When Proper is Improper
There’s a peculiar kind of double-dealing that creeps into the Christian life when we become more concerned with appearing “proper” than actually being genuine. It’s a strange irony when we become more concerned with appearances than with authenticity, more committed to looking holy than to being holy. And this, isn’t a new problem. Jesus spent much of His ministry confronting it. Remember the Pharisees? They were the original experts in “proper,” but their hearts were full of decay. When we trade sincerity for superficial propriety, we end up behaving in ways that might “look right” on the surface but are ultimately wrong. In short, we become hypocrites, and our propriety is, in fact, improper.
Alright, buckle up, because there’s no way to dive into this without getting into some nitty-gritty realities, a few practical examples – and any similarity between the examples below and actual people you know is strictly coincidental and entirely unavoidable. Let’s just say there are a few faces that come to mind as I write this, but they’re not exactly one-of-a-kind masterpieces deserving of special mention. It’s just that these particular habits and quirks seem to pop up in all sorts of people, including me, and so they’re practically begging to be addressed. I’m sure you can agree that human nature has this charming tendency to recycle the same foibles, flaws, and follies, generation after generation. So, if you find yourself seeing some familiar faces in these descriptions, I can assure you it’s not intentional – it’s just inevitable.
I’ve got three illustrations lined up to make the point clear. And let me tell you, these sins are not exclusive to these examples—they’re the everyday riffraff that show up uninvited. These examples are here to sharpen your vision so that, when these sins wander into other corners of your life wearing new masks, you’ll recognise them for the troublemakers they are.
I. The One became Two Flesh
Alright, young and eligible singles, let’s clear a few things up. Falling in love isn’t a sin. Seriously. God is the one who wired us for love, romance, and all that good stuff. Having said that, one can still sin by falling in love. As with most things God made good, it’s all too easy to turn it into a train wreck if we’re not careful.
Falling in love is like handling a loaded weapon; done rightly, it’s powerful and beautiful. Done foolishly, it can leave a mess. But remember, while the Bible doesn’t ban falling in love, it has plenty to say about the kind of person you should be falling for. Don’t be unequally yoked (2 Corinthians 6:14). Obey your parents (Ephesians 6:1-3). He’s gotta lead spiritually (1 Corinthians 11:3); she’s gotta respect and follow that lead (Ephesians 5:22). And both of you should be open to having kids (Psalm 127:3), not just in theory but in practice. So, yes, you may fall in love, but fall with your eyes wide open, honouring God’s design and the guidance He’s put around you.
But I digress. A lot of young couples feel the burden to put on a mask of objectivity that they simply don’t possess. In the name of wisdom and all that is proper, they become more concerned about looking spiritually “put together” than being spiritually honest. They meticulously polish their image, making sure they appear as if they’ve consulted every council of elders, prayed at every conceivable hour, and sought divine confirmation down to the smallest detail. The result? Conversations with other Christians become theatrical performances where they feel an urgency to justify their relationship as a flawless mosaic of God’s will, forcing them to reshape what is into what they believe it should be.
Consider the young couple who insists that their courtship unfolded as if scripted by the Psalmist. They claim that God confirmed their relationship in a dozen ways, each more miraculous than the last, turning every glance and shared smile into a divine revelation. In reality, they’re just two people who like each other, trying to figure out what it means to honor God in a relationship. But in their efforts to appear wise, they invent a narrative that drips with sanctified hyperbole.
Or think of the couple that feels the need to highlight their shared devotion as if it were a rare gem. They recount tales of simultaneous Bible readings, synchronised quiet times, and the seamless merging of their personal spiritual disciplines into a display worthy of a church newsletter. Yet, behind the scenes, one is struggling with doubt, and the other is trying to read three chapters ahead just to keep the conversation going. The pressure to look as though every step is divinely choreographed leads them to present a facade that strains under the weight of reality.
They meet at a coffee shop? “It was meant to be!” Their favorite hymn just happens to be playing on the radio? “Confirmation!” They drive by a church with a wedding sign out front? “Undeniable!” They become so focused on justifying their relationship as perfect in the eyes of others that they lose sight of the actual work of building a relationship that honors God truthfully.
The point is, striving for outward appearances at the expense of honesty isn’t wise; it’s exhausting. It turns genuine relationships into scripted performances. Young couples need to remember that wisdom isn’t found in appearing flawless, but in being faithful, humble, and willing to grow. It’s not the ornate mask of piety that makes a relationship strong, but the simple, steadfast pursuit of God’s will—warts and all. The hand of God is best seen in the authentic moments of seeking Him, not in the curated image we craft for others.
The truth is, love, when pursued in a godly way, is a beautiful thing. It’s okay to feel attracted, to be interested, to get a little goofy over someone. The key is not letting those emotions take the wheel and drive you off a cliff. So if you find yourself falling in love, relax. Just remember to keep it grounded in wisdom, rooted in respect, and, yes, covered in a whole lot of prayer.
P.S. – Just to clarify, no, you’re not “one flesh” until you’re married. The title was a bit of tongue-in-cheek humour, and I trust no one actually needed this disclaimer.
II. Feather Sharpens Iron
In the modern church, we’ve developed a peculiar phenomenon: Christians who are so committed to perpetual kindness that they’ve lost the art of real accountability. It’s as if we’ve collectively decided that “feather sharpens iron” is a more agreeable motto. We tiptoe around one another, careful not to ruffle feathers or disrupt the immaculate veneer of being “proper.” The result? A community where everyone is “nice,” but no one dares to get into the trenches and help a brother or sister grow.
We’ve come to a point where, when correction is needed, we either nod our heads in passive agreement or deliver it so softly that the person being corrected doesn’t even realize they were corrected. We’ve become a culture so hypersensitive that we’ve taken the edge off of everything. They didn’t nail Christ to a cross because He was overly concerned about people’s feelings.
