There is a kind of swagger in modern evangelicalism that I’ve grown to despise. It’s the swagger of people who speak as if God is pacing the floors of heaven wringing His hands, desperately hoping somebody down here with a fog machine, a sermon series logo, and a half-baked marketing strategy can finally help Him “reach this generation.”’
The entire movement reeks of man. It smells like self-importance, celebrity worship, platform addiction, and the kind of religious narcissism that baptizes ego in Christian language and calls it “ministry.”
Meanwhile, Scripture comes crashing through the drywall of our delusions like an 8-pound sledgehammer:
“The God who made the world and everything in it, being Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in temples made by man, nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mankind life and breath and everything.” — Acts 17:24–25
God does not need you.
Sit with that for a minute.
God does not need missionaries. He does not need pastors. He does not need preachers, abolitionists, influencers, worship leaders, church-growth gurus, politicians, podcasters, activists, artists, or the guy with the skinny jeans and the emotional pep talk masquerading as a sermon.
He does not need your branding package. He does not need your conference. He does not need your “vision casting.” He does not need your latest Docent-produced cultural engagement strategy cooked up by a committee of effeminate men who spend more time studying analytics than studying the Scriptures.
He is not deficient. He is not lacking. He is not dependent.
The modern church talks about “serving God” the way a billionaire might talk about desperately needing a ten-dollar loan from a toddler. The arrogance of it is terrifying.
What exactly do you think you are bringing to the table for the God who spoke galaxies into existence? What are you offering to the One who stretched out the heavens like a curtain, who measures the oceans in the hollow of His hand, who ordains kings and topples empires like rotten fence posts? Your talent? Your creativity? Your networking skills? Your “authenticity”? Please.
We are dust that learned how to talk.
And even that breath in our lungs is borrowed.
God is the self-existent One. The uncreated One. The everlasting and immutable God who was complete in Himself before a single atom existed. Before there was a world to redeem, He lacked nothing. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit dwelling in perfect glory, perfect joy, perfect holiness. He was not lonely. He was not searching for purpose. He was not waiting for you to finally volunteer for the worship team so He could accomplish His plans.
The entire modern obsession with self-esteem Christianity has poisoned people into thinking God chose them because they were impressive. You hear it constantly. “God saw something special in you.” “You were chosen because of your potential.” “You have greatness inside of you.”
That sentimental drivel would have sounded utterly foreign to the apostles.
The Scriptures repeatedly drag man down into the dirt where he belongs before lifting his eyes to the grace of God. That is the pattern. But modern Christianity cannot stomach that because it is intoxicated with itself. It wants a God who applauds people rather than one before whom people fall on their faces like dead men.
Paul understood this better than the soft-handed religious performers of our age:
“But I received mercy for this reason, that in me, as the foremost, Jesus Christ might display his perfect patience…” — First Timothy 1:16
That is the point. God saves sinners to display Himself. Not to display us. Not to showcase our brilliance. Not to build our platforms. And certainly not to turn us into religious celebrities.
He redeems weak, filthy, broken rebels precisely because the glory belongs to Him when He uses us. The treasure is His. The jars of clay are ours. God delights in humiliating human pride by accomplishing His purposes through weak people so nobody can confuse the source of the power.
And yet people still strut around ministry circles acting like God’s kingdom hinges on their creativity. Churches spend millions trying to engineer emotional experiences while treating God’s actual instructions like optional fine print. The plain preaching of the word is too boring for them. Prayer is too ordinary. Reverence is too stiff.
Doctrine is too divisive. Holiness is too offensive. So they smuggle worldly gimmicks into the church like carnival barkers trying to keep a dying crowd entertained for one more night.
Why? Because deep down they think God’s methods are insufficient.
That is the dirty secret underneath much of this modern pragmatism. People won’t say that out loud because it sounds blasphemous, but their actions scream it anyway. They think God needs their help. They think His word alone is not powerful enough. They think His commands require supplementation from corporate marketing strategies, psychological manipulation, emotional theatrics, and carefully calibrated cultural compromise.
It is practical atheism, just with skinny jeans and The Message Study Bible.
But God has already spoken. He has already given His church what it needs. And the people who genuinely fear Him will tremble at His word instead of trying to improve upon it like middle managers editing a flawed business proposal.
“In love, he predestined us for adoption to himself as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will, to the praise of his glorious grace…” — Ephesians 1:4–6
To the praise of His glorious grace. There it is again.
His glory.
His grace.
His will.
Not ours.
The church exists for God. Ministry exists for God. Worship exists for God. Preaching exists for God. Everything bends toward Him because He alone is worthy. And the moment ministry becomes man-centered, entertainment-driven, emotionally manipulative, or obsessed with platform-building, it begins rotting from the inside out like roadkill baking on hot asphalt in July.
I am convinced that much of what passes for ministry today is fueled less by love for God and more by love for self. People want influence. They want status. They want applause. They want to feel important. They want to be seen as courageous, insightful, relevant, profound. Even “humility” becomes another costume people wear while secretly craving admiration for how humble they appear.
But God is not mocked.
The Lord of heaven and earth is not some domesticated mascot for our ambitions. He is holy. Terrifyingly holy. And those who serve Him ought to do so with reverence instead of treating the church like a sandbox for experimentation.
Paul wrote:
“But we have renounced disgraceful, underhanded ways. We refuse to practice cunning or to tamper with God’s word, but by the open statement of the truth we would commend ourselves to everyone’s conscience in the sight of God.” —2nd Corinthians 4:2
No gimmicks or manipulation or tampering. No slick reinventions designed to make Christianity palatable to a culture already under judgment. Just truth.
Plain, sharp, offensive, soul-piercing truth.
The kind that crushes pride instead of feeding it. The kind that strips man naked before a holy God. The kind that reminds us we are not indispensable players in God’s cosmic drama. We are recipients of mercy. Rebels spared by grace. Beggars pointing to bread.
And the astonishing thing is that God would use us at all.
