Not the Minister

Y'all, if it's one thing I wholeheartedly loathe, and I mean absolutely detest, is someone reducing Christians to a stereotype. I'm not saying there isn't a standard. There absolutely is. But convictions can be different, and we all come with a past while actively being sanctified. Following Jesus doesn't mean we suddenly lose every part of the person we were before we met Him.

I mean, come on. Peter literally chopped somebody's ear off in Jesus' presence. Peter was bout it before and bout it after. Now, Jesus did tell him to put the sword away, so let's not miss that part. But you get my point. Jesus didn't erase Peter's personality, but He did challenge how Peter expressed it.

So, boom. I'm at one of my good friend's bachelorette weekend celebrations. We met at Uni, so naturally, we're having a good time playing all the throwback music we listened to and partied to in college. And I'm in it. Rapping the lyrics, jumping around, just having a good time in general.

Then one of the girls around me says something like, "Not the minister singing this song."

In her defense, I was really singing the song. I was leaving out the cuss words, of course, but I won't pretend that made the entire song appropriate. I was enjoying myself, caught up in the nostalgia, and not exactly stopping to evaluate the content of what I was singing.

Because I am saved, sanctified, filled with the Holy Ghost, amen, I'm not going to pretend I didn't have a great time in college. I simply responded, "Hey, I went to college too."

And honestly, I understood her sentiments. I can understand the expectation that Christians do nothing but study the Bible, sing hymns, and call out sin. Not that she necessarily thought all of that, but you get my point.

Still, something about the comment bothered me. And it wasn't the first time someone had reacted to something I did or said through the lens of my ministerial title. It's almost like becoming a Christian, or in my case, a minister, can make people forget that there was a whole person before the title.

Rant over.

But I kept thinking about it. Why did it bother me so much? Maybe what bothered me wasn't that she was surprised. Maybe it was that, for a moment, I felt like I had to defend the fact that I contain more than one chapter of my life. I became a minister. I didn't become a different species. Or maybe I felt cornered. And you're not going to put baby in a corner. But going deeper, maybe I was embarrassed. Not necessarily because I thought her comment was entirely justified, but because I represent Christ every day, not just on Sundays, behind a pulpit, or when I have my metaphorical minister hat on.

And that's where this gets a little uncom, short for uncomfortable. Because yes, I am still Brianna. I went to college. I have memories. I know the songs. I have a personality. I like to have fun. Becoming a minister didn't erase any of that. But becoming a minister did mean I willingly put on the name of Christ. And if I'm going to wear His name, I have to be honest about what that means, including the parts that make me uncomfortable.

I recently listened to a podcast where someone talked about initially resisting going deeper with God because he didn't want to become one of "those Christians." He associated Christians with judgment, rigidity, and being weird. But he eventually realized that wasn't actually the deepest reason he was resisting. He was afraid of what wearing Christ's name would require of his lifestyle. That stuck with me.

His experience wasn't exactly mine, but it made me consider something. What happens when I'm so determined not to be misunderstood as one of "those Christians" that I become defensive about the very things God might want me to examine? Because there is a version of Christianity where we desperately want to say, "I'm a Christian, but I'm still me!"

And yes. I am still me. But sanctification says, "Yes, AND Jesus is changing me" for my good. Because we live in a world broken by sin. From Adam and Eve onward, sin has affected our relationship with God, with one another, and even with ourselves. We experience brokenness in different ways, through our choices, our wounds, our struggles, and the things done to us.

Jesus isn't asking me to become a stranger to myself. He's not erasing my personality, history, or making me culturally clueless. He's not requiring me to perform some weird Christian caricature. He's transforming me so that I increasingly reflect His character in a world that desperately needs Him. And that distinction matters.

I don't want to be reduced to a stereotype of what a Christian or minister is supposed to look like. I don't want people to assume that because I follow Jesus, I somehow stopped being a person with a past, memories, humor, preferences, and a life before ministry. But Christian freedom isn't freedom from being formed by Christ. I'm not going to lie. That last line hurt me to type.

Because I can reject the stereotype and still need to examine myself, I can recognize that somebody else's expectations aren't the standard for my holiness and still acknowledge that my choices deserve to be examined in light of the One I claim to follow.

And in this particular situation, I can't simply dismiss the comment because I don't like being stereotyped. The song was inappropriate. Leaving out the cuss words didn't change the rest of the lyrics. I can acknowledge that without deciding that every person who knows the song, enjoys a throwback playlist, or has a past is somehow less Christian. Both things can be true.

Paul talks about Christian liberty in a way that makes us ask more than, "Can I do this?" He also makes us consider, "What happens if I do?" In 1 Corinthians 10:23–24, Paul moves beyond what is permissible to what is beneficial and what builds others up. He reminds believers to seek the good of others, not simply their own.

That means I have to ask myself some uncomfortable questions. Am I using my freedom wisely? Is what I'm participating in beneficial? Am I so determined to prove that I'm free that I've stopped considering whether my choices honor God or serve anyone else? And am I willing to lay something down when necessary, even if I don't like the idea of somebody else telling me what I should or shouldn't do?

But that is also very different from living my entire Christian life in fear of people's opinions. I don't have to make every decision based on whether somebody else will approve of me. I don't have to perform Christianity to prove that I'm serious about Jesus. And I certainly don't have to accept somebody else's stereotype of what a Christian is supposed to look like as the standard for my holiness. My standard is Christ.

And that leaves me somewhere in the middle of that tension. Boy, do I hate the middle. As someone who's learning to release control, there is something so uncomfortable about not having a neat rule for everything. I would love to know exactly where the line is. Tell me what's allowed, what's not, and let's keep it moving. But sanctification doesn't always work like that.

Sometimes Scripture gives us a clear instruction. Sometimes we have to apply biblical principles with wisdom. And sometimes the Holy Spirit brings our attention to something we've been defending without ever really examining it. I don't want to confuse those situations. I don't want to turn somebody else's discomfort into a command from God. But I also don't want to dismiss conviction simply because it challenges something I enjoy 😮‍💨.

I signed up to become someone who is being sanctified. And sanctification means there may be things I once did that God eventually asks me to lay down. Not because everybody else says they're wrong, not because I need to perform Christianity for people, and not because my salvation depends on checking enough boxes. But because He is making me more like Christ. And that's a much harder thing to argue with.

I still don't like being stereotyped. I still don't want people to reduce me to my title or assume they know everything about me because I'm a minister. But I also don't want to be so busy proving that I'm not the Christian they expect me to be that I neglect the work Christ is doing in me.

All this to say, I hated her response: "Not the minister..." But I get it. And in some ways, I receive it. Not because her surprise gets to define me. Certainly not because every expectation people have of Christians is biblical. But because I have to be willing to consider whether there's something worth examining beneath my initial defensiveness.

One day at a time, I have to let the One whose name I'm wearing keep changing me. Because I still hate being stereotyped. And I also never want to misrepresent Jesus.

Side note, I feel like I was a bit repetitive here but I wanted to share my honest thoughts. May come back through to edit, thanks for reading ❤️ and I receive any feedback!