In 2025, spiritual formation comes with a caption. If you didn’t post about what God’s teaching you, did He even teach it?
At least, that’s how it feels. Somewhere along the way, posting about your faith became less of a personal decision and more of a cultural expectation. You go through something hard, you survive it, and before you’ve even had time to process it privately, there’s this weird pressure to package it into a pseudo-devotional and toss it into the algorithm. You’re not just growing—you’re publishing.
And it’s not all bad. The internet can be a space for honest conversations about doubt, healing, theology and transformation. But it can also be a space where those things get flattened into aesthetic vulnerability—content that’s emotionally charged enough to seem raw but polished enough to protect you from real critique. That’s where it gets messy.
Because when we’re constantly sharing our inner spiritual life in real time, we’re unintentionally giving the internet a vote in our formation. We start performing for the crowd instead of actually sitting with God. We trade reflection for reaction. We shape our beliefs around what feels post-worthy. And the worst part? Most of us don’t even realize it’s happening.
Let’s be honest: half the time we post about our “growth,” we’re still in the middle of the spiral. Still unsure. Still clinging to hope with a death grip and a tear-stained hoodie. But because Christian culture glorifies public transformation—especially the kind that racks up likes—we rush to share before the dust has even settled. Vulnerability becomes currency, and the more “real” we are, the more rewarded we feel. Even if what we’re sharing isn’t finished yet.
But not everything God does in you is meant to be shared. Some things are supposed to stay small and sacred. Some lessons are still in beta testing. And just because something is true doesn’t mean it’s time to make it a post.
Jesus wasn’t afraid of the public eye, but He wasn’t obsessed with it either. He regularly slipped away to pray, to process, to not be perceived (Luke 5:16). He taught in public—but He grew in private. And somewhere in our grid-obsessed brains, we’ve lost touch with that rhythm.
Private faith isn’t hiding. It’s maturity. It’s choosing to let God shape something in you without rushing to explain it to everyone else. “Do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing,” Jesus said about giving in secret (Matthew 6:3-4)—but the principle stretches further. Not every act of faith needs an audience. Not every prayer needs to be turned into a caption.
And maybe that’s the most countercultural part of faith right now: keeping it quiet. Not performative. Not filtered. Just… real.
So next time you feel the itch to post about what you’re learning, pause. Ask yourself if it’s something you’ve actually processed, or if you’re trying to process it out loud so it feels more real. Ask if it’s for your growth—or your followers. Ask if it’s time to talk about it—or time to stay quiet and let it breathe.
“There is a time to be silent and a time to speak,” Ecclesiastes reminds us (3:7). If you’re always speaking, maybe you’re missing what silence could teach you.
God doesn’t need your spiritual life to go viral. He’s not refreshing your profile to see if you’re bearing fruit. He’s just looking for the kind of faith that grows deep roots—quietly, steadily, off-camera.
You don’t have to prove anything. You don’t have to post everything. Some of the holiest things God does in your life will never make it to your feed—and that’s not a loss. That’s the point.
Let the internet be loud. You can be grounded.
