As long as I can remember, I have been a church girl. Through different seasons of life and several transitions, one constant has been church on Sunday mornings.
With that kind of “track record,” my thoughts and language have, undoubtedly, been shaped by church culture. When someone shares a joy or a sorrow with me, I do not miss a beat—I dispense words to celebrate with them or grieve with them. When I share my own life experiences with others, I am quick to weave in language like, “But the Lord knows what he is doing,” or “All in his perfect time.” As a writer in the Christian space, I regularly churn out words to encourage others in their walk with God. I resort to “Christianese” almost as a reflex.
I realised recently that I am repeating phrases that tended to annoy me when I was younger. Back in the day, I would be irrationally irritated when people threw around phrases like, “All’s well by God’s grace” or “I’ll be there, God willing.” That kind of Christian lingo would get under my skin. But as I get older, while the words I use may be slightly more contemporary, I too land on default Christian phrases.
When Words Camouflage Sin
While my words are an organic byproduct of living in a Christian bubble, I need to look beneath the surface and ask: Do my words become a subtle cover-up when my heart drifts from God?
Have our words become the equivalent of the fig leaves Adam and Eve sewed together when God asked them in the garden, “Where are you?” Instead of responding with a raw confession, our first parents sewed garments of self-reliance and hid from God (Gen. 3:9).
Instead of allowing God to probe our hearts through the Word, have we used spiritual-sounding language and our Scripture-laden prayers to appear “holy” not only in the eyes of others but in our own estimation as well (Heb. 4:12)?
I am reminded of King David at one of the lowest points of his life. In 2 Samuel 11, we learn that David slept with Bathsheba and then manipulated the battle strategy so that Uriah, her husband, would be killed.
David’s sin was grievous. Yet, when he learns of Uriah’s death from a messenger, David spews a bunch of platitudes. 2 Samuel 11:25 records David saying:
“Thus shall you say to Joab, ‘Do not let this matter displease you, for the sword devours now one and now another. Strengthen your attack against the city and overthrow it.’ And encourage him.”
David has the right Christianese for Joab, the commander of the army: words of comfort and encouragement. “Do not let this matter displease you,” he casually says to Joab (2 Sam. 11:25). On the face of it, his words seem noble, even compassionate.
Yet, David’s words do not just fool the messenger. They seem to deceive David himself. His unrepentant, icy words reveal the truth of Scripture—our hearts are deceitful above all things (Jeremiah 17:9).
When our words are perfect Christian sound bites, curated for church settings and social media, they can mask our sin and lead us down dangerous paths.
Right on the heels of this incident, when the prophet Nathan shares the story of a rich man grabbing the beloved ewe of a poor man, David’s words burst with indignant anger (2 Sam. 12:1-6). He says to Nathan:
“He shall restore the lamb fourfold, because he did this thing, and because he had no pity” (2 Sam.12:6).
David’s words are, once again, a fig-leaf cover-up for his sin. His language reeks of self-righteous anger. But in truth, he used his words as a self-defence mechanism because he did not want to face his own sin.
Weighing Our Words
The challenge before each of us is to grasp the weight of our words. We often consider the impact of our words on others. But what about how our words can deceive our own hearts?
Proverbs 18:21 reminds us that “Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruits.”
When our words are perfect Christian sound bites, curated for church settings and social media, they can mask our sin and lead us down dangerous paths.
The gospel shapes us so we stop justifying sin or camouflaging it with impressive language.
Despite David’s heinous sin and the language he used to deflect from his wrongdoing, God pursued David for himself. Scripture says that “And the Lord sent Nathan to David.” (2 Sam. 12:1). Nathan equates David to the exploitative rich man in the story with the unambiguous words: “You are the man!” (2 Sam. 12:7).
The Language of Repentance
Finally, David stops sidestepping his sin with polished words. Instead, without excuse or guile, he says, “I have sinned against the Lord.” (2 Sam. 12:13). What followed was the vulnerable confession of Psalm 51. The guttural cries of a man who does not use words to cover his tracks but as a means to lay his heart bare before God.
The gospel of grace tells us that this same God pursued us while we were still sinners (Rom. 5:8). It compels us to stop hiding behind the fig leaves of Christianese. It shows us the way out: to turn to God in repentance and rest in the forgiveness that is ours in Jesus (1 John 1:9).
The gospel shapes us so we stop justifying sin or camouflaging it with impressive language. Instead, like David, we too come with those raw and real words: I have sinned against the Lord. And at the foot of the cross, despite our feeble words and frail faith, we find forgiveness and freedom.
