top of page

When Christianity Becomes a Pressure Point

  • Father Charbel Abernethy
  • Jun 6
  • 3 min read

The Difference Between Faith and Religious Moralism


There is a phenomenon that has become increasingly common in public discourse, particularly around political and social issues, even issues of genuine importance.


Someone will say, “If we were true Christians…” and then proceed to advocate for a particular position.


Sometimes the position itself may be correct. Sometimes it may not. That is not the point.


What interests me is something deeper.


The statement often has little connection to prayer, repentance, worship, ascetic struggle, or a living relationship with God. Christianity is invoked, but Christ Himself seems strangely absent.


This is not exactly hypocrisy.


Hypocrisy involves claiming to possess a virtue or faith that one does not actually possess. Nor is it simply virtue signaling in the common sense of publicly displaying moral correctness in order to gain approval.


It is something subtler.


It is the use of religious language detached from religious substance.


Words such as Gospel, mercy, justice, compassion, human dignity, or Christian values become rhetorical tools rather than expressions of a life rooted in communion with God. Christianity functions less as a path of transformation and more as a source of emotional leverage.


The hearer is meant to feel guilty, ashamed, or morally deficient if he disagrees.


God is invoked not as the One before whom both parties must bow in humility, but as an authority figure summoned to strengthen an argument.


The irony is that this phenomenon is not confined to one side of a debate.


One group may speak constantly about compassion while having little interest in prayer, repentance, or holiness.


Another may speak constantly about morality while showing little evidence of mercy, humility, or love.


Both may employ Christian language while remaining largely untouched by Christ.


The fathers would likely ask a far simpler question than we often ask.


Not, “Is the position correct?”


But rather, “Does this arise from a heart that seeks God?”


Has this person stood before God?


Has he wrestled with his own passions?


Has he wept over his own sins?


Has he learned to pray?


A man may spend countless hours arguing about what Christians ought to do while rarely praying, rarely examining his conscience, and rarely seeking union with God. He may speak about Christianity constantly while remaining far from its center.


The desert fathers understood something that modern religious debates often forget.


Compassion, justice, mercy, hospitality, and sacrifice are fruits.


They are not the root.


The root is communion with the living God.


When the root is forgotten, Christianity easily becomes a form of moralism. Christ is transformed from the crucified and risen Lord who calls humanity to repentance and participation in divine life into a symbol employed to advance a social or political cause.


The language remains Christian.


The substance gradually disappears.


Perhaps the simplest test is this:


After listening to someone speak, do you feel drawn toward Christ?


Do you desire prayer?


Do you desire repentance?


Do you desire greater humility, greater love, greater surrender to God?


Or do you simply feel pressured toward a particular political or social conclusion?


The first may be prophecy.


The second is often Christianity functioning as a cultural vocabulary rather than a living faith.


The saints rarely spoke as though Christianity existed primarily to correct everyone else.


They spoke first of their own repentance.


They wept for the world.


Their concern for the poor, the stranger, the sinner, and the suffering arose from hearts transformed by divine love. Their words carried authority because they emerged from communion with God.


What they offered was not an ideology.


It was the overflow of a living relationship with Christ.


That is the difference between using Christianity and living it.


One employs the language of faith.


The other bears its fruit.


1 Comment


Jessica
Jessica
Jun 07

I dislike cooking. I really do. Most women and some men look at me like Leviathan when I say that. And I’ve asked myself why as well. 

I know when I was young, I cooked for my brothers at times….it was actually nice to see a 12th century meadhall in full effect right before my eyes. Food does that. Especially home cooked. There’s beauty in watching Vikings gorge, believe it or not. 

And I enjoyed cooking during married life as well. Doing it For someone. Watching how it pleases. I was lucky. My husband enjoyed cooking more than I do. So it was a two way street. A give and take. And it turned the meadhall into something of a….wedding…

Like
bottom of page