5 Ways to Diligently Discern All the Good and Bad “Christian Advice”


There’s a ton of Christianese literature out there, and some of it’s bad, bad, bad advice.

In my best movie trailer voice: In a world of Christian bestsellers, blogs, podcasts, and instagrams with Bible verses on ocean wallpaper, who are all coincidentally on an “authentic relevant struggling faith journey,” one ESV-carrying Christian millennial rises above the handlettering and “I’m not like those Pharisees” YouTube channels to authentically struggle with discerning what’s theologically sound and really works in the mess of real life.

But seriously: witty snark and pretty prose in bite-sized blog posts (like this one) don’t ever mean credibility. We really do need to know what “works in the mess of real life.” And it’s not going to be stitched-up quotes and here’s-what-I-would-do sort of fluff that sounds ideal but doesn’t work down here in the dirt.

I don’t claim to know any better on this. In fact, please don’t trust me, because I will let you down and inevitably disappoint you. Bloggers are not your counselors, no matter how flowery and fluffy their words. And your favorite “Christian celebrity” with the million followers might not be as inspirational as his tweets and t-shirts in his Etsy store.

Christians are called to discern everything we read, especially from sources that claim they’re fellow Christians. Here are a few questions to consider when we run into any kind of advice.


1) Where is it coming from? Says who?

It’s easy to start a blog and start preaching way further than our lives have actually lived. So much of Christian advice is idealistic guess-work that hasn’t been field-tested or approved by experience, much less cited or researched. In fact, a lot of it’s packaged to get hits and go viral, instead of actually caring about the real person it claims to help.

This will sound mean, but a lot of the shrill imperatives we see in blogs and books are from well-intentioned, untested upstarts who vicariously uphold an image that isn’t really them, either to compensate for their own shortcomings or to grab those precious followers. I only know this because I started that way, and I regress easily. Social media, for all its benefits, has made pedestal preachers of us all. I’d much rather someone tell me how it really is, with candid humble honesty, instead of how it “should be,” and to learn from their mistakes rather than get imprisoned by an impossible parameter—a paremeter, by the way, which is hardly practiced by the ones preaching it.

A suggestion: Check their bio. This isn’t to judge them or to assign value, but to see what they’ve actually been through. This also doesn’t mean that “youth” can’t say wise things, or that only experienced elders have knowledge. But rather, it’s to ask: What makes this person credible in this particular subject? What have they seen and who have they been around? How have their experiences informed their faith? And certainly there are those who have hardly been through much but can still write wonderful things, beyond their years, and it’s worth celebrating the exceptionally rare gift of youthful wisdom.


2) Is it reactionary?

I love snark and sass, but some advice is just a childish temper tantrum that caters to pseudo-outrage and preaches to a choir in an ivory tower. I call it Popular Discontent: find something wrong, multiply the fear and anger, call out some names, and you’re instantly viral. Also include, “I’m not like them, we’re like us, I’m protecting you, and everything is terrible and evil and I miss the good old days and these young people don’t even know.” Hashtag: Get off my lawn.

Another thing is that contrary to the cool postmodern professor, Christianity always challenges you to think for yourself. Discernment also means investigating every voice and giving it a fair hearing, no matter how dissenting, unpopular, or critical. But a church steeped in reactionary backlash tends to say, “My way is better than theirs and it’s the only way,” which becomes an echo-chamber cult of self-congratulatory chest-bumps.

A suggestion: This one’s tricky, because we do need to call out things that are obviously harmful, and I definitely sympathize with people who have been extremely hurt and must react as loudly as possible. The problem is building an entire platform on what you’re against instead of what you’re for. We go too far the other way, and it’s not hard to find something wrong with everything. Cynicism is easy mode. And everyone can tell when someone is secretly barking at a bone to pick or beating a dead hobby-horse. It’s a constant “throwing them under-the-bus.” I have to catch myself on that all the time (and I’m trying my darn hardest to balance that here). If the tone is passive-aggressive instead of pro-active, I let myself out. It’s a balancing act to be fair and firm, which leads us to—


3) Does it balance grace and truth?

Advice that lets you off the hook can only enable. Advice that sets you on fire with brimstone can only condemn.

A suggestion: Jesus himself was full of grace and truth (John 1:14). And here’s the wise G.K. Chesterton (literary mentor to C.S. Lewis) to sum it all up: “The more I considered Christianity, the more I found that while it had established a rule and order, the chief aim of that order was to give room for good things to run wild.”


