Christianity has a long and distinguished history of identifying sins.

Most people have heard of the Seven Deadly Sins. Pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, and sloth. The classics.

What fewer people realize is that the list isn't actually in the Bible.

It began with a fourth-century Christian monk named Evagrius Ponticus, who identified eight particularly troublesome thoughts. John Cassian helped carry the idea into Western Christianity, and a couple of centuries later, Pope Gregory I reworked the categories into the familiar seven.

Apparently, even sin needed an editorial committee.

But American Christianity hasn't been sitting around waiting for another pope to update the list. We've been innovating. In fact, we've developed some exciting new varieties of sin and, in a remarkable feat of theological marketing, managed to convince ourselves that several of them are actually virtues.

Some even have their own ministries.

So, in the interest of spiritual accountability, I offer an updated list.

And before anybody gets too comfortable, there's a good chance at least one of these has your name on it.

Mine too, probably.

Damn it.

God is infinite, mysterious, beyond human comprehension.

Fortunately, Brother Steve has “Him” completely figured out.

Steve knows exactly what God thinks about abortion, immigration, homosexuality, taxes, school libraries, and whether women should preach.

Ask him anything.

He's got a verse.

Never mind that Christians have spent two thousand years disagreeing about what many of those verses mean. Steve has watched three YouTube videos and is ready to settle the matter.

There's nothing wrong with having convictions. I've got plenty. But if your understanding of an infinite God fits neatly into a handful of talking points, you might want to consider the possibility that you've mistaken your certainty for God's.

Somebody said "Happy Holidays."
The Starbucks cup doesn't have a nativity scene.
A public school won't lead children in Christian prayer.

Clearly, Christianity is under attack.

Never mind that churches remain free to worship, preach, organize, evangelize, and operate thousands of institutions across the country. Apparently, religious freedom means everybody else has to participate in your religion too.

There are Christians around the world who face genuine persecution. Imprisonment. Violence. Death. Meanwhile, American Christians are organizing boycotts because a department store used the wrong seasonal greeting.

I'm not saying your feelings aren't hurt.

I'm suggesting there's a difference between having your feelings hurt and being nailed to a cross.

The Bible is the infallible, inerrant, unchanging Word of God.

Until Jesus starts talking about wealth.
Or loving enemies.
Or welcoming strangers.
Or giving to the poor.

Then suddenly we're very interested in historical context, metaphor, cultural background, and the finer points of Greek translation.

But mention a handful of passages traditionally used against LGBTQ+ people? Nope. Clear as day. Nothing to discuss.

It's remarkable how often the parts of the Bible we insist must be taken literally are the parts that tell somebody else what they can't do. And how quickly we discover interpretive nuance when scripture starts making demands of us.

Jesus said you cannot serve both God and money.

American Christianity responded, "Have you considered our premium donor package?"

We've somehow developed an entire theology in which financial success is evidence of God's blessing, despite the rather inconvenient fact that Jesus repeatedly warned about the dangers of wealth.

He told a rich man to sell his possessions and give the money to the poor. We would've invited the man onto the finance committee.

And while prosperity preachers are the most obvious offenders, let's not pretend the rest of us are immune. Churches of every theological persuasion can get remarkably nervous when the person writing the largest checks starts getting uncomfortable with the sermon.

Funny how quickly prophetic courage develops a budgetary exception.

Somewhere along the way, the American flag got so close to the cross that a whole lot of Christians stopped noticing they weren't the same thing.

Political candidates become God's chosen instruments.
Election victories become divine endorsements.
Opponents become enemies of God.
And the gospel becomes whatever happens to fit the party platform this year.

Christian nationalism is the most aggressive expression of this, but the temptation isn't limited to the political right. Progressive Christians can also start treating our political conclusions as though God personally signed off on every one of them.

Faith ought to challenge our politics.

If your faith never challenges your preferred political party, there's a decent chance your party is doing the preaching.

There are Christians who spend an astonishing amount of time thinking about other people's sex lives.

Seriously.

It's practically a spiritual discipline.

They know who's sleeping with whom, who's allowed to marry whom, which bathrooms people should use, and what women should be permitted to do with their own bodies.

Meanwhile, exploitation, poverty, abuse, and cruelty somehow struggle to get the same attention.

Jesus had plenty to say about religious people who made a public spectacle of their righteousness while neglecting justice and mercy. He also said something about removing the log from your own eye before worrying about the speck in somebody else's.

But apparently that passage is for personal reflection.

The others are for legislation.

Now for the one that's going to irritate some of my own people.

Progressive Christians, come on down.

It's easy to spot arrogance when it's wrapped in biblical literalism, Christian nationalism, or purity culture. It's considerably harder when it's wearing our favorite theological vocabulary.

We can be inclusive right up until somebody disagrees with us. We can preach grace while treating people who haven't reached our conclusions as hopeless idiots. We can become so proud of having escaped religious fundamentalism that we recreate its certainty, judgment, and contempt with a different set of approved beliefs.

I've caught myself doing it. And I don't particularly enjoy admitting that.

There are beliefs that cause real harm. They need to be challenged. Sometimes loudly. Sometimes with language that would make the church ladies clutch their pearls.

But there's a difference between refusing to tolerate harm and enjoying the feeling of being morally superior.

If winning the argument matters more to us than what happens to the people involved, we might have missed something fairly central to the teachings of Jesus.

And yes, I realize the irony of saying that in an article devoted to pointing out everybody's sins.

I'm working on it. Okay?

Of course, now that I've made this list, somebody will want to add an eighth.

Somebody else will argue about the order.
A committee will be formed.
Brother Steve will find a verse proving the list is heretical.

And somebody will inevitably ask why I didn't mention whatever sin they personally consider responsible for the collapse of Western civilization.

Which is probably how we ended up with so many sins in the first place.

But here's what bothers me. The original deadly sins weren't supposed to be a handy list of things wrong with other people. They were warnings about the habits and desires that can quietly corrupt our own lives.

That seems worth remembering.

Because American Christianity's greatest problem may not be that we've invented new ways to sin. It's that we've gotten remarkably good at calling them virtues.

And once you've convinced yourself that your favorite sin is actually a sign of faithfulness, repentance becomes a hell of a lot harder.

Especially when you've built an entire ministry around it.