I'll never forget the time I heard a fellow Christian denounce the Gay Pride movement with thunder in his voice. "I'm proud to be an American," he said in the same breath—chest out, head high, conviction blazing. At first, I nodded along. After all, he wasn't wrong about sin. But something in me began to stir. Not disagreement, but discomfort.
That moment didn't end with our conversation. It followed me home, lingering in my thoughts. I found myself sitting with it, pondering over it. And eventually, I was compelled to confront a question that pride often evades: What kind of pride do I carry that grieves God?
The answer didn't come easily. It came painfully, slowly—through honest reflection and the gentle conviction of the Holy Spirit. I realized that while I would never celebrate what the world calls Pride Month, I had my own subtle forms of pride that were no less offensive to the holiness of God.
Mine was a quiet pride. The kind that hides beneath good behavior and polished doctrine. It didn't shout through megaphones or wave rainbow flags. It whispered through compliments I secretly enjoyed too much. It crept in when I compared my beliefs, my church, my doctrine, and my "rightness" to others and felt superior. It slipped into conversations about culture, politics, and morality—where I always seemed to come out looking like the one who saw clearly, while everyone else was stubborn to accept the truth.
This kind of pride doesn't parade down the street. But it's deadly just the same. And it's common—far too common—in the very places where it should never be: the Church.
We live in a world where pride is loud and unashamed. It splashes across billboards and magazine covers. It chants through city streets each June. And yes, Christians must speak the truth about sin. We must hold firm to God's Word. But if we speak boldly to the world while refusing to speak honestly to ourselves, we've missed the point.
Because pride doesn't always manifest as rebellion, it sometimes appears as patriotism. Sometimes, it looks like applause from a pulpit. At other times, it even sounds like the casual phrase we all say without thinking: "I'm proud of you."
Is that wrong? Not necessarily. But I've had to ask myself: when I say those words, am I really pointing to God? Or am I unintentionally placing the spotlight on human achievement instead of the Creator's grace? When my heart swells with joy over someone's success, am I quick to praise God, or just quick to praise them?
We don't talk about this enough. We celebrate accomplishments. We reward strengths. We honor excellence—and rightly so. But in doing all of that, we risk forgetting where it all came from. "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, Scripture says. And yet, how often do we hand out credit as if we were the source of the success?
God's stance is firm. He doesn't just dislike pride. He hates it.
"The fear of the Lord is to hate evil: pride, and arrogancy, and the evil way, and the froward mouth, do I hate." – Proverbs 8:13
"Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall." – Proverbs 16:18
It doesn't say some pride. It doesn't carve out exceptions for Christian pride, national pride, or doctrinal pride. It says pride, full stop. Whether it's strutting down a parade route or hiding in a church pew, pride pulls us away from God.
Even our love for country—something that can be noble—can become a stumbling block. There's nothing wrong with honoring your homeland. But when our national identity becomes more important than our identity in Christ, we've gone astray. God isn't American. Heaven doesn't fly a flag. And no constitution on earth can take the place of God's eternal Holy Bible.
So what's the alternative? What do we do with our desire to encourage others, to affirm accomplishments, and to love where we're from?
We root it all in humility.
Try saying, "I thank God for what He's done in you." Or "It's beautiful to see how the Lord is working in your life." Even something as simple as "I'm pleased with what you've accomplished" subtly shifts the tone toward gratitude rather than boasting. These phrases don't rob others of honor—they give God His rightful share of it.
Because humility is more than politeness; it's the very posture of Heaven. Pride is what cast Lucifer down. Humility is what lifted Christ up on the cross—for us.
And Jesus didn't come with parades or applause. He came washing feet. Touching lepers. Welcoming children. Carrying a cross.
That's our example. That's our way, not just in what we believe but in how we live.
So yes—call out sin when it needs to be called out. But start with your own heart. Let the Holy Spirit search every corner. Ask God to tear down every hidden place where pride still lives. Repent and replace that pride with gratitude, with dependence on God with reverence.