4) Does it really work?

A lot of Christian bestsellers and blogs are primarily for a narrow demographic: the highest spending group from 18-30, moderately attractive, possibly with 1.5 kids, with a mortgage, mostly serving their church or on staff, and giving no second thoughts about dropping a twenty on a good dinner. This leaves out the homeless, the prostitutes, the politicians, the artists, the medical field, the scientists, police officers and lawyers, infertile women, abused women, the mentally ill, people like me who deal with dying and grief in their work, and the neglected elderly. So basically, everyone who Jesus hung out with.

A suggestion: Does the advice actually work for many different walks of life? If we gave a bestseller or shared a blog with a homeless person, would it apply?


5) Where’s the Jesus?

The thing about Christian advice is that unless it points to Christ and what he’s already done, it’s just another burden about what you have to do. Then it’s back to the contradictory comfort of religion: I did enough to meet my quota, but I’m under the choke-hold of never doing enough.

The worst symptom here is that “advice” can 1) breed a culture of burden that never measures up, and 2) be weaponized against other people. This is partially what Christians call worldliness, a consumer cycle of self-satisfaction that unwittingly uses God and people to squeeze ego. Once you get a hold of “22 Things To Do Before You’re 22″ or “Five Sure-Fire Ways to a Better Marriage,” it’s easy to think, I got the secret goods on this here, and you’re totally not in-the-know.

Only fixating on what-to-do and how-to creates an insider superiority that is entirely against the very purpose of the Gospel, in which Jesus didn’t come to make us “good,” but to rescue us from death and bring us to a very real life. In this way, Jesus also broke through our metric categories so that no one could hold their medals over someone else, so that no one by better technique would be more “worthy” than the unaccomplished and underprivleged. It is truly by grace we have been saved, and not by works, so that no one may boast (Ephesians 2). Grace effortlessly punctures these walls of competitive conceit by acknowledging we’re all equally flawed and equally in need of rescue beyond our own meager ability.


Good Christian advice has a way of setting us free and lifting the burden. It feels less like work and more like a way forward. It doesn’t wield consequences as motivation, but highlights the tenderizing, galvanizing, captivating love of Christ and all that he’s already done for you. The Gospel says that our sin had to cost Jesus the cross, but we’re also given the free gift of a resurrection. Sin was paid for, but a resurrecting grace was freely given. This is the amazing thing about grace: it’s a surprise party that we can’t throw for ourselves. All advice flows from such grace, and not for it. The Gospel takes the burden off first, so that we can begin to follow God and His commands to their fullest. It is always rescue before resolve.

This is how I know when a fellow Christian really cares: that their advice is filled with love and grief and restoration, not cathartic ranting and barely veiled blame. The heart of God is about both the rest and resolution to somehow be humble and righteous, at the very same time, with a transcendent kind of peace that doesn’t keep score, but is an abundance of the reward we continually have in Christ.

A suggestion: Pray it through, soak in Scripture, ask around, and see if it all lines up with the red letters. I always go back to 1 John 4 and ask, What would God say about this? Where does Jesus fit in here? How does this lead back to Him? Because advice without Christ is simply living without life.

J.S.

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7 thoughts on “5 Ways to Diligently Discern All the Good and Bad “Christian Advice”

  1. I am still learning here. I am reminded of what Paul said in his letter to colossians. That whatever we do or say, it should be as a representative of Christ. I still haven’t gotten it right JS. I am depending on God to help me through

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    1. Me, too. Definitely me, too. I think the wonderful thing is that God gives us grace for the times we mishandled grace, for times we misinterpreted and messed up His word, whether with others or ourselves. That isn’t a permission slip to be reckless, but a second chance to obtain the joy He aims for us to have. It truly is difficult to discern, and I think everything we think we know is constantly changing as we get older, as new people and experiences round us out and sculpt us.

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  2. Do you think it is wrong to share our personal struggles with faith? I still find myself wrestling with my beliefs and often share this but always with the caveat that I am no theologian – just your average, bumbling Jane Doe. I can’t quote scripture at will nor would I ever consider myself qualified to offer advice on Christianity. I find writing about these issues cathartic, but, I would never want to inadvertently discourage someone.

