Christianity is attractive without hot people promoting it

Good news for non-hot people

Peter Paul Rubens, “The Honeysuckle Bower,” 1609.

The Washington Post ran a story last week about the increase in male Gen Z worshippers at Catholic churches, specifically highlighting New York City influencers attending Mass. The article described one attendee this way:

“[He] makes his living as a content creator. He has 125,000 followers on Instagram, 48,000 on TikTok and frequently appears shirtless and flexing, wearing shorts that could be mistaken for boxers. ‘Those are gym shorts!’ he protested with a laugh when asked about them.”

Ironically, I attended a Catholic Mass for Easter while visiting my in-laws in northern Indiana. And, frankly, what I witnessed was far, far removed from the New York City Mass described in that article: Everywhere I looked, there was a non-hot person, and I counted myself among them. Case in point: this past Friday I shaved my head because that seemed like the best solution for my receding hairline.

Are we—non-hot people—bad examples for Christ?

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Our modern apologetic for the faith seems to be how successful it will make us—financially, physically, or spiritually. It will optimize our lives by making us ten different types of hot; it will make people want to be with us and near us, to touch the hem of our $500 jeans just to get a taste of the life we have.

All this reminds me of the “Jesus Glow” TikTok trend from last year, where people posted photos of themselves before conversion and after conversion, looking markedly better. (Kelsey Kramer McGinnis wrote a great piece on it for Christianity Today.)

To some, Christianity is hot because it’s followers are hot. So, as a Christian, am I expected to become hot? Is that what makes the faith attractive?

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No, obviously.

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It seems so obvious when it’s written out like this. Of course you don’t have to be hot to be a Christian! Of course all those people in both the New York City cathedral and the northern Indiana cathedral are loved by God, including me and my receding hairline! Of course of course of course!

But it’s so easy to believe that other version, the version of the faith that is baptized in an American optimization hotness mindset. I know it’s so easy because I fall into this trap, like, every day.

Christianity should be attractive not because of how hot (aka successful) it makes me, not because how hot (aka successful) it makes us.

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Christianity, in the Bible, was attractive not to the successful but to the suffering. Look at the blessings Jesus gives in Luke 6!

“Blessed are you who are poor,
for yours is the kingdom of God.
Blessed are you who are hungry now,
for you will be filled.
Blessed are you who weep now,
for you will laugh.”

Or the time when Jesus praises the widow who gave her last two coins! Or when he heals the blind man or the leper or the woman bleeding! Or when he talks to the Samaritan woman at the well! Or when he refuses to stone the woman caught in adultery! Or when he invited the children to him! Or when he healed the demon-possessed! Or! Or! Or!

We serve a God who comes close to the lowly, who dines with the ugly, who loves the outcast and the far-away and the destitute.

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This is my first non-hot truth: Christianity is incredibly attractive to the poor, to the hungry, and to those who weep because it tells them they are loved and known.

Christianity tells the woman mourning a miscarriage that she is loved and known. It tells the kid ashamed of his sexuality he is loved and known. It tells the high schooler with scars on her wrists that she is loved and known. It tells the alcoholic burned out from the twelve-step program that he is loved and known. It tells the child who is suddenly without parents that he is loved and known. It tells the widow in the back row that she is loved and known. It tells the undocumented immigrant hiding inside that she is loved and known. It tells the twelve-year-old cancer patient that he is loved and known. It tells the parents of that twelve-year-old cancer patient that they are loved and known.

It tells and it tells and it tells and it tells. And it will keep on telling us we are loved and known as long as there are humans, as long as this aching world continues to spin.

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This is my second non-hot truth: I believe Christianity will make you attractive in the same way it is attractive—not by making you hot or making you successful but by making you live in a way that tells a poor and hungry and weeping world that it is loved and known.

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