Dear Friend,
Pull your chair a little closer to the fire. What follows only works if we’re close enough that neither of us can pretend not to hear it.
Here’s a sentence we say more often than we might realize: “I’m a ___ Christian.” Fill in the blank as you like—I’ve heard it filled a dozen ways, in quiet confessions after the sanctuary emptied. The blank never named a truth about the person—it named a decision they’d made not to repent.
Think of it this way: a child who trips over the rug is one thing—she didn’t mean to stumble. A child who plants her feet and dares you to move her is something else, and God, patient as He is with both, doesn’t pretend they’re the same. Both get His compassion. Only one gets called what it actually is—willful disobedience.
Today’s letter isn’t about the trips and stumbles—it’s about the sins we’ve planted our feet on and call by nicer, more polite names.
Nobody says to me, “I’m a bank-robbing Christian.” Such behavior is plainly wrong, so nobody bothers dressing it up. But consider what we do with the softer sins: we list the behavior first and let the noun, “Christian,” trail along behind it, as though it’s there to validate it. “I’m a Christian” needs no qualifier—it already means follower of Christ, full stop. The moment we start adding descriptors, ask which word is actually defining us. It’s almost never the noun, and the two are always at odds.
“I’m a sexually active Christian.” Meaning: I’m sleeping with someone I’m not married to, and since almost everyone I know does the same, I’ve decided it doesn’t count as sexual immorality anymore. Paul disagreed: “This is the will of God, your sanctification: that you abstain from sexual immorality” (1 Thessalonians 4:3). Not a suggestion. The will of God.
“I’m a money-grubbing Christian.” Meaning: the pursuit of more has quietly become the organizing principle of my life, while I still call Jesus first on Sundays. Our culture celebrates this, wrapping it in words like “security” and “the American Dream.” But Paul’s warning to Timothy stands: “the love of money is a root of all kinds of evils” (1 Timothy 6:10). Jesus was blunter: “You cannot serve God and money” (Matthew 6:24).
“I’m a porn-watching Christian.” Meaning: I’ve decided this one is private and common enough not to count with the sins people get caught for. Jesus didn’t grade it that gently: “everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart” (Matthew 5:28). He moved the line inside your own skull.
“I’m an egocentric Christian.” Meaning: my preferences quietly outrank everyone else’s, including God’s, and I’ve decided that’s just how I’m wired, not something to repent of. Philippians offers no exemption: “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves” (Philippians 2:3).
“I’m a homosexual Christian.” Meaning: I’ve settled into a lifestyle of same-sex relationships, and I’ve decided it doesn’t need to come to the same altar as everything else here because our culture has wholeheartedly endorsed it. (When did our culture’s endorsement displace God’s approval?) Paul names this sin alongside others already on this list—thieves, the greedy, slanderers—then says: “such were some of you, but you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified” (1 Corinthians 6:9-11). Were. Past tense, forgiven by the same grace offered to everyone here, but never meant to be sustained.
“I’m an unforgiving Christian.” Meaning: I’ve decided that holding a grudge differs from sin, because I was the one wronged, and I’m still waiting for an apology that may never come. Peter once asked how many times he had to forgive, probably hoping for a number he could count to and stop—Jesus said seventy-seven times (or seventy times seven—either version meaning that we don’t bother counting), then told of a servant forgiven an enormous debt who turned around and refused to forgive a much smaller one. The king’s response was not gentle (Matthew 18:21-35). Whoa.
I could keep going, but here’s what matters: none of us is sinless, and stumbling through ordinary life isn’t what I’m describing here. I mean the sins we’ve planted a flag in—staked a claim on, built a life around, and declared, this is me, this is who I am. That’s not weakness—that’s hypocrisy, and we all carry some version of it. The real question isn’t whether we have it, but whether we wear it proudly, like a badge. That’s a matter of choice: whose voice gets to define you—the world’s, or His? John says that the world and its desires are passing away, but whoever does the will of God abides forever (1 John 2:15-17). That’s not a religious affiliation, but a determined choice to follow and obey Him, day after day. So ask honestly: have you determined that your own preferences get to be your primary identifier—or has He? Jesus said whoever follows Him must deny himself and take up his cross daily (Luke 9:23)—death to self. If “sexually active” is the flag you’ve planted, and “Christian” is just stitched on behind it, that reveals whose voice you’ve decided matters more.
Paul wrote a version of this list long ago: “the works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity... enmity, strife, jealousy... those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God” (Galatians 5:19-21). Hard verse. But he doesn’t stop there—next he describes what grows when a life stops excusing and starts surrendering: “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control” (Galatians 5:22-23), because “those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions” (Galatians 5:24). Crucified, not managed.
None of this is a performance test. Ephesians 5:3 names these same categories—sexual immorality, impurity, covetousness—then states the goal plainly: these things “must not even be named among you, as is proper among saints.” Holy. Not perfect by morning, but set apart and moving—grace training us “to renounce ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live self-controlled, upright, and godly lives” (Titus 2:11-12). If your holiness hasn’t moved forward in years, ask whether you’re still choosing it.
So here’s what I’m asking, plainly. Whatever adjective you’ve put in front of “Christian” to make peace with something you already know isn’t right—say the real word today. Out loud if you’re alone, silently if not, straight to God. Not to earn His love—you already have that—but so He can deal with the thing, instead of co-managing it with you indefinitely.
Name it. Today. Ask God to help you actually surrender it, not just feel better about it for a while. Then tell one person you trust—a spouse, a pastor, a friend who won’t flinch—because confession kept private tends to stay exactly where it started, and confession to one another brings healing (James 5:16).
He is not waiting to condemn you. He’s waiting to welcome you home, the way He always has.
Grace & Peace,
Pastor Neal Letteney <><
The Pastor’s Hearth
Before you leave the fire, I invite you to sit with these three questions:
What’s the real word behind the adjective I’ve been hiding behind?
Who is one person I trust enough to say that word to out loud?
What would it look like, today, to actually bring this to God instead of quietly carrying it alone?
This letter is so full of the truths that plague the Church. Open the eyes of our hearts LORD.
When we're honest before the Lord and one another, the Light shines out of darkness and the darkness must flee. Thanks for this reminder Neal?