    I think that sometimes as Christians we can be lead into the trap of thinking life will be easy-coasting once we accept Christ into our lives, but that is not the case nor is that Biblically correct. We are not issued rose-colored glasses once we become a Christian. The first church I ever joined more or less preached this very idea…in fact, it was verging dangerously close to “prosperity theology” (not sure if that’s still an issue these days) and that can really cause some issues once you hit your first real bump in the road as a new Christian. I just want others who may be struggling to know that it is okay to struggle as long as you keep focused on Christ.

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    1. I don’t believe it’s wrong at all. I do think there might be a “wrong way” to go about it: for example, reveling in wrongs, or jumping to a solution too quickly, or using relatability as a permission slip to be reckless (which I see happening more often than we want to admit). And while “prosperity theology” is absolutely harmful and false, I’d have to say that Christians generally don’t talk about joy enough and it seems like such a slump to be a Christian all the time. But yes, faith, life, and everything else needs dialogue to meet where it’s difficult, because it can be enough to know we’re not alone and to articulate that somehow.

      You’re right that we don’t want to mislead anyone, but there’s always the possibility that others will misinterpret what you’ve said anyway. I remember giving a message once about breaking through our a “us versus them” mentality, and someone came up to me afterward and said, “I hope they learn that.” I laughed. Oh, well.

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  3. Thank you for this J.S. This is a post I will come back to time and time again. Writing a faith-based blog feels like walking a tightrope sometimes. Do you find people approach you for advice that you don’t feel qualified to give? But, they feel connected to you and think you have an answer because of your blog? I struggle with this. You’ve been at this longer-any advice?

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    1. Yes, all the time. Out of every dozen messages that I receive, I’m pretty sure that I’m not qualified to answer a third of them, or more. I have no illusions about thinking I’m some kind of answer-guru or a legal consultant or a licensed counselor. Sometimes even a “dry season” causes me to back off for a little bit, because my mood might cause me to be more passive-aggressive than usual. I end up not replying to quite a few of these messages, not from neglect, but because I have to admit when I’m not capable enough.

      I can only balance it by (and by no means are these foolproof) —
      – Offering tons of disclaimers and qualifiers up front, on what I know and don’t know.
      – Referral or delegation by linking or networking; I have no qualms about suggesting more qualified people to answer.
      – Speaking only on the theological/spiritual/practical elements.
      – Offering options instead of ironclad decisions.
      – Not writing think-pieces on current events that I haven’t explored well enough (and even then, think-pieces are much better in hindsight instead of trying to latch onto the trending hashtag).
      – Talking less in imperatives and more about the issue at hand.

      This last one is hugely important to me. Social media has definitely turned us into “Imperative Preachers,” where every other word is should and you-have-to, with a preachy tone that leaves no room for our differences and our unique situations. I constantly ask, “Who are you and why do you have the right to say this?” Most times, they do not, not because they’re a bad person, but because it’s an inexperienced college-level confabulation made up on the spot (equivalent to “This is my paper on global economics, by Ralph Wiggums, age seven”). I’ve been guilty of over-preaching too, and I’ve scaled it way back and have hopefully mellowed out on do/don’t type of writing. It takes a ton of humility, which I’m working on constantly, and is no easy battle. Of course, we must set about our convictions with a firm hand, but it’s always a loose hand that keeps the conversation going until we can land on solid ground.

      How about you? Have you found some guidelines that have worked for you?

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  4. Thank you for the time you put into your reply and for the ideas. I particularly like the networking/referral point. I’m working on creating a balance of writing along with building knowledge and contacts, so that reinforces the goal. Options are always good–I sometimes ask if they’ve thought those thru, and if they’ve asked people they trust for ideas. I hadn’t thought about the current event think-pieces causing turmoil, but it makes perfect sense. I know Max Lucado mentioned Donald Trump’s behavior in a piece he wrote and things went a little haywire. Interesting. All great ideas!

    As for me, I also try to let people know I am by no means an expert. Sometimes I really wish I had more Biblical knowledge. Just a layperson trying to figure things out like they are — only I write about it. I find a lot of people just want a sounding board and affirmation that they are heard and of value – no matter what has happened or is happening in their life. Sometimes they want prayer, and I can easily do that. I guess mostly I try to offer some encouragement and let them know they are not standing alone in this twisted mess of life.

    Thanks again JS. Looking forward to your next read.

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