Triggering Your Plastic Jesus

Beware the leaven of the Pharisees and Sadducees

Pressing on…

Dear Christian,

You’ve been told you’re not allowed to speak about truth—only love. You’ve been encouraged to “look beyond the sin” or, perhaps, to love the sin itself in order to better love the sinner. After all, isn’t God love?

Here’s the good news: Jesus didn’t say any of that. Not once. You won’t find it anywhere in Scripture, either. In fact, the Word of God never calls us to silence truth in the name of love, nor does it suggest that love and truth are at odds. On the contrary, they are inseparable.

Yet, there are those among us—earnest, sincere voices—who insist we must avoid argument, rhetoric, and even touches of ridicule, as though Christ Himself never used a sharp word or a piercing question to expose hypocrisy. Some even warn us, “Thou shalt not make polarizing comments,” as if the Gospel itself weren’t polarizing in a world that violently resists it.

As with much of the creeping influence of left-leaning, "woke" culture, we now see a contingent of Christian HR nannies whose primary goal on social media seems to be policing and silencing outspoken believers. Their message? To scold and shame those who dare to speak boldly for Christ into becoming either silent or politely subdued—just like them.

Read: fall in-line and respect mah orthodoxy.

Speaking of Orthodoxy, G.K. Chesterton was a true master of these so-called “forbidden” arts. In his 1908 masterpiece, Chesterton wields razor-sharp wit and a playful touch of ridicule to lay bare the glaring logical contradictions of society’s navel-gazing obsession with "progress." With effortless charm and piercing insight, he exposed the absurdity of ideas that sound lofty but quickly crumbled under his scrutiny.

In every work of his I’ve read, Chesterton deftly combines reasoned argument, pointed contention, ridicule, and mockery—tools some today insist are unbecoming of Christians. And yes, he unapologetically wielded polarizing commentary when the truth demanded it. Chesterton wasn’t out writing titillating, tea-sipping missives to coddle; he aimed to awaken, and many a bullseye he scored.

Indeed, if giants like G.K. Chesterton, C.S. Lewis, Mark Twain, Oscar Wilde, and Leo Tolstoy had been afraid of offending anyone—or even of causing a little spilled tea—their hands would have been stayed, their pens silent, and the world an infinitely poorer place for the absence of their works. Each of them wielded their words like a sword, striking falsehoods with wit, wisdom, and sometimes unflinching mockery and ridicule.

It’s hard to imagine that such works would fare well under the watchful gaze of today’s Christian modesty marshals. These self-appointed arbiters of decorum seem more concerned with avoiding discomfort than defending truth. Their version of Christianity is light on conviction and shallow in faith, as though they have forgotten that our Savior’s own words offended and angered the self-righteous authorities of His day. Christ never shied away from speaking truth—even when it provoked outrage. Should we?

People have always wanted a plastic Jesus—a moldable figure with owner-authored instruction manual and a large wax nose that can be shaped, painted, and colored to suit their heart’s desire. No need for God’s Word when you can pull out your customizable Jesus and make Him say whatever affirms your opinions.

Who needs truth?

If you’ve read some recent Christian musings here on Substack, you might walk away with the impression that this is exactly what real Christians are supposed to do: craft a non-confrontational, feel-good version of Christ who quietly avoids making waves. According to these voices, Christianity apparently has no place for rhetoric, argument, contention, ridicule, or even honest debate. Instead, we are instructed to "just love people." Period.

Love, love, love. And more love.

To these critics, loving others means never publicly disagreeing with them, no matter the circumstances, never pointing out serious failures in government or challenging accepted ideology. By this logic, contending with those who promote deception, falsehood, or slander would be inherently unloving. Exposing lies in the public square? Unloving. Contradicting accepted narratives or questioning corruption? Also unloving. And heaven forbid we point out sin or suggest something is morally wrong—that might trigger someone, after all.

I’m not sure where the idea that Christians can’t use provocative or polarizing language comes from, but here we are. Just this morning, I stumbled upon the phrase “polarizing comments” in the Substackosphere, and it gave me pause.

Who invents this nonsense? Where does the need to coin such phrases even come from?

