Why You Probably Wouldn’t Call Me a Christian

I was walking behind a group of girls yesterday, who were going on and on about how they “could never be a Christian” because they “weren’t hipster.” I let that marinate for a while. I was confused. Since when is Christianity a “type” of person. If Jesus died for all of us, shouldn’t all of us be for Him? Since when do you have to wear flannels and glasses to be a modern-day “Christian?”

I think they’re wrong. I don’t think there is a type for Christianity, because I probably wouldn’t be it.

If you didn’t know me, you probably wouldn’t call me a Christian. Maybe you would, but you could equally go with the idea of me being another religion as well. You probably wouldn’t call me a Christian because I probably don’t appear as the modern-day stereotype of an artsy, alternative yet cute, intelligent yet inquisitive, Jesus-loving gal.

I’ve never instagram’d my black cup of jo’ with my bible open and some sort of artsy caption of how it is the “best way to start my morning.” Speaking of instagram, my instagram bio contains no references to scripture and the freedom we have in Christ, it’s rather just a cluster of some of my favorite emojis.

I don’t have a tattoo of a cross or scripture or some deep, biblical reference that only theologians would understand, and I firmly believe there are far better smells than black coffee–starting with (and not limited to) chocolate chip cookies, pizza and any artificial french vanilla lotion. I do not own fake glasses, a flannel, or converse. I occasionally wear skinny jeans, but I’m just as likely to wear flare jeans with running shoes (***cue my friends cringing). I have no cool piercings unless you count my ears being double pierced, which are usually filled with a pearl or knock-off Claire’s diamond. I do not wear any beanies or caps–unless you count the baseball hat or sun hat I throw on when I haven’t washed my hair in a prolonged amount of time. I own Chacos strictly for the arch-support benefits (did this just discount everything I have said?)

I do not eat au naturel. I live in my blissful mind where Sonic ice cream has as many health benefits as an apple. When I am feelin’ a health kick, I don’t instagram my avocado, kale, vegan, organic, vegetarian, spinach smoothie. (Disclaimer: I have definitely posted pictures of my favorite deserts.) Most pictures I post are not artsy sunsets (okay, occasionally . . .) but rather basic pictures of my friends and I.

I have no idea how to properly hold a guitar, let alone play it, and my friends will all vouch that I cannot hit one note and should be kept far away from a microphone (for everyone’s sake).

I do not own a passport, nor have been out of the country. I have not been on a mission trip, and unless you have Adobe Photoshop skills, there are no pictures of me with babies in Africa or South America.

While there is no right or wrong on what we have and don’t have, what we wear and don’t wear, what we post and don’t post, there’s also no right or wrong person for Jesus. He died for each one of us. He knows every hair on your head. And He doesn’t ask you to have any sort of artsy talent or ability. I do not know Jesus any more of less because of my outer image. Jesus broke stereotypes and could never be categorized in a box. Jesus is for you. For the athletes, the academic stars, the musicians, the artists, the Greeks, the “basic” girls, the convicts, and everyone in between.

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