Drop the Act: When Faith Stops Being Honest

That’s a bunch of bull$&*%!

That’s what I wanted to say years ago when one of my kids came home from church camp and wondered aloud if he was even spiritual enough to fit in.

First, let me say—no one made him feel this way. No one did anything wrong. But there was something wrong.

There were no gasps when he mentioned enjoying secular music in his introduction. No one rushed to lay hands on him and pray for deliverance from a rock ‘n’ roll spirit, thank God. His feeling of not being “spiritual enough” came from something deeper—his own comparison to a misperception of what holiness should look and sound like.

We’ve all been there.

You’re sitting in a small group. Everyone sounds suuuuper spiritual, rattling off their should-do lists with multiple rounds of rapid-fire “So goooood.” And if you’re like me (and I think a lot of people are, even if they don’t say it), you’re sitting there wondering who these people really are and what the heck they’re even talking about. Oh. Right. I must not be spiritual enough to get it.

But the truth is, I do see it. I do get it.

I understand that people want to be seen as gifted, faithful, fully devoted. What I don’t understand is why we have to hide our questions, our struggles, or our real journey from the very people who are supposed to walk through it with us. Somewhere along the way, we traded honest faith for looking right and sounding right. And in doing so, I think a lot of us have become more superstitious than spiritual; managing perceptions has taken precedence over revealing our real selves.

The older I get, the more I find myself drawn to the lasting fruit of someone’s faith—not just the prophetic words they’ve given or the miracles they’ve witnessed, but the relationships they’ve restored and the love they’ve consistently walked in; the way they walk in long-term love with the messy, complicated people in their lives.

Spirituality looks like something—but it will never be about performance or carefully managing how you're perceived. It isn’t about being anointed in spiritual gifts.

Spirituality is intimate. It’s the overflow of a real relationship with the Holy Spirit.

Jesus said that if we’re going to boast about anything, it should be that our names are written in the Book of Life. If we’re going to be known for anything, it should be for our love.

One of the most spiritual, sacred things I’ve witnessed wasn’t on a church stage. It was when my mom made a meal and sat with a gay man whose lifelong partner had passed away—mourning with him, being his friend, making a place for him in her life when so many in her little town literally shunned him.

Another time? My dad took in a struggling alcoholic who asked him for a job. And my dad didn’t just give him work—he gave him a home. He fathered him through sobriety, trained him in a trade, and showed him what it looked like to be a man of faith. He’s done this over and over again with those who’ve lost their way.

The spiritual gifts God gives us aren’t for show. They’re meant to bring us into relationships with people. To love them in a way that actually costs us something.

At the end of the day, the most spiritual thing any of us will ever do is love someone when it’s not easy—when it requires time, patience, and the kind of faithfulness that looks like Jesus.

So how do we step into this kind of honest, authentic faith? Here are three ways to start:

1. Wrestle with your faith- openly

Instead of pretending to have all the answers, be willing to wrestle with your faith. Ask real questions, even the uncomfortable ones. God isn’t afraid of your doubts, and neither should you be. Surround yourself with people who allow space for real conversations—where questioning isn’t seen as weakness, but as part of a growing relationship with God. This will kill the pharisaical spirit off of you or reveal it in the room.

2. Stop Managing Perceptions

Don’t curate your spirituality for approval. Stop giving the right answers when your heart isn’t in it.

James 5:16 says, “Confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed.” But confession isn’t just about secret sins—it’s about being honest about our attitudes, our hurts, and the unsaid realities of our lives. It’s about bringing anything we’re afraid to face into the light— and not always because you’re looking to be corrected, but just for the sake of honesty.

The Lord told me this once when I was too scared to be honest with someone because I didn’t trust my opinion: Honesty isn’t the truth, it’s the pathway to Truth.

Be real. You don’t have to spill every detail, but you can say, “I don’t want to go. I don’t like being around them.” And you don’t need a hyper-spiritual excuse to justify it. You don’t have to demonize someone to validate your feelings.

If you’re struggling, say so. If you don’t understand something, admit it. If you feel distant from God, don’t hide it. Healing doesn’t come from pretending—it comes from honesty. The people who truly matter will respect your vulnerability far more than your ability to “look the part.”

Faith isn’t about performance—it’s about connection.

3. Love Without Conditions

The most spiritual thing you can do isn’t to sound holy—it’s to love people well, especially when it’s inconvenient or messy. Make space for people who are different from you, listen without needing to fix, and let your faith show up in your actions more than your words.

And honestly? I’m still learning. Living honestly and loving others is HARD. It’s why we need the Holy Spirit. It’s His gifts that produce His fruit.

Right now, I’m learning how to love by choosing to communicate honestly about my life. By asking real questions. By showing up as myself—not as someone who has all the right answers or the perfect faith walk, but as someone who is still figuring things out.

I love all things supernatural. I believe it honors God to walk in His power unashamedly. But, I believe He’s calling us to something deeper—a spirituality that isn’t just about what we can do, but about who we truly are. A call to honesty. To drop the facades. To step out of the whitewashed tombs and into real, vulnerable, wholehearted faith.

Because when we do, that’s when we find the kind of love that changes everything. A kind of love that casts out all fear.