Because clearly, anyone familiar with scripture would know it’s full of “polarizing comments.” Take, for instance, Jesus’ words: “I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me” (John 14:6 KJV). Statements like that—the very definition of polarizing—are why the Pharisees sought to kill Him.

Alright.

First, let’s acknowledge that as Christians, we are called to carefully guard our tongues. Scripture has plenty to say about the power of words, and putting our speech under God’s authority is essential.

That said, before you’re browbeaten into hiding your testimony or silenced about sin, let’s apply some discernment. When you encounter a phrase like “polarizing comments,” stop and ask, “What does that even mean?” Don’t accept vague or sweeping judgments about speech or written communication without question.

If we’re contending for the truth, someone, somewhere, will inevitably find our words offensive. And if no one does? I humbly suggest you may not be following Christ as closely as you think.

Don’t let vague, subjective criticisms like “polarizing comments” quench meaningful interaction. Instead, seek to express truth in love, as our Savior has taught. But remember, one of the enemy’s oldest tricks is to twist words out of context and give them new, distorted meanings.

Take, for example, how the media handled Trump’s comments about Liz Cheney. If you actually listen, it’s clear Trump wasn’t advocating for Liz Cheney to be executed by a firing squad, as the media gleefully claimed. They knew this, of course. But knowing the truth didn’t stop them from twisting it to suit their narrative. They poured their own intentions into his words, turning them into a tool to accuse, revile, and condemn for their own ends.

Here’s the thing—condemnation doesn’t teach anyone anything.

That’s Satan’s tool. Conviction, however, often leads to transformation. I don’t believe that transformation is possible in the absence of conviction, and this is an important thing to remember as it relates to speaking the powerful combination of truth in love.  If you find yourself condemning others—whether in word or action—I strongly encourage you to step back, put those words and actions aside for a time, and ask Jesus to show you what it truly means to speak the truth in love.

Because outcomes matter.

If your words or actions feel self-justifying—if you’re constantly convincing yourself that what you’re saying or doing is “right and true”—I urge you to pause and pray. Ask our Savior to reveal His heart to you. Be honest here: this prayer is meaningless unless you’re genuinely open to correction. And just so we’re clear, I don’t claim to have it all figured out either. I still see a lot of that impulsive fisherman, Peter, in me. Sometimes I feel that same “nuke-them-now” urge James and John, the “sons of thunder,” had when they wanted to call down fire from heaven.

What amazes me, though, is how Jesus handled those moments. He didn’t fire His disciples, even when their behavior made it painfully clear they didn’t fully understand Him. If anyone could’ve justified losing patience, it was Jesus—but He showed them grace, endurance, and patience instead.  And if Jesus extended grace to His disciples, how much more should we? None of us have it all right, all the time. That’s why we’re all called to humble ourselves before the cross—a cross that calls us not to justify our own ways, but to obey Him and be transformed.

Conviction -vs- condemnation

We are called to be our brother’s minders—to encourage and build up, not tear down. But that doesn’t mean approving of sin, participating in it, or turning a blind eye to lies, deception, and wrongdoing. Paul’s letter to the Ephesians makes this clear: “And have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather reprove them” (Ephesians 5:11 KJV). What does it mean to reprove (or expose, as some translations put it)? It doesn’t mean wielding the hammer of condemnation, nor does it mean remaining silent to avoid offense.

What it does mean is that we’re not called to be mute or blind when faced with darkness. Instead, we’re called to speak the truth in love—a practiced skill that takes most of us a lifetime to learn. Rather than condemning one another with broad judgments, wouldn’t it be better to discuss how we can more effectively reprove and expose the unfruitful works of the world?

Phrases like “polarizing comments” shouldn’t be used as blunt weapons to silence those who are exposing darkness. When you pause to consider such a phrase, you’ll find it’s often too vague to mean anything at all. For example, if someone says, “This policy is the best thing that has ever happened to our country,” is that polarizing?

It depends on context. If the policy conflicts with scriptural morals, then yes, it’s polarizing to Christians who hold to biblical truth. This is why context matters. Blanket statements like “don’t make polarizing comments” are more about condemnation than they are about encouraging thoughtful conviction. They silence dialogue instead of inviting clarity or truth.

