When Reverence Becomes Rhetoric:
The Crisis of Performative Piety and the Vain Use of God's Name
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"Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh His name in vain." — Exodus 20:7
There is a sorrow weighing heavy on the heart of every believer who truly understands the holiness of God: the growing irreverence in how His name is used, both within the world and within the body of Christ. In the marketplace of modern Christianity, reverence is being traded for recognition, awe for applause, and the sacred for the strategic.
We are witnessing not only the vain usage of the Lord's name in popular culture but also the alarming rise of what must be called performative piety — a theatrical, self-exalting display of religious fervor that lacks spiritual substance. This is not a fringe issue; it is becoming a defining feature of our religious climate. It is time we reckon with it.
The Third Commandment: Not a Suggestion, but a Standard
Exodus 20:7 is not metaphorical. It is not nuanced. It is not a relic. It is the eternal Word of a holy God to a people He was calling out to be separate. To take the Lord's name in vain is to misuse it, misrepresent it, or invoke it without the honor it is due. It is to diminish His glory while falsely attaching it to our words, causes, or character.
The commandment cuts to the core of representation. It reminds us that bearing God's name carries a weight that is not optional, and certainly not adaptable to cultural trends. It is not only a matter of what we say, but how and why we say it. When we invoke God to defend our opinions, validate our preferences, or decorate our personal brand, we walk dangerously close to blasphemy.
This is not about accidental irreverence. It is about a spiritual carelessness that has been normalized. We have substituted reverence with routine, and holiness with habit. When the name of God is used more as rhetorical emphasis than a reverent invocation, we rob it of its power and meaning.
Today, we think of this commandment as little more than a restriction against using God's name as a curse word. But it reaches far deeper. It addresses the heart. It demands that we approach God and speak of God with reverence. It commands us to represent Him truthfully. It also indicts the prideful tendency to wield God's name in self-service, often under the guise of pious declarations. The moment we use His name as a tool to build our platform or moralize our preferences, we have ceased to honor Him and begun to exploit Him.
But this misuse also seeps into our worship practices and teaching. God's name is evoked as an emotional lever to stir response, often absent of context or conviction. Entire sermons are constructed around what "God says" without anchoring those declarations in Scripture. The name of God becomes a utility—invoked to grant weight to opinions or to assure audiences of spiritual authority, without requiring submission to God's actual character or commands. In such moments, the sacred becomes scripted, and the divine becomes decorative.
And it explicitly warns that the Lord will not hold the offender "guiltless."
The stakes are high. Yet, we treat them as if they are casual. We speak as if God’s name were a soundbite rather than a sanctified title. But heaven does not take this lightly—and neither should we.
Casual Blasphemy: Cultural and Christian
Consider the everyday language of our society. The name of Jesus is uttered as an expletive in films, television, and conversation with hardly a thought. Phrases like "Oh my God" are used by children and adults alike with such frequency that they have become entirely void of meaning. They are, by definition, vain — empty, purposeless.
But what may be more damaging than secular irreverence is the casual misuse of God's name within the church itself. Sermons, worship lyrics, and social media posts regularly invoke God's name without weight. "God told me," "God is doing a new thing," "God wants you to prosper" — these phrases are tossed like confetti without discernment. They are spoken without fear. They are consumed without question.
This kind of language becomes a spiritual shorthand — a way to sound holy without necessarily being holy. It fills our songs and sermons with emotional resonance, but too often lacks theological substance. When God's name is used to validate every passing feeling or desire, it loses its sacredness. Instead of being a source of transformation, it becomes a marketing tool for our momentary passions.
In some congregations, the name of God has become a catchphrase to energize a crowd or a tool to validate human ambition. Prophetic language is applied like a stamp of divine approval on shallow pursuits. Entire church events are framed as "moves of God" with little more to show for them than aesthetic production and emotional hype. It is as if the mere mention of His name guarantees His presence and approval — a dangerous and presumptuous assumption.
Worse still, this misuse teaches congregants to echo the same behavior in their personal lives. People begin to invoke God's name in ordinary decisions, as if divine approval is the ultimate justification for personal preference. "God led me to do this," or "God confirmed it in my spirit," becomes difficult to challenge — even when it contradicts Scripture or sound judgment.
But our God is not a motivational speaker. He is not a brand ambassador. He is holy. And He will not be mocked.
