Dave Chappelle once said something about his religion that I found insightful. Yes, that Chappelle: the man who once played a crackhead on television is apparently also a spiritual philosopher. He said:
I don't normally talk about my religion publicly because I don't want people to associate me and my flaws with this beautiful thing.
And I was like, YES. That. I’m a Christian, and my relationship with my faith is basically like my relationship with my underwear: deeply personal, occasionally uncomfortable and definitely not something I bring up at work. Because here’s the thing: I love Jesus, but also…I’ve met me. God forbid I give someone a reason to look down on Jesus because I don’t control my anger at another driver who cuts me off or how much wine I drink on occasion. Do I really want anyone watching me and thinking that’s what Jesus is like? He deserves better marketing than that.
For many years, the reasons I’ve not talked about my faith have been:
A believer expressing hesitation about representing their faith because of their own imperfections is actually reflecting a kind of biblical humility, right?
The Apostle Paul frequently urged believers to live in a way that brings honor to the message of Christ: there is the idea that how a Christian behaves can affect how people view the gospel. So being cautious about misrepresenting it seems to be a valid concern.
Avoiding hypocrisy: Jesus was highly critical of hypocrites—those who publicly flaunted their religion but lived contrary to its values. I have not always lived out my — or Jesus’ — values. I cringe to remember.
So yeah, I keep my faith on a “need-to-know” basis. Because I’d rather people think, “Oh my, she’s surprisingly introspective,” than “That’s what the Jesus people are like? Hard pass.”
Now, I’m aware that Christianity also teaches not to bury one’s beliefs in the backyard like a bottle of bootleg gin during Prohibition. “Let your light shine before others,” to paraphrase the Bible. Not “dim your light to avoid awkward conversations at your kid’s soccer game.”
So yes, while discretion and humility are essential—total radio silence about one’s faith? That starts to veer into cowardice..
The gospel, quite inconveniently, is meant to be shared. Not after I’ve reached optimal moral performance metrics and not once I’ve eliminated all my character flaws through prayer and therapy—but now. Imperfections and all.
And when I examine my motives for staying quiet, they’re not noble. They’re not theological. They’re very Shasta: deeply rooted in people-pleasing, a fear of failure, and, always, a neurotic need for perfectionism. I don’t want to represent Christ until I can do it flawlessly. Which, now that I think about it, is the exact opposite of how grace works. And grace? It’s everything.
So the goal isn’t to protect my image or even God’s. The goal is to share the truth—even when it’s messy and human. I don’t think God’s looking for a PR director. Maybe he’s just looking for someone who’ll actually show up even when she feels like a hypocritical mess, ladle out grace to others when she barely has any for herself, and lay down her life like a dog on a hot day in July: zero dignity, maximum flop.