Because the world doesn't need more proud Christians pointing fingers. It needs humble Christians lifting Jesus high.
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That moment didn't end with our conversation. It followed me home, lingering in my thoughts. I found myself sitting with it, pondering over it. And eventually, I was compelled to confront a question that pride often evades: What kind of pride do I carry that grieves God?
The answer didn't come easily. It came painfully, slowly—through honest reflection and the gentle conviction of the Holy Spirit. I realized that while I would never celebrate what the world calls Pride Month, I had my own subtle forms of pride that were no less offensive to the holiness of God.
Mine was a quiet pride. The kind that hides beneath good behavior and polished doctrine. It didn't shout through megaphones or wave rainbow flags. It whispered through compliments I secretly enjoyed too much. It crept in when I compared my beliefs, my church, my doctrine, and my "rightness" to others and felt superior. It slipped into conversations about culture, politics, and morality—where I always seemed to come out looking like the one who saw clearly, while everyone else was stubborn to accept the truth.
This kind of pride doesn't parade down the street. But it's deadly just the same. And it's common—far too common—in the very places where it should never be: the Church.
We live in a world where pride is loud and unashamed. It splashes across billboards and magazine covers. It chants through city streets each June. And yes, Christians must speak the truth about sin. We must hold firm to God's Word. But if we speak boldly to the world while refusing to speak honestly to ourselves, we've missed the point.
Because pride doesn't always manifest as rebellion, it sometimes appears as patriotism. Sometimes, it looks like applause from a pulpit. At other times, it even sounds like the casual phrase we all say without thinking: "I'm proud of you."
Is that wrong? Not necessarily. But I've had to ask myself: when I say those words, am I really pointing to God? Or am I unintentionally placing the spotlight on human achievement instead of the Creator's grace? When my heart swells with joy over someone's success, am I quick to praise God, or just quick to praise them?
We don't talk about this enough. We celebrate accomplishments. We reward strengths. We honor excellence—and rightly so. But in doing all of that, we risk forgetting where it all came from. "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, Scripture says. And yet, how often do we hand out credit as if we were the source of the success?
God's stance is firm. He doesn't just dislike pride. He hates it.
"The fear of the Lord is to hate evil: pride, and arrogancy, and the evil way, and the froward mouth, do I hate." – Proverbs 8:13
"Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall." – Proverbs 16:18
It doesn't say some pride. It doesn't carve out exceptions for Christian pride, national pride, or doctrinal pride. It says pride, full stop. Whether it's strutting down a parade route or hiding in a church pew, pride pulls us away from God.
Even our love for country—something that can be noble—can become a stumbling block. There's nothing wrong with honoring your homeland. But when our national identity becomes more important than our identity in Christ, we've gone astray. God isn't American. Heaven doesn't fly a flag. And no constitution on earth can take the place of God's eternal Holy Bible.
So what's the alternative? What do we do with our desire to encourage others, to affirm accomplishments, and to love where we're from?
We root it all in humility.
Try saying, "I thank God for what He's done in you." Or "It's beautiful to see how the Lord is working in your life." Even something as simple as "I'm pleased with what you've accomplished" subtly shifts the tone toward gratitude rather than boasting. These phrases don't rob others of honor—they give God His rightful share of it.
Because humility is more than politeness; it's the very posture of Heaven. Pride is what cast Lucifer down. Humility is what lifted Christ up on the cross—for us.
And Jesus didn't come with parades or applause. He came washing feet. Touching lepers. Welcoming children. Carrying a cross.
That's our example. That's our way, not just in what we believe but in how we live.
So yes—call out sin when it needs to be called out. But start with your own heart. Let the Holy Spirit search every corner. Ask God to tear down every hidden place where pride still lives. Repent and replace that pride with gratitude, with dependence on God with reverence.
Because the world doesn't need more proud Christians pointing fingers. It needs humble Christians lifting Jesus high.
RETURN TO ALL BLOGS
