Some Thoughts on ‘Catchphrase Christianity’

Last month, I published a blog titled: “Does the Bible Shape Us, or Do We Shape the Bible?” To save reading it (though you can if you like—here’s the link, https://www.steveburnhope.com/blog/does-the-bible-shape-us-or-do-we-shape-the-bible), it was a challenge to ask ourselves whether the Bible is genuinely shaping our worldview, or whether we prioritise the Bible verses that offer us confirmation of an already-shaped worldview. The principle applies whether that already-shaped view is “conservative” or “progressive.”

The challenge is whether a truly “objective” way of reading Scripture—and then being shaped by such a reading—is possible in practice. It may not be impossible, but it’s certainly hard. There’s an old saying that a fish doesn’t know what water is because nothing else has ever occurred to it. It doesn’t even realise it’s swimming in water; it’s just the way things are. And the same is true of a worldview. If it is to be possible for our pre-existing worldview to be reshaped, that is only likely to occur meaningfully in community reading rather than individual reading, since the latter generally only confirms what we already know to be true.

But whether we are by nature, by instinct, or by background, either culturally conservative (which is generally the evangelical disposition) or culturally progressive, this is not the only factor that shapes our Christian belief system. I think two other elements deserve consideration. Those are (1) Christian catchphrases and (2) worship song lyrics. I want to suggest that these are far more influential in shaping Christian thinking than most realise.  

There’s a famous saying from the Reformation, Sola Scriptura, which means “the Bible alone.” It’s one of a series of so-called Solas numbering three or five (depending on who you ask). The two other core Solas are “by faith alone” and “by grace alone.” The Reformers were contrasting the authority of “the Bible alone” with the authority of the church (at the time, the Catholic church) and church tradition. Instead, they were saying, our beliefs (by implication, our individual beliefs) should be determined only by the Bible.

This is fine as a doctrine, at least on paper. But it pretty soon becomes obvious that in practice, we need to decide what things in Scripture are foundational for those beliefs. So now the church comes back into play—in this case, Reformation theologians—to tell us what those should be (“what we all know the Bible teaches”). Which means we’re back with a magisterium, reflecting a tradition (”traditional beliefs”); only this time, it’s a Protestant version rather than a Catholic version. Although the Reformation view of Scripture implies that each person may determine what they believe for themselves directly from Scripture, Reformed evangelicals rarely articulate it as such.     

All this is a long-winded way of introducing the first of those two other elements that shape our Christian belief system: Christian catchphrases (we’ll look at worship song lyrics next time).

Both have what we might call a tangential relationship to Scripture insofar as they have some connection (which is what causes them to be perceived to be biblical in the first place), but that relationship is often doubtful, at best. They become part of what’s known as “folk theology”—belief assumptions that are passed around so often that they become taken as read in the Christian world, or within a subset of the Christian world, yet have a shallow biblical basis, if any.

If we were only dealing with “twee” catchphrases of the kind that we have to suffer all the time on Facebook (technically they’re called “coloured background text posts”) we could perhaps ignore them as irritating but ephemeral; it’s when they’re perceived to be biblical, and become foundational to how Christians think about God and the things of God, that we encounter a problem.

Let’s identify a few of those: 

“It’s not for us to judge”     

Yes and no. We make judgements all the time about matters of right and wrong, what’s appropriate and inappropriate. It’s certainly true that we ought not to be judgemental towards others (which I think the phrase is aiming at), but that doesn’t mean “anything goes” or anything is allowed. Safeguarding is the obvious example. Beyond that, though, too many Christians appear to see it as their mission to call out and condemn others’ “moral shortcomings” (as they see them)—stepping into the Holy Spirit's role to convict.    

“Love the sinner, hate the sin”     

Another cracking idea on paper, but thanks to human nature, it really only works if we drop the second part and just love people, since “sinners” includes everybody, doesn't it? As soon as we are given leave to “hate” anything, there’s a strong likelihood that we will start to reflect that hating in inappropriate ways. The phrase doesn’t fail because it’s inherently malicious, but because it appears to be granting moral permission to hate. You may say, “Are you saying that means we “love their sin”?” No, of course not; that’s swinging the pendulum way too far. But Jesus didn’t feel the need (for fear of the same implication) to make the great commandment “Love your neighbour as yourself, but be sure to make it crystal clear that you do NOT love their sin.”   

“The Bible clearly teaches . . .”