Performative Piety: The New Phariseeism
Jesus had harsh words for those who used religion to elevate themselves. In Matthew 23, He rebuked the Pharisees not for their doctrine, but for their duplicity. "Everything they do is done for people to see," He said (v.5). This is the very essence of performative piety — piety not as submission to God, but as performance before man.
Today, performative piety takes many forms. It is the influencer who posts daily devotionals but lives in unrepentant sin. It is the public figure who quotes Scripture while stoking division and pride. It is the church leader who claims to speak for God but whose life bears no fruit. It is the brand-savvy ministry that turns altar calls into content creation, capturing "worship moments" with dramatic lighting and choreographed emotion, always camera-ready.
It is a way of wearing the name of God like a costume — for credibility, for applause, for power. It is the spiritual equivalent of taking the Lord’s name in vain, for it cloaks pride in religious garments and presents it to the world as faith.
What begins as charisma often morphs into control. Performative piety does not point to Christ; it points to the person performing. The result is a distortion of both the message and the messenger. It teaches congregations to measure holiness by stage presence, eloquence, or follower count. The true substance of godliness — humility, repentance, perseverance, and obedience — is replaced by a curated persona, one engineered to appear righteous but rooted in self-promotion.
This behavior is not merely misguided. It is dangerous. When people claim to represent God while exalting themselves, they distort the character of God in the minds of the watching world. They turn faith into performance, devotion into display, and holiness into hype.
And tragically, many followers are drawn to these displays, confusing visibility with authenticity. They confuse spiritual volume with spiritual depth. The louder the declaration, the more it is mistaken for conviction. The more scripted the prayer, the more it is mistaken for anointing. In this new economy of religious performance, it is not truth that draws the crowds — it is spectacle.
Yet Scripture reminds us that God is not impressed by outward show. "These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me," Jesus said in Matthew 15:8. The true mark of a disciple is not how loudly they speak of God, but how humbly they walk with Him.
Religious Self-Branding: Blasphemy in High Resolution
We are a generation obsessed with branding. And nowhere is this more apparent than in the rise of self-made spiritual platforms. Pastors become celebrities. Churches become franchises. Personalities replace principles. And the name of God, once whispered in reverent awe, now echoes through social media campaigns, podcast intros, and sermon merch tables.
God's name becomes part of a sales pitch. It is used to validate a personal empire, to anoint a marketing strategy, or to baptize a personality cult. Statements like "God gave me this vision" or "This is God's calling on my brand" become common refrains, repeated with such confidence and frequency that few dare question the sincerity or theology behind them. But the danger is profound: when God’s name is used as an accessory to one’s brand, it becomes little more than spiritual window dressing—sacred words layered over self-interest.
Religious self-branding distorts the idea of calling. Instead of viewing ministry as a cruciform life of sacrifice, service, and accountability, it recasts it as a curated persona with a message that must remain marketable. Faith becomes a product, and believers become consumers. The more compelling the aesthetic, the more unquestioned the authority. There is no space for weakness or repentance—only polished optics and quotable slogans.
Even worse is the political manipulation of God’s name. Candidates invoke divine sanction to justify their platforms, claiming that their policies align with "biblical values" while often disregarding the actual commands of Christ. They reference Scripture without regard for its context, invoking the Almighty as if His favor were a partisan endorsement. God's name becomes a political prop — not a call to righteousness, but a lever for influence, designed to consolidate power rather than cultivate holiness.
We should be sobered by how easily we can attach God's authority to our own ambitions. When God's name is wielded to validate pre-decided outcomes—whether personal, political, or ministerial—we are not honoring Him; we are using Him. As Abraham Lincoln wisely noted, the question is not whether God is on our side, but whether we are on His.
To answer that question honestly requires a return to Scripture, a dismantling of ego, and a readiness to be corrected rather than confirmed. It requires that we stop asking how to make God fit our platforms, and start asking how to make our lives fit His Word.
The Fruits of True Piety: Humility and Fear
If performative piety is marked by pride, then authentic piety is marked by humility. Reverence begins in the heart. It is not loud. It does not demand to be seen. True reverence trembles before God’s holiness. It has no interest in visibility, and no appetite for acclaim. It does not seek to elevate the self but to bow before the majesty of the Almighty.
