When “Christian” Isn’t Enough
Labels, Fruit, and Real Growth
I’ve noticed something in dating profiles and in life: a lot of people check the box that says “Christian.” But that label doesn’t always mean what I think it should. Sometimes it feels hollow. Other times it’s used casually, like a family tradition. And I catch myself wrestling: are my expectations too high, or is the whole idea of expecting anything the wrong approach?
The truth is, “Christian” as a word doesn’t prove anything. I learned that painfully after my father’s suicide. The way some believers reacted, even a pastor, was so insensitive that it pushed me out of church for years. The label didn’t line up with love. It left me sick.
But the other side is just as true. If people were to see me at certain points in the day, tired after a night shift, frustrated at work, or muttering at a barista when I felt disrespected, they could easily conclude, “This guy’s not a Christian either.” And they wouldn’t be entirely wrong if “Christian” only meant looking polished at all times. I’ve even reached for things like an ayahuasca journey in my grief after my dad’s death, trying to survive unbearable pain. Someone could look at that and say, “See, he’s not a Christian.”
That’s where the question cuts deeper: what is a Christian, really?
The Bible gives a simple answer: someone with Christ living inside them. “Christ in you, the hope of glory” (Col. 1:27). That means His Spirit is present, even when I look messy. It also means growth is His work. Paul wrote, “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion” (Phil. 1:6). I can’t make myself grow by checking boxes or keeping appearances. My job isn’t to engineer the fruit; it’s to stay rooted in Him and let Him produce it.
Paul actually described this struggle in Romans 7: “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.” (v. 15). He admitted that sometimes his actions didn’t look like Christ at all. But he didn’t end in despair. He made a distinction: “It is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me” (v. 17). In other words, the flesh acts out, but Christ in us remains. That’s why he could cry, “Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God, through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (vv. 24–25).
That’s the tension I feel, too. People might see me at my worst and think, “Not a Christian.” And they’d be right that it wasn’t Christ in me on display, it was my flesh. But they’d be wrong to conclude that Christ isn’t there at all. He is. He hasn’t left. He’s still growing me, even when my fruit looks thin.
So here’s where I land:
Labels don’t prove faith. Anyone can say “Christian.”
Fruit reveals what’s real. Jesus said, “By their fruit you will know them” (Matt. 7:16). Not by their claims. Not by their profile. By the steady patterns of love, gentleness, integrity.
Growth is God’s responsibility. He grows us through stages. Some people are brand new in the faith, some are years in, some are stumbling forward. It’s His Spirit that changes us, not our checklists.
My responsibility is discernment and grace. Discernment means I don’t get fooled by labels. I watch patterns. Grace means I don’t dismiss people for not being perfect, because if perfection is the standard, I fail too.
In dating, this means I can’t assume someone who marks “Christian” shares the same depth of faith. I have to slow down, observe, and let fruit show itself. And I also have to be honest that my own fruit is inconsistent. Sometimes I’m patient, sometimes I’m irritable. Sometimes I shine, sometimes I stumble. That doesn’t mean Christ isn’t in me; it means He’s still at work in me.
So no, my expectations aren’t “too high.” But they need to be reframed. Instead of expecting a label to guarantee depth, I need to look for evidence of growth. And instead of demanding maturity right away, I need to remember it’s God’s timeline, not mine.
At the end of the day, I’m learning to stop treating “Christian” as a box to check, and start treating it as what it really is: Christ alive in someone, at whatever stage of growth He has them. That frees me to hold both grace and boundaries. Grace. because we’re all in process. Boundaries, because not everyone who says “Christian” is living from Christ.
That’s the filter I want to use. And that’s how I want people to look at me, too.
At the end of the day, I’m learning to stop treating “Christian” as a box to check, and start treating it as what it really is: Christ alive in someone, at whatever stage of growth He has them. That frees me to hold both grace and boundaries. Grace, because we’re all in process. Boundaries, because not everyone who says “Christian” is living from Christ.
That’s the Gotham City Truth.
Amen Jon!