Consider this: Truth is opposite polarity to falsehood. Making up phrases like “polarizing comments” is simply culturally inspired babble.

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I once received a call from a retired police sergeant and chaplain, a man who had spent much of his career in law enforcement and chaplaincy. He reached out to strongly condemn my social media posts, billing himself as a leader who had overseen large, multi-national chaplaincies. After establishing his lofty credentials, he informed me that if I worked under him, “I’d be gone.” Fired, in simpler terms.

I humbly listened to his complaint and asked for specifics, but he provided none. When pressed, he could not point to a single post that he found particularly “polarizing,” “rude,” or unloving. Instead, it was, in his words, “all of it.”

Nobody learns anything from such vague, sweeping condemnations. Even so, I took his words as an opportunity for self-examination. I reviewed my Facebook posts carefully, just as I’d encourage any of you to do if you find yourself on the receiving end of similar broad disparagement from a fellow Christian.

While his words revealed a spirit of condemnation rather than thoughtful conviction, there is still no substitute for prayerful introspection. As Christians, we have a duty to carefully consider how we present our witness and testimony—what we say, what we do (or don’t do), and how our ordinary lives exemplify (or fail to exemplify) the hope within us.

After a few months of prayer, silence, and thoughtful reflection, I came away with a couple of key takeaways.

First, there’s always room for more Christ and less me in my writing. I’ll be the first to admit, it’s something I’m still working on. That said, if you have specific complaints or suggestions about my style, content, or approach, I’m all ears—but specificity is key. And before you take that step, I’d encourage some introspection of your own motives for tackling mine.

Second, I welcome constructive feedback, even if it’s subjective. But let’s be honest—any casual examination of Christ’s ministry shows He was far from today’s equivalent of a milquetoast, latte-swilling ne’er-do-well.

God did not call me to be soft-spoken for the sake of comfort or to avoid confrontation. God knows me intimately—it is He who called me to the pulpit, not you. I may still wonder why He chose a wretch like me, but He did. That’s His decision, not yours. I’m fully aware I’ll have to give an account for everything I say and teach—doubly so because I am called to teach—but let’s pause and consider that for a moment.

Why would God, in His grace, call someone like me to this task? Do you think He called me to shut up and sit down? Do you believe He intended for me to avoid every potentially divisive word for fear of triggering someone? Or do you think the God who called me didn’t know or realize that I’d use every literary tool in my toolkit—wit, rhetoric, ridicule, argument, and yes, even contention—when proclaiming truth?

Is the church in decent shape today after a couple generations of milquetoast, “play nice” Christianity, or is the church bordering on apostasy, hemorrhaging believers and accepting of things God clearly names abominations because of its faithless conformance to man’s plastic Jesus?

How about this: Have you even read Matthew 10?

Was Jesus misquoted? Like in verse 34, where He says, “Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword.” Or is your bible full of black sharpie marks? Take a moment to study that scripture. Then ask yourself, “What is this sword He speaks of?” Follow it with, “What is the purpose of this sword?” And finally, “Why would Jesus liken His entire purpose and ministry to bringing a sword?”

Here’s a hint: far too many Christians today have fallen for the lie that God is only about love—nothing more. Love, love, love, to the exclusion of His justice, holiness, or even truth. That same police chaplain insisted that Christians should simply “love people into the kingdom.”

But is that scriptural?

Short answer: no, and it is precisely this kind of misguided spiritualized clap-trap that has doused the work of the Holy Spirit in their lives and everyone around them.

Ultimately it reduces God to a caricature—one who is permissive and accepting of sin itself. It rejects His perfect justice and holiness, forgetting that this same God did not spare His own Son but sent Him to the cross. Why would an only-loving God allow His only Son to be slaughtered? And what is the ministry of the Holy Spirit toward unrepentant sinners? Is it all love, love, love? Or is there something else—perhaps conviction?

I would argue it’s both.

The very work of conviction is itself an act of love. If God didn’t love us, He wouldn’t bother convicting us of sin or offering us the gift of salvation. But when we lose sight of God’s Holiness, we end up with a distorted view of Him—one that reduces Him to a “plastic Jesus” molded to worldly ideas, like, “God loves me just as I am.”

