Today is a faith anniversary for me. Four years ago today, in 2022, I was baptised.
It was not the beginning of my Christian life. I gave my life to Christ in 2007. But that baptism felt, in many ways, like a rebirth, a recommitment of my life to Christ and a conscious decision to say again: Yes, Lord. I am yours. You can read more about that experience [here].
Four years later, I can say that God has done a great deal with that yes.
He has grown me spiritually, certainly, but not always in the ways I imagined spiritual growth would look. He has dared me. He has challenged me out of my comfort zones. He has made me revisit some of the contracts I thought I had made with Him and question whether He had actually signed them too. He has challenged suppositions I mistook for convictions, and personal convictions I attributed to the will of God Himself. And, perhaps most uncomfortably, He has shown me again and again that in many situations where I was very sure somebody else was the problem, I was, in fact, part of the problem. All the ways I need grace and have been called to be perpetually dependent on Him. And He has been patient with me.
So I have decided that my baptism anniversary is something I want to mark every year, not merely as a celebration of what happened that day, but as an opportunity to look again at my walk with Christ: where I have grown, where I am resisting growth, what God has been teaching me, and perhaps what He has put on my heart to share.
This particular word was put on my heart much earlier this year, and I will begin by insisting this isn’t an attack on Christian fellowship, because perhaps “attack” is the wrong word to use. But it is certainly a calling out; a calling out of us all, as a people to whom I belong. So, if “iron sharpens iron” (Proverbs 27:17), consider this my small attempt at sharpening. I pray it reaches whoever needs it, because I see a great deal of cognitive dissonance in contemporary Christianity. I see us finding elaborate theological explanations for behaviours that, when stripped of the Christian language around them, seem plainly contrary to the love Christ commanded of us. And while God is not the author of confusion (1 Corinthians 14:33), I also don’t think we can “faith” our way out of contradictions that are staring us in the face. We cannot slap Scripture onto cruelty and make it holy.
Let me state my key point: Christians, I think we have become very confused about whom we have been called to police.
If you read the Gospels carefully, really listen to the Gospels of Christ, one thing that stands out is who Christ spent a great deal of His time speaking to and, importantly, who He rebuked; that is the Jews. His own people.
He did not spend His ministry talking about how unholy the Samaritans were. In fact, when somebody asked Him who exactly counted as a neighbour, He made a Samaritan the hero of the story (Luke 10:25–37) which likely irked some people. He did not spend His time cataloguing the unholy practices of Gentiles and talking about all the ways in which they were falling short of Jewish law. No, rather, He spoke to the Jews because the Jews had the Word of God. They were the chosen ones. They had the law. They had the prophets. They had the rules they had been given to follow. And what Christ repeatedly confronted was the way they had twisted those things, the way they followed some rules and ignored others, and particularly the way religious authority could be used to burden and abuse other people.
Some of Christ’s harshest words, in fact, were reserved for the religious leaders.
Matthew 23 is almost uncomfortable to read when you remember that this is Jesus speaking. “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites!” He says, again and again. He tells them that they tie up heavy burdens and put them on other people’s shoulders while being unwilling to lift a finger themselves (Matthew 23:4). And then He tells them that they have become very meticulous about certain aspects of the law while neglecting “the weightier matters”: justice, mercy and faithfulness (Matthew 23:23). In many ways I think the church in its religiousity is currently doing something very similar.
We can become extremely particular about unChristian ‘worldliness’ while becoming strangely flexible around justice, mercy, faithfulness and love which are Christlike traits.
One of the most poignant Christian lessons I have received came from my sister-friend Lily Haritu. I remember asking her what she thought about a particular practice among unbelievers. I don’t even remember what the practice was anymore. But I remember her response. She basically said: “But that is not for you to condemn“. She would go on to explain that they are unbelievers. They have not professed Christ. They have not taken on the faith you have taken on. You are not called to police them into obeying the rules of a God they have not chosen to follow.
What we are called to do is correct those within the faith, lovingly, yes, but correct them. And to those outside the faith, we are called to show Christ. To testify. To live in such a way that somebody might actually want to know this God you say has changed your life.
Years later, I realised how scriptural what she told me was. Paul says it almost bluntly in 1 Corinthians 5:12: “What business is it of mine to judge those outside the church? Are you not to judge those inside?”
I mean, it is right there, and yet I feel like I see the complete opposite happening these days.
Most of our sermons are about the sinfulness of the world around us, the immorality of the West, etc., as if we want to teach them rather than testify to them. We want them to follow the laws we have been given, and feel outraged that they live as they do rather than focusing on how we can live as we ought to. But that focusing on surrounding sin rather than the inner work the church must do seems so contrary to the Word that says: We ourselves were first saved by grace. Then comes this ongoing work of learning obedience, of submission, of dying to self, of becoming more like Christ. “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith” (Ephesians 2:8). We didn’t perfect ourselves and then qualify for salvation. God found us where we were, saved us by grace, and then began the work of changing us.
He is still changing me, still helping me obey His will; so why do we expect people who haven’t chosen Christ to start with obedience? And, perhaps more importantly, what exactly are do outsiders see when they look at those of us who have chosen Him?
There is an old spoken-word piece by Karness from the Passion for Christ Movement, P4CM, called Does Anybody Know That You’re a Christian? I heard it many years ago, and it is one of the most enduring poems in my heart.
With “Does anybody know you’re a Christian?” Karness asks: Would anyone know, by interacting with you, that you are a disciple of Christ? Could they tell who your Lord and Master is just by your way of life? Poignant right?
