<25/8/25

You’re a hypocrite.

Yes, you.

I’m not talking about that guy down the street.

I’m not talking about your coworker.

I’m not talking about your classmate.

I’m talking about you - the one reading this right now.

You.

You sit in church, act holy, sing those songs, say the prayers, and then live like the devil for the rest of the week. 

You lie. 

You cheat. 

You lust. 

You curse. 

And you think God’s okay with it because you put on your “Sunday best” and speak Christianese when you need to. You’ve fooled everyone else, but you cannot fool God. God doesn’t give a damn about your performance. He doesn’t care that you’ve perfected the art of looking good on the outside. He sees your heart - and it’s filthy. You’re playing a game, and God is not amused.

You think that showing up to church for an hour makes up for the rest of your life of sin? You think that saying “Amen” means the weight of your actions disappears? 

You’ve got it all wrong. You are not fooling anyone. Least of all God. You say you follow Jesus, but your life says otherwise. You say you love God, but you love your sin more. You say you want to be like Christ, but you won’t give up the things that keep you from him.

You are living a lie. You are a hypocrite, and it’s time to stop pretending. The worst part? You don’t even feel bad about it. You’ve gotten comfortable in your sin. You’ve stopped feeling the weight of your choices. You’ve learned how to live with it - and that is the real danger. 

You think that just because no one’s called you out on it, you’re in the clear. But God sees. God knows. And He’s not going to let you keep walking this path without confrontation. It’s time for you to face the truth.

You are a hypocrite. But it’s not too late to change. It’s not too late to stop pretending. It’s not too late to repent. But you’ve got to face it first.  And that starts right now.

“Woe to you… you are like whitewashed tombs…” Matthew 23:27

Back when this account took place, Jesus wasn’t just throwing out poetic insults when He called the Pharisees “whitewashed tombs.” That line had weight. See, in first-century Jerusalem, tombs were whitewashed before major religious festivals-especially Passover-so people wouldn’t accidentally touch one and become ceremonially unclean. On the outside, they looked spotless, but on the inside? Rot, bones, and death. The people listening would’ve known exactly what he meant: looking clean while hiding decay. Jesus wasn’t speaking in metaphors - he was exposing their reality. These religious leaders had built lives that looked holy from a distance, but up close, they were fake. Contaminated & spiritually dead. And He wasn’t just calling them out… He was warning us, too.

Let’s get this out in the open: You say you follow Jesus, but the evidence is weak. You say your life belongs to God, but your habits, your speech, your choices - they belong to the world. You sing with hands raised on Sunday and gossip with a sharpened tongue on Monday. You read a verse in the morning and spend the rest of the day ignoring its implications. You post about grace but harbor silent bitterness. You’re in a small group but can’t remember the last time you actually confessed anything real.

And maybe - just maybe - you’ve gotten used to it.

 Maybe the greatest danger in your life isn’t what’s obviously evil, but what’s quietly fake.

 The lie is not just in what you say.

 It’s in what you are.

Jesus wasn’t polite about hypocrisy. He didn’t offer a mild suggestion to do better next time. He threw down public rebukes like thunder: “Woe to you… you clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside you are full of greed and self-indulgence.” He looked into the eyes of the religious elite - the ones who had perfect reputations, led services, memorized Scripture - and he exposed them as hollow, decorated graves.

And yet… we mimic them.

We say, “I’m doing fine.”

 We say, “God knows my heart.”

 We say, “No one’s perfect.”

We pretend the mask is enough. We forget that God sees through makeup and Sunday smiles. We forget that He looks at the inside of the cup.

You’ve gotten good at looking holy while living hollow.

You don’t lie with your mouth - you lie with your actions.

 You lie with the things you do when you're alone.

 You lie with what you click on when no one’s watching.

 You lie with how you treat people you hate.

 You lie with your silence when you should’ve spoken, and your noise when you should’ve repented.

This lie is not a small one. It’s not harmless. It’s spiritual poison - and you’re drinking it daily while convincing yourself it’s holy water. And if no one has told you yet, let me be the first: your double life has a death toll.

You don’t drift into hypocrisy overnight.

You slide into it quietly - by choosing convenience over conviction, image over integrity, platform over presence.

Let me give you a picture:

There’s this guy. He doesn’t go to church. He doesn’t pretend to be spiritual. He thinks Christianity is a joke - maybe he even mocks it. He lives for himself, unapologetically. If you asked him what he thinks about Jesus, he’d probably roll his eyes and shrug.

But here’s the thing: he’s not a hypocrite.

He’s wrong - yes. He’s lost - yes. But at least he’s honest about where he stands. He’s not playing games. He’s not singing worship songs on Sunday and sleeping with his girlfriend on Saturday. He’s not preaching purity while privately swimming in porn. He’s not leading a youth group and secretly hating the God he claims to serve. No - he’s cold. But he’s clearly cold. And Jesus? Jesus had harsher words for the lukewarm than for the lost.

“I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other!

 So, because you are lukewarm - neither hot nor cold - I am about to spit you out of my mouth.”   - Revelation 3:15–16

When Jesus spoke those words in Revelation, he wasn’t just talking to atheists or pagans, - he was talking to many churches but specifically one in Laodicea. And here’s what’s wild: that church looked strong from the outside. Wealthy, put-together and respected. They thought they had it all together, but Jesus saw through it. Spiritually, they were blind. Lukewarm. The kind of people who didn’t outright reject God… they just didn’t think they needed him. Laodicea was famous for its wealth, its medical advancements, its high-end black wool-but not its water. Their water supply had to be piped in from nearby cities, and by the time it arrived, it was tepid. Not hot enough to heal, not cold enough to refresh. Just... gross. And Jesus used that image to hit them where it hurt: “You’re just like your water - lukewarm, good for nothing, and I’m about to spit you out.” It was a direct shot at a church that looked alive but was dying inside.