While that statement is true on the surface, it’s often stripped of its full context. It’s frequently used to dismiss the need for repentance and transformation, which are central to the Gospel. This shallow perspective leads to the familiar, misguided question: “How could a loving God do such a thing?” The better question is: “How could a perfectly Just and perfectly Holy God do such a thing?” That question almost answers itself if you take a moment to consider what it means for God to be Just and Holy—even if you struggle to understand the righteousness of His will. It’s worth noting that nowhere in scripture do we read anything like, “God is love, love, love!” Instead, we find both Isaiah and John describing the Seraphim surrounding God’s throne declaring, “Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God Almighty.”

This isn’t to diminish God’s love—it’s immense and foundational. But if we’re going to emphasize any specific characteristic of God’s nature, shouldn’t His Holiness receive at least equal consideration? God is to be known and worshiped as He reveals Himself in scripture, not as we’d prefer to define Him.

And what is that sword Jesus refers to in Matthew 10:34? It is His Word.

It divides. It cleaves. It cuts deep, through flesh and bone, to the very soul. It wounds, and yes, it kills. That’s what a sword does. To claim it should never hurt your feelings, cause offense, or *gasp* trigger you with divisive, polarizing truths is to reject the full counsel of God and agree with the enemy of our souls.

And the full counsel of God includes this: God absolutely hates sin.

So much so that He would not spare His only Son the agonizing brutality of the cross. Jesus Himself wasn’t eager to face that cup—He pleaded with the Father multiple times to take it from Him. Yet He still went. He could have called down legions of angels to stop it all, but He didn’t. Why? Because a perfectly Just and perfectly Holy God required payment for our transgressions. No loopholes, no exceptions. It wasn’t because Jesus had to go to the cross—it was because payment had to be made, and He willingly chose to do it for us.

Let that sink in for a moment.

It wasn’t our goodness or our worthiness that sent Jesus to the cross. It was our sin. And still, Jesus went, fully committed to God’s will. Why? So that we might receive salvation—a legal state of justification—in the eyes of a perfectly Just and Holy God. What kind of love is this? The kind of love that carved out part of God’s own heart—His only Son—and exacted payment on our behalf.

Please, stop the blind assault on those who are bold enough to speak out in this age of spiritual darkness. Instead, find ways to support them, encourage them, and come alongside them with Godly counsel to build them up rather than tearing them down.

Personally, I’d rather see Christians out there working out their salvation and making mistakes than sitting on the sidelines, smugly adopting the “I’m right and you’re wrong” attitude. It is a symptom of the self-righteous “golden bus ticket” theology. These are the ones who think it’s better to remain silent—never speaking up, never saying anything divisive or political, and certainly never daring to use rhetoric, ridicule, or mockery to expose lies, twisted truth, or unrighteousness.

Golden bus ticket theology isn’t always evident in what people profess—it’s revealed in their actions. These are the ones who avoid regular fellowship, remain independent of any congregation, and refuse to come under the authority of the church. They actively excuse themselves from commitments of time, talents, or resources to any ministry they don’t personally control because they believe they’re more experienced and above all that.

They’ve got their “ticket home,” so, like the unfaithful servant, they bury their talent to "be on the safe side."

Christians who refuse to take up their crosses are precisely those whom Satan considers his useful idiots. They point fingers, pass judgment, and accuse pastors, other Christians, and church members over trivial, inconsequential things—all while being convinced of their own moral superiority and supposed deeper understanding of scripture.

Scripturally, these are the goats. Like the Pharisees, they are self-interested, prioritizing their own worldly wants, needs, and values above any real, committed Christian work.

Don’t be a goat.

Be bold and courageous. Step out in faith, trusting that Christ will guide and direct you along the way. Yes, you will make mistakes. You will stumble. You will bear imperfections for the entire journey. But don’t let Satan’s useful idiots discourage you. For in the end, it is they who will feel the shame of their lack of testimony—not those who, despite stumbling, invested their talents in the Kingdom of God.

Grace be with all of you.

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