I'm a Christian, but probably not the kind you're thinking of.

Too often, Christianity is associated with judgmentalism, magical thinking, moralism, and stale traditions. My spirituality isn't about any of that.

It's not heaven-focused or sin-obsessed. I don't believe in simplistic, Santa-like versions of God, or the idea that anyone had to die for me to be whole.

I’m not about statues, novenas, or incense.

My Christianity is about humility, not superiority. It's a call to love and serve, not judge. It's about compassion, kindness, and human dignity—a path of meaning, not magic.

I follow a Jesus who cared about people flourishing, especially the lowly and the marginalized, and creating a world based on love.

My style of Christianity prioritizes simplicity. Big-box churches, baroque cathedrals, rosaries, praise bands, cloying Marian devotion, charismatic gifts, and Latin Masses don't resonate. I also find the influence of Evangelical theology on Christian thought deeply troubling. The biblical idolatry, legalism, and fundamentalism it has unleashed are repugnant.

Instead, I strive for spiritual realism, focusing on love and simplicity. My touchstones are silence, meditation, love of neighbor, the Eucharist, and simple rituals.

I am comfortable in ecumenical settings and believe that we must all imagine new forms of Christian communities that are organic, authentic, and reach beyond the fading institutional arrangements.

The Kingdom of God is now.

It’s not a far-off heaven nor a distant, unattainable dream. It is a living reality present in the midst of daily life, waiting to be realized and entered.

In the teachings of Jesus, the kingdom is "at hand," woven into the fabric of ordinary existence, available now to all who would see and respond.

We do not enter the kingdom by escaping the world, but by aligning our lives with love, compassion, and mercy.

Each act of kindness, forgiveness, and empathy is a doorway into this deeper reality. It is not a matter of religious ritual or doctrinal correctness, but of embodying the ethos of Jesus—a life shaped by the love that breathes through all things.

To inhabit the Kingdom is to step into an alternative reality already present.

This reality operates not by the logic of power, competition, or fear, but by the logic of self-giving love. In relationships, community, and service, the Kingdom reveals itself—a world renewed from the inside out.

Living in the kingdom means choosing mercy over judgment, compassion over indifference, and generosity over self-interest.

“If concerned about sexist implications, use any modern translation of 'Kingdom of God,’ but remember it should always have overtones of high treason. Similarly, to say Jesus was Lord meant Caesar was not. Translate “Lord’ with any contemporary expression you deem appropriate, as long as it can get you killed.”

– John Dominic Crossan

I am a post-denominational Christian.

I see clearly that many Christian institutions are dying—seminaries closing, memberships shrinking, hierarchies losing their influence, whole denominations at risk of vanishing—but I believe Christianity itself is far greater than the sum of its denominations.

My stance is deeply ecumenical. I value the shared commitment to follow Jesus that exists across traditions more than the doctrinal or liturgical differences that once dictated loyalty to a particular church body.

I draw freely from the depth of the Christian heritage—Scripture, sacrament, contemplation—without feeling bound to preserve any single denominational form for its own sake.

For me, the heart of Christian life is in organic community. I cherish small groups, local gatherings, and networks of mutual support, places where we can care for one another and grow in understanding and commitment.

I see the decline of institutional structures as opening new space for renewal.

I’m a liminal Christian.

The word liminal originates from the Latin word limen, meaning threshold. It refers to doorways and entrances, boundaries and blurred lines, and spaces in between.

The Irish concept of a thin place is similar. Thin places are entries and exits, blended spaces with spiritual meaning, where one reality starts and another ends.

Like a shoreline between sand and sea, a liminal Christian spiritual path is a space between traditional and nontraditional practices and thinking. It is a space between theologies, interpretations, and standard customs and stances.

This means I find meaning on Christian shores, but with one foot in the sand of tradition and one foot in the waters of a Christianity yet to be.

I yearn for a Christianity that is theologically nuanced, deeply sacramental, ecologically aware, merciful, non-legalistic, open to the truth wherever it is found, committed to unity beyond theological conformity, and inclusive of all people of good will.

The terms "Christianity" and "humanism" are often viewed as philosophical opposites, with one rooted in religious reasoning and the other in secular reasoning.

However, this dichotomy overlooks a rich theological tradition that posits some expressions of Christianity as a profound form of humanism.

This perspective, known as Christian humanism, argues that Christianity, far from diminishing the human person, elevates humanity by grounding its dignity in sacred realities.

Further, Christian humanism relies on a reasoned, philosophical theology that eschews all forms of fundamentalism, legalism, and literalism.

This theological foundation provides a powerful basis for humane morality, rights, and social justice, as well as the value of rational inquiry.

It challenges followers to cultivate their intellect and act with compassion, affirming that the ultimate purpose of human life is to reflect the divine love and dignity in which it was created. This perspective offers a compelling vision for a holistic human flourishing.

