In a recent survey, about 81 percent of Americans identified themselves with Christianity. Certain parts of the country skew a little higher, like the Bible Belt; and a little lower, like northern California, where I live. Just from my own anecdotal experience, a quarter of the people I speak to about Jesus are not. But that means three-quarters of them are.
We can debate about whether they’re actual Christians, or whether they’re heretics, or just pagans who are culturally Christian. The upshot is four out of five people in this country think they’re Christian. When you share Jesus with people, most of the time you’re gonna find not only has Jesus been shared with them: They should be sharing him too. But they don’t. They’re incognito Christians.
I run into two categories of incognito Christian. Hope you’re not one of them. If so, stop it.
Those who don’t want to embarrass Jesus.
And let’s start with the noblest excuse first: Certain people hide their Christianity because they honestly don’t act like Christians. Or they don’t act the way the Christians they know demand or expect of them.
Fr’instance, most Christians teach that people ought not have sex with anyone but their lawfully wedded spouse. But some Christians don’t have a lawfully wedded spouse. They have a boyfriend or girlfriend, fiancé or fiancée, and figure their relationship is committed enough; sex with that other person should be okay. Or they’re less discriminating and more promiscuous. Regardless, they don’t want to be celibate, so they’re not. But because “Christians don’t do that,” they don’t want their actions to reflect back on other Christians—or the church, or Jesus. So they distance themselves from Christianity. They don’t leave Christianity—they definitely don’t want to do that—but they keep their Christianity on the down-low.
When word leaks out, they’ll confess, “Yeah, I’m a Christian. But I’m not a very good Christian. I don’t act like a Christian.” Sometimes they say, “But I should,” and sometimes they even mean it. They won’t, though. They’ll keep doing as they’re doing—and obscuring their relationship with Jesus. And never grow in it, either.
This was me, in high school. When pressured, I’d admit I was a Christian, but I’d likewise admit I sucked as a Christian. Still a Christian though—saved by God’s grace, and not by my good works, which was a good thing, ’cause I had next to no good works.
Gradually I discovered that most kids were like that. Remember, 81 percent of Americans think they’re Christians. Four out of five of the kids at my high school thought they were Christians: They were baptized, or went to church sometimes, or knew a bit about the bible. They all approved of Jesus. But their behavior wasn’t Christian, so their Christianity never came up until you pinned them down. The rest of the time, they were indistinguishable from any pagan.
And as an adult, I discovered most people are like that. They picked up that behavior in their high school years, and never stopped. Some grew tired of the inconsistency and, like me, became devout Christians. Others became atheist. Others decided to switch to another religion, which—because they’re small—have fewer hypocrites. (Although the Muslims and Buddhists, as their congregations grow, will tell you that’s certainly not true anymore.)
Anyhow. “I don’t want to embarrass Christianity” is what the bulk of these folks tell themselves. Sometimes they mean it. So that’s why I call it the noblest of the excuses. It’s still a rotten excuse, but it’s the best of the rotten bunch. It’s the apple in the barrel that has the fewest worms.
Those who don’t want to embarrass themselves.
But sometimes they don’t mean it. They’re not hiding their Christianity because they don’t wish to embarrass Jesus or other Christians: They’re hiding it because they don’t wish to be embarrassed. They’re ashamed of their religion.
These would be the folks who think Christianity, or Christians, are too zealous. We preach against sin too much. We make too big a deal about sinful lifestyles. We’re too politically liberal or conservative—or just plain political—for their tastes. We talk about Jesus too much. Or miracles. Or the supernatural. Or the bible—we quote the bible all the time, and every phrase comes out of our mouths in Christianese clichés. We say “Amen” too much. We pray in public too often. We talk to strangers. We volunteer too often to pitch in. We volunteer them too often.
Dammit, they wish their religion would just leave them alone.
These would be the folks, therefore, who describe their religion as private: “I don’t talk about my faith; it’s private.” Along with that is the subtle hint, “So don’t talk to me about your faith; I wish yours would stay private as well.” The reason it’s private is ostensibly because it’s very personal. But that’s crap. Everyone’s faith, if they really do base their lives on it, will be very personal. Everyone’s relationship with God, if they really do pursue it, will be very private. Even so, those personal and private revelations should be significant enough to leak into one’s public life and transform that as well. We should see fruit.
Faith without fruit—without works—is dead. It’s not faith. People don’t talk about their faith, not because it’s private, but because it’s not there. They have none. It’s not just religion that embarrasses them; it’s their utter lack of religion. It’s when all their Christian friends express joy and excitement about Jesus, but they feel nothing, and don’t feel at all bad about that, and are a little irritated at their Christian friends for making such a ruckus. But they won’t admit they have no faith. They’ll just call it “very personal.”
Those who aren’t Christian.
This is not one of the two categories of incognito Christian, ’cause these folks aren’t Christian. They identify themselves as Christian, but aren’t really. Often they never were.
These would be the folks who were baptized as children or infants, and might even have gone through confirmation, but never really trusted or accepted Jesus in any of it. Or they were raised Christian, but never made their parents’ faith their own. Or their spouse and family are Christian, but they’re just going along with it. Or they’re heretics who, among all their other teachings, tack Jesus in there somewhere.
Really, this type is the incognito pagan.
These are the people who think they’re Christian, but actually know nothing about Jesus. Like all the fake Catholics who haven’t been to Mass since childhood, and don’t have a clue what their church teaches, or haven’t ever read the bible. Some of them actually do think they know a thing or two about Jesus—but the stuff I tell them isn’t anything they’ve heard before. (Or they heard it, but weren’t paying attention; or their heretic church taught them otherwise.)
There are lots of incognito pagans. They’re not a problem, once you learn to ignore the statement, “Oh, I’m a Christian” (or even “Yes, I’m a Christ-follower”) and drill down into what people mean by that. This post isn’t actually about them; I point them out because they’re part of the 81 percent of Americans who think they’re Christian. In my experience, only three-quarters actually are—and about half of those are incognito. The other quarter are pagan.
Why Christianity feels like a minority.
When I tell Christians the stats, their reaction, obviously, is, “No we are not 81 percent Christian.” And I agree: Of course we’re not. The 81 percent includes pagans who think they’re Christian.
But it also includes Christians who are, in their actions and behaviors, indistinguishable from pagans. You can’t tell the difference between one and another. They vote the same, shop the same, dress the same, consume the same media, have the same rate of divorces and abortions, have the same rate of murders and rapes and suicides. They act and live as pagans. But in a weird way, they really don’t: If the norm is based on the behavior of the majority, well, the majority is Christian. The incognito Christians greatly outnumber the pagans. These aren’t pagan stats; they’re incognito Christian stats.
Something disturbing to think about.
How many incognito Christians are there? A lot more than the 80 percent in our churches who don’t contribute. I don’t know if anyone other than God can ever nail down exact figures. I just know that when you go around sharing Jesus, two out of three of the people you speak to will be Christian already—and a good number of them will admit they don’t practice their Christianity any. Meaning half your job as an evangelist will not be in making new converts, but trying to wake up the ones who are asleep in the light.