Pet God: How Christians Become Idolators

Photo by David Clarke on Unsplash

Pets are servile. They depend on their owners for food and shelter. They submit to domestication. Pets exist for their masters.

True, some pets imagine that they are the masters. Our cat TJ considers himself king of the townhouse. He appears in the kitchen and is fed. He sprawls across the stairs with regal disregard for human traffic. He offers himself for affection. Then he withdraws the offer. But all this behavior is a calculated bluff. He is totally dependent on us.

Some pets must be managed very carefully. When I was young, family friends owned a pair of wolves. I once watched the man carry two raw steaks toward the wolves, sitting side-by-side in another room. He threw the steaks in and slammed the door shut. Our ears told us what happened next. But the wolves still sat there before he threw the steaks. They were pets.

In many evangelical churches, God has become a pet.

We sing songs to him praising his greatness, power, and grace. But in our minds, his power often exists to meet our goals. Though we might treat him more like a wolf than a cat, we assume he’s tame.

Consider what many Christians do with God’s justice. If we view wealth inequality as offensive, then we feel that God’s justice is offended too. So, we invoke God’s support for the latest economic scheme to distribute wealth more equally. We sing the usual worship songs, but we’re praising him for his progressive fiscal policies.

Genuine worship of God for his justice springs from an awe of his authority. The verdict on this world belongs exclusively to him, and he is not consulting our standards. Our fate is out of our hands.

Take another example of Christians taming God—the association of his name with their nation, ethnicity, or culture. Evangelicals may not hang regimental flags in the church, but they often superimpose the cross on the stars and stripes. When such congregations sing about his kingdom, they’re not referring to the new heaven and earth. They’re singing about the amber waves of grain.

A true reverence for God’s kingdom is motivated by an awe of his reign—the knowledge that all nations are like a drop in a bucket to him, including our own. God’s decrees have no regard for flags.

One of the most subtle ways of taming God is the way we talk about healing.

This trick has two parts. First, stop describing our problems as sin, which demands moral accountability, and describe our problems as disease, addiction, or trauma instead. Contrive elaborate explanations for our behavior patterns, why they arose, and how our personalities have been shaped by them. Second, describe God as a healer. He is compassionate. He sympathizes with our suffering. And he doesn’t judge us.

The love we often express for this tame God is particularly offensive. We evade our responsibility for wrongdoing and present ourselves as victims. We thank God for his healing but offer none of the confession that might truly heal us.

Confession of sin lies at the heart of sincere love for God. We want him to be vindicated, so we tell the truth about our wrongdoing, confessing it even though disease, addiction, or trauma are factors in our behavior.

If you put these three ways of domesticating God together, the picture is disturbing. God’s justice punishes others, not me. God vindicates my nation or culture, never challenging my pride. And God heals me even though I never mention what made me sick in the first place.

Feed God properly, and he will be a wonderful addition to your home.

If the Bible’s revelation of God is true, then God is no pet. Finding God in your life is more like finding a leopard pacing inside your house. You don’t know any commands that will restrain him. You are unable to frighten him. You cannot outrun him. And you are utterly helpless against his strength.

That is our true need for grace.