Should We Be Authentic Online?

I recently finished Brenna Blain’s Can I Say That?, a remarkable exploration of same-sex attraction, depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, suicidal ideation, and all the painfully raw questions “good Christians” never ask out loud but almost always feel in the quiet depths of their heart. After finishing it, I told Brenna that it brought me to tears more times than I wish to admit. It’s a lovely book because, in it, Brenna gives readers the gift of herself as she really is. Not a polished, “I used to be bad, but now I’m good” testimony, but an honest, unfinished, unvarnished, ongoing self-examination in the presence of God.

For me, it was a cold draft of water in a parched land. Why? Because the gift of oneself is the most costly gift one can give, which makes it the most valuable gift one can receive. Jesus gave us that gift. And in it is redemption. When I’ve found myself in the pits of shame, depression, and self-destructive behavior, it’s often been the self-giving love of my friends and spouse that awoke me to the cosmic self-sacrifice of Jesus—and it’s only in his arms that I’ve found healing. Again and again and again. Because I, too, am a work very much in progress. I know I’m not alone.

Years ago, one of my seminary professors shared about the supposedly happiest day of his life. His book on preaching had won countless awards. He was being interviewed by every Christian radio station and making the speaking circuit. He’d finally arrived. 

His biggest radio interview came and went, and the producer told him he knocked it out of the park. Here’s what his producer didn’t know: Just moments before the professor picked up the phone for the interview, he was weeping alone. His wife had left him and his children, and he knew that his own workaholism bore part of the blame. He took the entire interview in his bathroom, sitting in his white-titeys on a toilet. 

And no one had any idea.

The strange thing about reading Brenna’s book is that I’ve read others like it. Some struck me as equally honest, though many others struck me as fake. Of course, I have no idea. I just know that we live in the age of “authenticity,” and that means authors and pastors constantly hear advice to “be authentic,” which maybe means sharing about their struggles or sex life or dirty past—I’m not sure.

What I am sure about is that there’s such a thing as performative authenticity. Fauxthenticity. We can easily share about struggles publicly, while hiding the truly private struggles. We can get on stage or online and pantomime authenticity. We can post our “once was lost, but now am found” stories on reels. We can live a “before and after” life. But the truth is that we’re really sitting on a toilet in our underwear in our hearts, hiding the real-deal pain from prying eyes. 

When that happens, authenticity isn’t a sacrificial, redemptive gift of self, like Can I Say That?. It’s just marketing. Worse yet, digital and analog fauxthenticity reinforces lies that destroy lives. 

Lie #1: The Christian story is a one- or two-bump roller coaster. It’s okay to have darkness in your testimony before your conversion, and maybe one bump along the way. But generally, once you meet Jesus, the coaster should stay flat and holy. Just read David’s story and tell me if you think this narrative fits. He committed adultery, ordered the murder of his sexual opponent, raised children who sexually abused one another, and fled from a murderous son. All this happened later in life. His spiritual journey was a wild coaster.

Lie ##2: You can be close to people digitally. Contemplate for a moment the close shot of a face on an Instagram reel. It’s popular for one reason: The only time you’re that close to someone’s face is if they’re a lover or a friend. A lover’s nearness invites the intimacy of kissing, adoration, and sexuality. A friend’s nearness invites the nearness of honesty, secrets, and collaboration. Influencers can tap into one or both, giving a false impression that they really are friends and lovers. The more fauxthentic they are, the more the illusion holds. But we all know the truth: the influencer shot that reel five times before she performed the fake intimacy convincingly. The illusion of intimacy is toxic for real-world relationships—because real-world relationships are messy, complicated, and two-sided, whereas digital relationships are clean, uncomplicated, and one-way.

Lie #3: Sharing your deepest pains in public is easy/normal. I don’t personally have the courage to share my real hurts in public. Not yet, at least. Those, like Brenna Blain, who do so with honesty have shown courage that outstrips my own. There’s nothing normal about her honesty, which is what makes it beautiful. She doesn’t hide how hard it is. This is precisely why performative authenticity is so dangerous: it tricks people into thinking that sharing yourself is easy. It models shallow self-revelation. Thus, when followers try to share their lives, they find they, too, can only enter the shallows (you share all the respectable sins and euphemize or hide the rest) and train themselves to live by lies. Worse yet, because it seems so easy for the online personas, everyday people euphemize pile shame on themselves for not measuring up.

So I find myself in a strange place. On the one hand, I see the value of true honesty and authenticity. But on the other hand, I see the cost of dishonesty and fauxthenticity—especially online. And I’ve come to the conclusion that at least one thing separates the two. True honesty comes with the cost, and the one who offers it has counted the cost and paid it in full. False honesty is offered to a return, and the one who offers it expects payment in the form of platform expansion, book sales, podcast downloads, etc. 

Of course, only God sees into the hearts of men and women. Motivations are always mixed. But one reason I very rarely show my personal life and personal struggles online is because I’m not sure I could resist the temptation of fauxthenticity. I fear that if I gave into that temptation digitally, I’d find it impossible to do the real deal—and that’s not a cost I can afford to pay.

So let’s celebrate the few souls God has gifted with the unusual strength (often expressed in weakness) to share their wounds, doubts, failures, and hurts. We need those stories so that we can know that we aren’t alone. We’re all weak, hurting, sad, and lonely in turn. We all sin and vandalize shalom. And we all desperately need to hear the good news of God’s limitless forgiveness and eternal love—a story most clear in the testimony of the truly authentic.

But let’s also show wariness in our lives: authenticity is a gift we give to heal others and find the connection God designed us to need. It’s not a marketing tool. It’s not a sermon hack. It’s a gift given at great cost to those we love.