Christian humanism appreciates the goodness of creation and affirms art, literature, and all aspects of higher culture.

This elevation of the human extends beyond theology and into a profound affirmation of all that is good, beautiful, and true in the world. For the Christian humanist, the pursuit of truth through scientific inquiry is not an act of defiance but an act of spirituality.

In this view, all authentic human culture, which seeks what is good and promotes human flourishing, is seen as participating in and reflecting the divine plan for humanity.

Therefore, Christian Humanism embraces and sanctifies the full range of human experience and achievement. There is nothing truly human that is foreign to or opposed by genuine Christianity.

We must transcend the thinking and habit that church is something we go to once a week.

Changing our minds means shifting from seeing church as a place we go to, to understanding church as something we become.

Rather than being passive participants, we are called to embody the Kingdom through intentional relationships.

This transformation also requires a change in habits. Instead of limiting our Christianity to Sunday attendance, we must weave the values and spirit of the church into our interactions with family, neighbors, and communities—whether in homes, online, or informal settings.

By embracing this active and engaged way of being the church, we renew what it means to belong to the body of Christ.

The church thrives not through full pews or grand buildings, but through people who are committed to embodying love, compassion, and a mission every day. This shift invites us to take ownership of our spirituality, living church as a dynamic, ongoing reality rather than a weekly obligation.

Who hasn’t encountered Christians who presume to tell others exactly what true Christianity teaches and then require obedience to and conformity with such?

Such attitudes tend to be accompanied by efforts to exclude and harass those who don’t align with the perceived correct theology or set of practices.

The problem with those who make up the theology police is that they are often fixated on limited explanations of mysteries. There is a fetishization of certain teachings, thinkers, particular periods of church history, styles of worship, and manners of explication.

Reading a few magazine articles, watching EWTN, belonging to a prayer group, and occasionally picking up the Bible or the Catechism do not make one a theologian.

Exclusion, rejection, and a lack of charity are not a Christian response to those with whom we disagree.

I don’t begrudge anyone expressing their style of Christianity or spirituality, but I resist anyone claiming their style to be required and attempting to thrust it onto others.

Those who position themselves as the enforcers of religious and spiritual purity would do well to revisit the gospels. In the narratives, their counterparts are not the beloved disciples but the Pharisees.

Authentic radicality, from a Christian perspective, means going to the roots—the very heart of the Gospel message.

It isn’t measured by how many rosaries one prays, pages of the Bible one memorizes, or how often one goes to church.

Rather, its true power is in embracing and living out the radical demands of Jesus’ love, generosity, forgiveness, and service.

The radicality of Christian spirituality is not found in outward religious actions, but in the transformation of character that mirrors Jesus’ own self-giving love.

The deepest call of the Gospel is to become people who choose compassion over judgment, give generously, forgive unreservedly, and serve those in need, no matter the cost.

This is the root meaning of holiness and “radical”—to return to the essentials, to be transformed and to transform the world by embodying Jesus’ love.

Living this way often means swimming against the current of social norms, just as Jesus did; it means letting go of pride, comfort, and recognition in favor of humility, simplicity, and solidarity with the poor.

Authentic radicality calls every believer not simply to maintain religious observances, but to truly incarnate the Gospel’s universal call to holiness in daily life—where love, mercy, and sacrifice become the defining marks of Christian identity.

Moral legalism, often mistaken for fidelity to truth, distorts truth and love.

Legalism is defined as overemphasizing conformity to rules at the expense of context or compassion. It reduces moral truth to a sterile code and love to mere compliance.

Legalism is neither truth’s fullness nor love’s transformative power—it’s simply a hollow rigor. Mercy, by contrast, holds truth and love together, neither relativistically lax nor legalistically cruel. It judges sin but redeems sinners —a balance that legalism cannot strike.

Truth and love, thus inseparable, frame mercy as their synthesis. Truth without love ossifies; love without truth drifts. Together, they ensure that mercy upholds reality while extending grace —a balance that relativism cannot claim.

Mercy, then, is an aspect of truth’s telos—its end and perfection. It neither bends reality nor bows to whim but crowns truth with grace, fulfilling its promise of life (John 10:10).

Christian simplicity means focusing on what is essential: the life and teachings of Jesus, the message of the Gospels, and living in a way that reflects God’s love, mercy, and integrity.

While theology can be rich and complex—and deep study can sharpen understanding—it is not intellectual mastery or doctrinal detail that opens the way to life in God’s Kingdom.

Instead, throughout two millennia, the church has gathered both treasures of wisdom and large amounts of confusion and distraction.

In an age hungry for authenticity and clarity, a way of life that cuts through complication and returns to what matters most is more vital than ever.