The Selfie Christian

“Promoting self under the guise of promoting Christ is currently so common as to excite little notice.”
A. W. Tozer

“O the wonderful cross, O the wonderful cross, Bids me come and die and find that I may truly live.”
Isaac Watts

“It is a self-evident truth that those who persist in spiritual disciplines grow in grace, and those who don’t persist, don’t grow.”
Erik Raymond

“The healthy Christian is not necessarily the extrovert, ebullient Christian, but the Christian who has a sense of God’s presence stamped deep on his soul.”
J. I. Packer

“There are two kinds of lights in the world. There is the ornamental lamp that you have in your living room, and there is the street light. Good illustrations are much more like streetlights. Ornamental lamps call attention to themselves... Streetlights don’t do that. You hardly notice the streetlight. You simply see the street that the lamp lights up. Good illustrations throw their light upon the truth. They don’t call attention to themselves.”
Haddon Robinson

“For what we proclaim is not ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, with ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake.”
2 Corinthians 4:5, ESV

It is no great revelation to say we are living in an age of curated selves. We know this. We feel its pull. We have seen the shift from truth to narrative, from substance to image. But what remains a slow-burning tragedy is the uncritical way Christians have mirrored this culture. Not just by participating in it—but by baptizing it. The selfie Christian has emerged from the same soil that gives us the selfie preacher, only the former is more difficult to detect because they do not stand behind a pulpit. Their religion is subtle, often appearing as piety with a filter. Their witness is filtered through aesthetics, through self-reference, through subtle self-congratulations dressed as transparency. And unlike the selfie preacher—who is easier to call out due to platform—the selfie Christian moves almost invisibly through our churches, our small groups, our ministries, and yes, our social feeds. We have learned to present ourselves before others more than we have learned to present ourselves before God.

A Gospel of Self-Projection
There was a time when Christian maturity was measured by one’s ability to forget self (Luke 9:23). Not to loathe self in a self-absorbed way, but to die to it (Galatians 2:20). To be hidden in Christ (Colossians 3:3). To decrease (John 3:30). To be nothing that He might be everything (Romans 12:1; Philippians 2:3–4). That time seems like a whisper now. We now live in a moment where Christian maturity is often showcased by how well we can publicly process our wounds, navigate our trauma, talk about our spiritual growth, and “share what God is teaching me lately.” These are not, in and of themselves, wrong. But they have become subtly self-referential. Our testimonies often feature ourselves as the ones with insight, awareness, clarity, and a maturity just far enough ahead to be instructive. We do not confess sin—we curate it. We do not share burdens—we frame them. And all too often, we do not exalt Christ, we reference Him as a kind of necessary sidekick in the story of our spiritual becoming. We have become a people who speak often about Jesus, but rarely speak to Him. We have grown so fluent in self-expression that self-denial now sounds like repression. But the Lord Jesus could not have been clearer: “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me” (Matthew 16:24, ESV). Not understand himself. Not optimize himself. Not express himself. Deny himself. This command does not come from a cruel or distant Savior. It comes from the One who denied Himself unto death. The One who did not grasp at His own glory, but emptied Himself, taking the form of a servant (Philippians 2:6–8). The life of Christ is not an accessory to our brand, it is a call to come and die. But the selfie Christian resists that call, because it requires more than image, it demands obscurity. It means being unseen by the world, unknown in our righteousness, quietly faithful with no credit or clicks. And the flesh recoils at the thought.

“Look at Me” Disguised as “Look at Christ”
There is a kind of piety that is only convincing to people who do not read their Bibles. The Pharisees had it. So do many modern Christians. It is the sort of godliness that always has a moral lesson, an inspirational caption, a powerful takeaway—and it always, somehow, involves the self at the center. We now have testimonies that are indistinguishable from lifestyle branding. “I was going through such a difficult season, but God taught me...” “In my weakness, I have learned to lean into grace...” “I do not have it all together, but I am learning to trust...” All of these phrases can be true, but when they are presented like spiritual merchandise, complete with just the right tone of vulnerability, they begin to ring hollow. The difference between confession and performance is small but seismic. There is something especially dangerous about Christian-sounding self-centeredness. Because it is not outright rebellion—it is seduction. The selfie Christian does not reject Christ outright; they simply frame Him in a way that flatters the self. He becomes their life coach. Their cheerleader. Their redemption arc. And as long as He stays in that role, they are happy to talk about Him. But Jesus will not be reduced to supporting actor. He is King. Lord. Judge. Master. Savior. And He will not share His glory with another (Isaiah 42:8, Isaiah 48:11), not even with your journey.