Let that sink in.

Jesus didn’t say, “Lukewarm Christians just need a nudge.” He said they make him sick. Because they wear His name but deny His nature. They speak of light but live in shadow. They carry crosses on their jewelry but not in their lives.

I normally go to my youth groups Bible study on a Wednesday night and occasionally my Year-Coordinator would rock up to lead the study. Something you learn pretty quickly about him is that he absolutely loves the quote:

“Be careful how you live. You may be the only Bible some person ever reads.” - William J. Toms

And with good reason.

That quote stuck with me - because it’s not just a challenge, it’s a warning. It describes exactly what Jesus was talking about when He confronted lukewarm believers. People who claim to follow Christ, but whose lives deny him in every way. It’s public hypocrisy. And more than that - it’s public defamation of the very name of Jesus. 

Because for some people, the only “Jesus” they’ve ever seen is the one they’ve seen in us. If what they see is pride, addiction, selfishness, or fakeness – they’re not rejecting Jesus. They’re rejecting the distorted version we’ve shown them and that should break us. We carry His name, but sometimes we carry it carelessly, like it means nothing. People are watching, not because they’re judging us, but because they’re searching for something real. If what they find is performance instead of honesty, rules instead of grace, or noise instead of love – then we’ve failed to reflect the heart of the One we claim to follow. Our hypocrisy doesn’t just damage our own walk. It can actually block someone else’s first step toward faith. And that’s not a small thing. That’s eternally massive.

At the same time, we need to hold this tension – because we’ll never perfectly represent Jesus. We’re broken people trying to show a perfect Savior. Romans 3:23 says, “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” Every one of us misses the mark. But the issue isn’t that we fall short – it’s that we pretend we don’t. The world doesn’t need Christians who act flawless. It needs Christians who are honest about their flaws and desperate for grace. Who point not to their own goodness, but to the goodness of God. That kind of authenticity makes space for real transformation – in us, and in the people watching.

There’s a reason Jesus talked so much about hypocrisy - not because he hated sinners, but because he hated lies. Hypocrisy is the lie that tells you you’re fine when you’re bleeding inside. It numbs you. It silences the alarms of your soul. You don’t cry out for help because you’ve convinced yourself you don’t need it, and that’s why it’s so deadly - because the mask isn’t just fooling others. It’s fooling you.

You’ve learned how to perform your faith. You know when to raise your hands, when to bow your head, when to quote Scripture  -  but deep down, you know you’re just following a script. You’ve forgotten what it’s like to actually need God. You’ve traded relationship for religion. And worse… you’re okay with it. You’ve got enough Christian culture to keep you comfortable, but not enough of Christ to make you new.

Jesus once told a story about two builders. One built his house on the rock - the other on sand. From the outside, both houses looked fine. Both stood for a while. But then the storm came - and only one remained. The other collapsed with a crash loud enough to wake the dead.

 “Everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand.” (Matthew 7:26)

You’ve heard the words. You’ve memorized the verses. But if you’re not living them, you’re building your faith on sand. It might stand for now, while the skies are clear and the sun is out  -  but storms don’t send invitations. They come. And when they do, your foundation will be revealed.

What are you standing on?

 Be honest. Because if it’s image… if it’s tradition… if it’s approval… if it’s comfort - it’s not rock.

 It’s sand.

 And sand doesn’t save you.

You’ve built a platform on borrowed words, but your foundation is cracked. And the storm is coming. Sooner or later, the act will break. The lights will go out. The applause will fade. And all that will be left is the real you - standing before a holy God.

And maybe that’s you.

You think you’re better than the guy who mocks God outright - but you might be in more danger. Because at least he’s not pretending. You’ve got enough Jesus to appear holy, but not enough to be transformed. Enough to fool your friends, but not enough to move Heaven. Enough to post a verse, but not enough to live it. So let me ask you: Would Jesus call you hot, cold… or lukewarm? Because the church is filled with people who know the lyrics, play the part, wear the mask - and yet they are slowly being spit out of the mouth of God.

So, what now?

The worst thing you could do is read this and feel vaguely guilty and then go back to your patterns. That’s what keeps this lie alive - the lack of urgency. Because this isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being honest. It’s about throwing off the mask and asking God to clean not just the outside of the cup, but the rot inside. Expose the lie… or the lie will hollow you out.

I remember a time not too long ago when I was in the same place. I thought I could keep up the performance, telling myself that I’d get serious about change after I got through this season or that season. But here’s the truth: it’s not about the season you’re in. Whether life is going well or falling apart, becoming comfortable in our pride is dangerous either way. When life is good, we tend to think we don’t need to change. When life is hard, we hide behind our struggles, thinking they justify the mask. But both sides can lead us to the same place - pretending that everything’s fine while God’s looking straight at the brokenness inside. Because at the end of the day, it's the change that can take you out of those periods. The rough patches. The times where everything isn’t feeling great.

So what about you? What’s the lie you’ve been holding onto, thinking it’s easier to keep going through the motions than to face it?

You can’t heal what you keep pretending isn’t broken. And you’ll never be free if you’re still wearing the mask. This is your invitation. Not to be perfect, but to be real. God already sees the truth. This is your chance to stop hiding from it.

Because the first step to transformation is honesty. The next is letting go of the performance, even if you don’t think there's one to let go of.