Consider Isaiah, who upon seeing the Lord, cried, "Woe is me! For I am undone." (Isaiah 6:5). He did not boast about a personal encounter; he was crushed by it. Consider Peter, who fell at Jesus' feet and said, "Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord." (Luke 5:8). These were not displays for an audience. They were spontaneous, unscripted reactions to the overwhelming holiness of God.
True piety does not come wrapped in polish. It comes in brokenness. It is the tax collector in Luke 18, beating his breast and unable to lift his eyes to heaven, whose prayer Jesus declared righteous—not the Pharisee who performed a well-rehearsed speech of self-righteousness. It is Mary of Bethany, who wept at Jesus’ feet and wiped them with her hair. It is the posture of awe, the presence of repentance, and the absence of pretense.
This kind of piety has no interest in public perception. It is not concerned with how it looks, but with how it lives. It prefers quiet obedience to noisy declarations. It is content to be unseen by the world if it is known by God. It is more interested in bearing fruit than attracting followers.
True worship does not inflate the self; it annihilates it. It is not a spotlight—it is a shadow beneath the cross. It is the joyful relinquishing of self-glory for the sake of God's glory. And in that place of lowliness, God lifts up the humble and meets them with grace.
A Church Called to Repentance
This is not a call for silence but for sobriety. We must speak of God — boldly, publicly, often. But we must do so truthfully. We must do so reverently. Our boldness must be anchored in Scripture, and our public witness must be driven by private obedience. Reverence is not reluctance; it is restraint born of awe.
We must ask ourselves:
Do I speak of God more often than I speak to Him?
Do I invoke His name to make myself look righteous?
Have I confused spiritual branding with spiritual brokenness?
Am I more eager to declare God's endorsement of my life than to submit my life to God's examination?
Do I treat God's name as a tool for influence or as a trust to be guarded?
The church must repent. Not with a press release or a sermon series, but with weeping and prayer. We must strip away the polish of performance and return to the dust of contrition. We must weep for our irreverence, for the times we’ve used God's name to manipulate rather than magnify. We must preach Christ crucified, not platforms glorified. We must recover our fear of the Lord, which is the beginning of wisdom (Proverbs 9:10), and remember that the gospel is not about our image but about His mercy.
This repentance must begin in pulpits and pews alike. Leaders must model humility, not hubris. Members must prioritize prayer over presentation. The spirit of repentance is not merely confession—it is the reordering of a life around God's holiness.
If we are to bear God's name, we must bear it rightly. Not as a fashion. Not as a phrase. But as a fearful, trembling honor. A name entrusted to us not to display our strength, but to declare His glory. Let the church return to that weight—and find her power not in branding, but in brokenness.
Final Exhortation: Let His Name Be Hallowed
Jesus taught us to pray, "Our Father in heaven, hallowed be Thy name." That is the first petition of the Lord's Prayer. Before we ask for bread or forgiveness or guidance, we ask that His name would be regarded as holy. This is not a liturgical preamble—it is the foundational cry of a heart that knows who God is and what He deserves: reverence, awe, and submission.
To hallow God’s name is to elevate it above all others. It is to say, in both word and deed, "Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto Thy name give glory." (Psalm 115:1). It is a commitment to honor Him not only in how we pray but in how we live. This means rejecting the shallow spectacle of performative piety, resisting the cultural impulse to brand and market the sacred, and embracing a posture of humility before a holy God.
Let us, therefore, lead lives that echo that prayer. Let our words about God be weighed carefully, spoken only when they align with truth and love. Let our worship be measured not by the volume of our songs, but by the posture of our hearts. Let our public displays of faith be the overflow of private devotion, not a substitute for it. Let us flee the temptation to be seen as holy and instead seek to be made holy, even if it costs us influence or visibility.
The world may continue to trivialize the name of God—turning it into a tagline, an emotional stimulant, or a political ornament. But the church must not. For He has placed His name upon us. We are called by His name, sealed with His Spirit, and entrusted with His gospel. And He will not hold us guiltless if we make it vain.
Let us speak less, pray more, and live in such a way that His name is not just on our lips, but enthroned in our lives. Let every action, every decision, and every word reflect a heart that reveres His name. Let our legacy be not that we made His name popular, but that we made His name holy.
Amen.
Thank you for your time today. Until next time, God Bless.
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