If there is one phrase that is used and abused more often than any other, it must be this one, and its less-authoritative-sounding cousin, “the Bible says” (plus a verse taken out of its context)—which is usually implied to be the same thing. There is actually relatively little that the Bible “clearly” teaches, and even what some call the “main and the plain” is often self-evidently neither of those things, despite the claim. This is not to denigrate the Bible as the Word of God. Nor is it to say that the Bible teaches nothing clearly. The problem comes from an overreach in claiming what the Bible is saying as the Word of God. There’s a reason why Christian orthodoxy (right beliefs) has classically been defined in minimalist terms in the Apostles’ Creed and later, the Nicene Creed. Beyond the creedal assertions, reasonable Christians may reasonably disagree (hopefully without being disagreeable). The upshot? Don't just uncritically imbibe whatever someone says when they lay claim to one of those phrases!   

“A Christian is someone who has accepted Jesus—invited him into their heart”

Some version or other of these phrases is elemental in evangelical thinking about (a) what constitutes the gospel, and (b) what defines a Christian. Yet neither phrase is consonant with a gospel in which the lordship of Jesus is centre stage. They’re all about us: we, generously, “accept” Jesus; we “invite him in.” But the gospel is not “Would you like to make Jesus Lord in your life? He would be so happy if you did; he wants to do all sorts of lovely things for you.” The gospel is that Jesus is already Lord—Lord of all; the question is what we are going to do in response to that.

If there is one core mistake that evangelicals are guilty of making in their desire to get gospel decisions, it’s presenting a way too easy gospel at the outset. The language of “receiving” Jesus, deriving from John 1:12, means receiving his lordship. Jesus showering us with presents if we agree to “say yes” to him is the wrong imagery. The famous evangelistic invitation, “I stand at the door and knock…” (Revelation 3:20), was not addressed to unsaved individuals but to a church (the church in Laodicea), as part of a much longer discourse (that said much more besides). No Bible verse speaks of the gospel as “inviting Jesus into your heart” (affectionate though it sounds). The invitation should be unqualified—into every area of our lives.   

“All sins are equal”

Another yes and no. The truth that’s lurking behind it (albeit at some distance) is that everyone has sinned (Rom 3:23) and if we think we haven’t sinned then we’re kidding ourselves (1 John 1:8; 10). However, our entire justice system (of crime and punishment) is based on the proportionality of the judicial consequences to the crime that’s been committed. Otherwise, it’s like saying that a fleeting adulterous thought is equal to committing adultery (if they’re the same, then we might as well). It’s why we don't now hang people for stealing a loaf of bread. That same proportionality principle was evident in the laws in Torah (the commandments).

Another problem flows from this phrase: how to argue that even the tiniest sin leads God to justifiably sentence non-Christians to eternal conscious torment in hell (as evangelicals typically believe). Folks may "get that” in relation to Hitler and a few more of the world’s worst-ever human beings, but struggle to see how a just and loving God would apply that formulaically to everyone.     

“I know God wants me to be happy”

It’s certainly the case that God does not want you to be unhappy, in the sense of causing that unhappiness (though Calvinists who give God the “credit” for every single thing that happens in life would no doubt disagree). Nor, for example, would God want you to be suffering in silence in an abusive relationship; there is nothing Christlike in that, even if Jesus himself suffered in silence and did not resist his oppressors (Jesus’ response is not being presented as a blueprint, leading to what would amount to an abuser’s charter).

We live in a broken and damaged world, where people do bad things, and bad things happen randomly, and for no apparent reason. Christians are not immune to unhappy experiences. Jesus himself said, “In this world you will have trouble” (John 16:33). He did add, “but take heart, because I have overcome the world,” but there’s a self-evident tension here. 

“Everything happens for a reason”        

Only a Calvinist who believes in meticulous sovereignty (that everything which happens is God doing it, or at least, sanctioning it) could say yes to this phrase. We may find the idea comforting (it’s one of the reasons that neo-Calvinism has experienced a level of resurgence in the US of late), but it’s not the only explanation: some things happen in this world, in this life, that are not as God would have them. The way he relates to this world is not as a micro-managing controller, pulling every lever and flicking every switch. Freewill (which includes the freedom to choose to do bad things) is built into creation.

“God will never give you more than you can handle”

This is a similarly comforting idea, and rooted in the same Calvinist thinking. Biblically speaking, it’s a misreading of 1 Cor 10:13, which is talking about temptation. The implication here is deeply problematic: if you’re not handling what’s happening in your life, then you’re the problem. It’s implicitly or explicitly condemning people, rather than, as we should be, supporting them and empathising with them.     

At the end of the day, the question is not whether these catchphrases are well-intentioned (they are), but whether we have granted them too much authority—often unconsciously—as a result of assuming them to be biblically-sourced. If this is true of the phrases, it is even more true of the words we sing week by week—suggesting they may be shaping our theology more deeply than we realise. Of which, more anon. 

Photo by Elena Mozhvilo on Unsplash