Someone says something wildly awkward in a group, and everyone knows it, but nobody says anything because it would be even more awkward to address it. Or consider a young girl who shows up dressed immodestly, and it’s deemed more improper to point it out than for her to be seen that way in the first place. We’ve reached the strange conclusion that it’s okay for people to act and dress in ways that are unbecoming, but to point it out is more unbecoming? That’s where we draw the line. Correction has been deemed the real offense.
In the name of gentleness and all that is lowly, we’ve turned the Bible in our hands from a double-edged sword into a kitchen spatula. Instead of anointing our heads with oil and cleansing our lips with hot coal from God’s altar, we’re busy pouring maple syrup and flipping pancakes with our double-edged spatula. We pat each other on the back with it and serve up warm, syrupy encouragements but avoid wielding it with any semblance of real force. And we wonder why we’re not seeing lives turned upside down like the early church did.
We’ve got to remember that there’s a place for gentleness, yes, but gentleness with backbone. The kind of gentleness that speaks the truth in love, even when it stings. The kind that understands that a well-timed word of correction can save someone from a world of grief. Because if we keep trading in our swords for spatulas (I keep using this because I fell in love with this reference, sorry), we’ll be flipping niceties while the world falls apart.
We’ve traded the robust, soul-sharpening accountability of iron on iron (Proverbs 27:17) for the feathery, feel-good fluff of “peace at any cost.” But this isn’t peace; it’s a kind of spiritual stagnation wrapped in a cloak of politeness. It looks proper, but it’s a far cry from the rugged, gospel-centered growth that the early church embodied.
The truth is, genuine love sometimes requires an uncomfortable push, a challenge to grow, and the willingness to say the hard thing. It means caring enough to risk the disapproval of the moment for the sanctification of a lifetime. So let’s put down the feathers and pick up the iron, learning to be bold in love and true in grace.
III. Blessed are the victims, for they shall be excused
In our current culture, there’s an unwritten beatitude: “Blessed are the victims, for they shall be excused.” It’s a curious phenomenon where the moment someone claims the role of the wounded party, they ascend to a moral high ground from which they cannot be questioned. The victim card, once laid down, becomes an unassailable shield. And suddenly, any expectation for them to respond in a godly manner, to exercise forgiveness, or to act with integrity, is dismissed as unreasonable. After all, they’re the ones that are in pain. When God told us to share in each other’s pain, He meant for us to shoulder someone else’s load, not to shove our own onto their backs. The command was to bear one another’s burdens, not to weaponize our wounds and make everyone else pay rent for them.
We’ve reached the point where the mere claim of being hurt—whether justly or not—acts as a free pass to behave however one pleases. The victim becomes untouchable, immune to correction or rebuke, while the accused, whether guilty or simply misunderstood, must atone for their transgressions without question or pause. The demand for repentance and restitution is one-sided, directed only at the alleged wrongdoer, while the injured party is excused from any obligation to act with grace or charity.
It’s not that true hurt doesn’t deserve compassion or that genuine victims should be ignored. No, Scripture calls us to “weep with those who weep” (Romans 12:15) and to bear each other’s burdens (Galatians 6:2). But biblical sympathy1 has never been a hall pass for ungodly behavior. It doesn’t say, “Be angry and sin all you want,” but rather, “Be angry, and do not sin” (Ephesians 4:26).
Consider how often this plays out. Someone shares how they’ve been wronged, and immediately, the room shifts. Conversations are steered so delicately that everyone ends up walking on eggshells. Any hint of suggesting that perhaps, just maybe, they could respond differently is seen as cruel or victim-blaming. The accused, meanwhile, could have said or done something trivial, but now they’re required to grovel as though they’ve committed the unpardonable sin.
We have flipped biblical expectations on their head. No longer do we ask, “How can we be Christ-like in our suffering?” Instead, we declare, “I have suffered; therefore, I am justified in my response.” But if we’re honest, we know that Christ’s example and the teachings of Scripture call for something more. The true beatitude would be, “Blessed are those who respond to hurt with grace, for they shall reflect the heart of Christ.”
And so, it’s not true grace to say, “They’re acting out because they’re hurt; let’s just let it slide.” That’s not grace—it’s passive indulgence masquerading as compassion. Real grace steps in, even when it’s uncomfortable, and says, “Let’s walk with them in their hurt and humbly encourage them to respond in a way that reflects Christ.” True grace doesn’t pat hurt on the back and leave it unchecked; it reaches out, challenges, and uplifts, guiding that pain toward holiness, not just a free pass for indulgence. True love calls the wounded to be Christlike in their suffering, reminding them that even in their deepest wounds, the image of the Suffering Servant must shine through.
Brothers and sisters, we cannot let this narrative creep into the church. We must remember that, as followers of Christ, we are all called to a higher standard—whether we’re the wounded or the ones doing the wounding. The gospel does not excuse sin on either side of the table; it calls everyone to repentance, grace, and reconciliation. Only then do we truly follow the One who bore our ultimate wounds without once excusing Himself from love or righteousness.
Conclusion
The pursuit of appearing “proper” at all costs often leads us into dangerous, hypocritical territory. When we choose curated masks over authentic living, we trade true holiness for hollow displays. It’s a subtle shift that whispers, “As long as I look the part, I am the part,” but the result is a shallow imitation of what Christ truly calls us to be.
To follow Christ genuinely, we must be willing to put aside the pretense of propriety when it contradicts the truth. Proper can be very improper when it props up appearances at the expense of integrity. The real call is not to be perfectly polished but to be perfectly committed—to truth, to grace, and to a life lived openly before God and others, without the burden of masks or the weight of hollow performances.
