trying to glorify God and all that He’s done in my life.” He credits his wife, Meredith, with reminding him that “God is in control and that the Lord is leading me…and if I shot 82 today, you know, somehow I was going to use it for His glory.”
At the PGA Championship in May, Scheffler virtually paraphrased the Nicene Creed: “We have a Creator. God created the earth, and He sent His Son to save us. The Lord covered our sins on the Cross, and victory was secured over death. We will live forever with Christ when we eventually pass on from this earth, and Jesus died and saved us from our sins. It’s really just as simple as that.”
Golf commentators, especially during live tournament broadcasts, have tended to display extreme squeamishness in addressing Scheffler’s Christianity and generally divert to safer territory. Regular viewers will recall the frequent cutaway shots to Scheffler’s photogenic family, with announcers warbling that Scheffler “does it all for them,” “they’re what it’s all about,” etc.
“Devoted family man” has long been a safe journalistic trope in golf. (See, e.g., Phil Mickelson’s gallant promise to leave the course at the U.S. Open in 1999 — a tournament that traditionally concludes on Father’s Day — to attend the birth of his first child, or the intense affection between Earl and Tiger Woods, and now between Tiger and Charlie Woods.) Golf is, after all, a sport that children cannot learn on their own. Children are generally barred from the premises unless accompanied by an avid parent, typically a father. Scheffler’s affection for his wife and son are evident, but the same is also true of most of the men of the PGA Tour.
In a recent episode of the Fried Egg Golf podcast, the superb CBS color commentator and 2008 Masters champion, Trevor Immelman, described Scheffler as organizing his life into three “buckets,” one for family, one for faith, and one for golf and credited Scheffler for his remarkable ability to “compartmentalize” these disparate areas of his life. With respect to Immelman, this is a misreading of Scheffler and inverts reality as Scheffler perceives it.
Scheffler’s outward displays of faith are not an ascetic practice designed to enhance his golf game. His daily devotional readings, briefly captured on Netflix’s Full Swing documentary, are not a spiritual Sun Tzu to prepare him for warfare on the links. Scheffler does not even really play golf for his family, although he quite ably supports them with his winnings.
Scheffler plays for the greater glory of God, whom he entirely credits for his success: “I’m a faithful guy. I believe in a Creator. I believe in Jesus. Ultimately, I think that’s what defines me most. I feel like I’ve been given a platform to complete and show my talent. It’s not anything that I did.”
For Scheffler, the proper metaphor is not “three buckets” but a single cup, and not of the 4.25” variety but rather the type that runneth over.