The Idol of Our Own Sanctification
Perhaps the most deceitful trap of all is the temptation to idolize our own transformation. To love our growth more than we love the One who grows us. To love the fruit of the Spirit because it makes us admirable, rather than because it pleases the Lord. The selfie Christian turns sanctification into spectacle. They measure godliness by public processing and curated vulnerability. But sanctification was never meant to be something we showcase, it is something we “walk out with fear and trembling” (Philippians 2:12, ESV). The work of the Spirit is often done in secret, in suffering, in silence. Not in shareable moments, but in crucified obedience. The selfie Christian wants resurrection power but without crucifixion. They want the joy of new life without the groaning of mortified sin. But Christ does not raise what has not died. He does not beautify what has not been broken. And He does not glorify what will not yield. “Put to death therefore what is earthly in you...” (Colossians 3:5, ESV). That is the command. Not process it publicly. Not name it with hashtags. Kill it. This is not about being off social media or refusing to ever share a testimony. It is about motive. Posture. Reverence. It is about whether your inner life is hidden with Christ in God (Colossians 3:3) or out on display for approval. Holiness is not performative. It is hidden. It grows in the dark. It thrives where no one sees, where no one applauds, where only the Lord knows.

When “Authenticity” Becomes a Lie
We are told now that authenticity is the highest virtue. Just be real. Just be you. Be vulnerable. But what if “being real” is just another mask? What if our vulnerability is simply another performance —more convincing because it seems raw? True authenticity is not found in more exposure of the self. It is found in more conformity to Christ. You can be completely honest and still be in sin. You can be raw and still be rebellious. You can cry, confess, post, and process—and still be resisting the sanctifying work of the Spirit. Our generation has confused confession with repentance. But confession without repentance is just a monologue. The Lord is not impressed with our ability to articulate our mess. He desires truth in the inward being (Psalm 51:6) and that means change. Authenticity is not about being seen. It is about being known. And to be known by God is to be humbled. “Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts!” (Psalm 139:23, ESV). That is the cry of a true heart. A heart that longs not to be affirmed, but to be refined.

When Self Dies, Christ Becomes Clear
The goal of the Christian life is not to become a better version of ourselves. It is to become like Christ, and that begins when the self is dethroned. When we stop trying to be impressive. When we stop trying to be seen. When we stop giving partial confessions in public spaces for affirmation and start giving full surrender in private places for holiness. The world teaches us to elevate self, to trust self, to express self, but the gospel teaches us to crucify it. Paul said it plainly: “I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me” (Galatians 2:20, ESV). That is the death of the selfie Christian. Not because photos are evil, not because social platforms are inherently wicked, but because the heart is endlessly deceitful (Jeremiah 17:9) and eager to put self at the center, even in the name of Jesus. We must be ruthless in our self-examination. Who are we really trying to glorify? Is Christ increasing or are we? When self dies, Christ becomes clear. Not because He was not already glorious, but because we finally stop standing in the way.

Dear reader, the call of Christ is still the same: Come and die. Not come and shine. Not come and showcase. Come and die. To your image. Your platform. Your reputation. Your identity apart from Him. We need more Christians who are holy in secret. Who pray in private. Who fast without broadcasting. Who give without needing recognition. Who serve without needing validation. Who repent without needing an audience. These are the Christians who will shake the gates of hell. Not the ones who are most eloquent, most followed, most seen, but the ones who are most surrendered. Let the hidden life rise again. Let the secret place be your sanctuary. Let the applause of heaven drown out the noise of the world. And may the watching world no longer see Christians pointing to themselves but saying, with trembling hearts, “Behold, the Lamb of God.”