Well, lately, I have found myself adding another question to it: How? How do they know?
If you didn’t tell anyone, would they know? If you didn’t have a cross and Bible verse in your IG bio, or post pics of going to church, etc. Because Jesus actually told His disciples how people would recognise them: “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another” (John 13:35).
And I think this is where something troubles me. Do people know we are Christians by how we love? Or do they mostly know us by what we hate? If the thing that most clearly identifies you as a Christian is that everybody knows you hate LGBTQ people, is that Christianity? If everybody knows you condemn prostitutes, but nobody can point to how you have loved your enemy, what exactly are you testifying to?
If everybody knows that you think polygamy is wrong, knows what you think about abortion, knows what you think women should wear, knows who you think is going to hell, but they cannot tell me anything about your mercy, your kindness, your generosity, your defence of somebody vulnerable, your willingness to sit with somebody everybody else has rejected, then what about you is actually testifying to Christ?
I may be wrong, but I feel like mainstream Christianity is about being identified by what you hate, not by how you love. And that is what may be causing us to fail at winning more souls; because I don’t think evangelism was ever supposed to be simply telling everybody else what they are doing wrong.
We are called to testify. Christ tells His disciples, “You will be my witnesses” (Acts 1:8). He calls us the light of the world and says that people should see our good works and glorify our Father in heaven (Matthew 5:14–16). We are called to be fishers of men (Matthew 4:19). Something about our lives is supposed to bear witness.
Another thing that gets me frustrated is how easy it is for us to police people outside the faith while, at the same time, becoming remarkably unwilling to police ourselves.
With those outside the faith, we readily point to worldliness, immoral laws, influences, etc.; we call those out easily. Those inside the faith who are doing harm? We keep quiet. When pastors use pulpits to abuse people, manipulate people, exploit people, and spread hate? We keep quiet. When Christian leaders do things we would absolutely condemn if somebody outside the faith did them? Suddenly there is nuance. Suddenly there is grace. Suddenly we must pray rather than judge. Suddenly it is “touch not my anointed. Suddenly “the kingdom cannot be divided”.
My friend, please. Why would the kingdom be divided by accountability? If iron sharpens iron, then some sharpening has to happen and sparks will fly. And, actually, scripture is quite clear that correction within the faith is part of Christian fellowship. Paul confronted Peter when Peter was acting hypocritically and his behaviour was affecting other believers (Galatians 2:11–14). So where did we get this idea that calling out something wrong within Christianity is somehow an attack on Christianity? In fact, that is precisely where we have responsibility.
I remember thinking about something similar around 2015, when there were so many terrorist attacks and suicide bombings in the news. I wrote something at the time about suicide bombing and religious fundamentalism, and I remember the conversations around Muslims being expected to condemn terrorist attacks committed by people claiming Islam. The argument was essentially: “If this is not your faith, say so. If these people do not represent what you believe, then show us how what you believe is different; until then, we shall suspect you all”.
Now, I think there is something unfair about making ordinary Muslims answer for every terrible thing somebody does while invoking Islam. They did not commit those acts, and they should not automatically be held responsible for them simply because some fanatics of the religion are doing this.
But in line with that thinking, are Christians willing to speak up and call out those who are misrepresenting our faith? When harmful things are being done in the name of our faith, what do we do?
If we follow the logic above, Christians, it is time for us to defend our faith; and I don’t mean defend God. God does not need lawyers. I don’t know why we behave sometimes as though the Almighty needs us to fight His battles for Him. I mean defend your faith by showing how it is different from what is being done in its name.
When somebody uses scripture to justify hatred, say it is wrong.
When Christian leaders manipulate and exploit vulnerable people, say it is wrong.
When cruelty is being called righteousness, say: No. I do not recognise Christ in this.
Unless, of course, you actually believe it is Christian, and perhaps that is something we need to be honest about too. Do we know the Word for ourselves well enough to recognise when it is being twisted? Are we willing to truly think about what we believe and why, or do we assume our faith should not make any sense at all, because it’s faith? Well, God gave us brains…
All in all, four years after my baptism, in the midst of a season where the church is justifying a lot of hate and overlooking a lot of issues, I am thinking of that spoken-word question again. So this is for me to. Monique, does anybody know you’re a Christian?
And how?
Because four years later, God is still correcting me. He is still showing me places where what I thought was righteousness was ego, where what I thought was discernment was judgement, where what I thought was obedience was sometimes fear, and where I had become very good at seeing somebody else’s speck while ignoring the log in my own eye (Matthew 7:3–5).
So I am not writing this from outside the Church, pointing a finger at Christians. I am a Christian. This is my faith too. And precisely because it is my faith, I want it well represented. Christ said we would know trees by their fruit (Matthew 7:16–20). Galatians tells us what the fruit of the Spirit should look like: “love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control” (Galatians 5:22–23). So perhaps we should look at our fruit. If I removed the Christian label from you, what would remain that would make somebody recognise Christ?
Would it be your love?
Would it be your mercy?
Would it be the way you treat people who cannot do anything for you?
Would it be the way you treat the people your society despises?
Would it be your willingness to stand against wrongdoing even when the person doing wrong is somebody from your church, your denomination, your Christian community?
Would somebody encounter you and think, Whatever this person has, whatever makes them love like this, I want to know it?
Or would the only evidence be the list of people you condemn?
We are very good at telling the world what Christians don’t do, who Christians don’t approve of, what Christians don’t support.
But does anybody know we are Christians by how we love?
Because Christ said that is how they would know.
Andis as much a question for me as it is for anybody reading this:
Does anybody know you’re a Christian? And how?
