Bad theology ruins a life. And eventually, it will ruin the world.
We are witnessing the consequences of bad theology unfold in real time. And not quietly. Not in an aging church with a crooked sign and seven members. No—this bad theology has gone mainstream. It’s loud. It presents as angry. It’s punitive. It thrives on accusations, lawsuits, and spectacles of shaming and scapegoating. It claims to save the world (or a way of life, or the church) while destroying actual lives. It operates under the banner of God but denies the very essence of God—that God is love.
It offers conjured certainties instead of compassion. It trades neighborliness for a kind of nationalism that has no neighbor—only loyalty to itself. And it’s everywhere.
(I say this with care: My writing here is primarily directed to a Christian audience—to those who follow the life pattern of Jesus. I recognize that not all faith traditions, nor all Christians, nor all persons, carry the same theological assumptions or histories. So my words won’t apply equally to all. But where they do, I hope they serve as both mirror and invitation.)
Likewise, good theology doesn’t automatically produce a well-ordered life or a better world. Theology isn’t math. It doesn’t yield predictable outputs. You can speak beautifully about God and still live a bitter, burned-out, or self-absorbed life. Just visit any church and there’s a good chance you can find someone singing “God reigns; let the earth be glad!” with clenched fists and a cold heart. You can affirm justice with your lips and still hoard power with your hands. You can sing praise and neglect faithful practice.
No, right beliefs don’t automatically produce right action. Because theology isn’t a straight line—it’s more akin to a triple loop of learning:
What we profess,
How we live,
And our honest reflection and change when our lives fall out of sync.
Which is why bad theology is so dangerous. Because it doesn’t stay abstract. It resists humility. And it rarely self-corrects. It doesn’t just stay on the page of a forgotten book in the library. It finds its way into public policy and practice. It becomes action. Our theology becomes how we treat others—for good or for harm.
The real truth of our theology is always revealed in the fruit of our actions. Bad theology shows up in the laws we write and the punishments we justify. It becomes who we lock up, who we deport, who we ignore. It shapes what we bless and what we curse. Our actions reveal what kind of God we believe reigns over the world.
I’ve come to believe that all theology eventually becomes either doxology or ideology—either a humble, awe-filled, lived acknowledgment of an ever-revealing God, or a psychological defense mechanism to justify our fear-driven hunger for control and safety.
As Walter Brueggemann reminds us: theology always supports either empire (royal consciousness) or neighbor. It either echoes Pharaoh, or it remembers the cry of the poor.
Bad theology imagines God as primarily interested in power, purity, and punishment.
Good theology imagines God as primarily invested in mercy, neighborliness, and mutual well-being.
Now, to be clear, I’m not using “bad” and “good” in a tribal or moralistic way. This isn’t about who’s right or wrong in some ultimate sense. It’s about what kind of God we imagine. Because the God we imagine shapes how we understand everything else—power, authority, goodness, belonging, justice, and even what we call “truth.”
Bad theology assumes God’s primary role is to correct what is wrong—punitive, reactive, and controlling.
Good theology assumes God’s heart responds to suffering—restorative, compassionate, and liberating.
The former leads to control, coercion, and shame. It trains us to see others—and even ourselves—through suspicion and disgust. And when we read scripture through that lens, we end up reinforcing even more bad theology!
The latter leads to healing, liberation, and justice. It helps us see people—and the world—with compassion.
And I don’t think that’s too much oversimplification. Nor is it new. The prophet Jeremiah asked long ago if we even know God at all if we ignore the poor:
“He defended the cause of the poor and needy, and so all went well.
Is that not what it means to know me?” —Jeremiah 22:16
Knowing God—theology—is not about having the right answers or constructing airtight doctrine. It’s about living in an ever-deepening relationship—with both God and neighbor. It’s about drawing near to pain rather than being the cause of it. It’s about honoring the sacred complexity of our shared humanity. It’s about how we treat those whose lives have been shaped by struggle, circumstance, or simply the difficulty of being human.
So let me try to say it plainly: If your theology doesn’t move you with compassion toward the vulnerable, it isn’t rooted in the God revealed throughout the trajectory of Scripture. If it makes you colder, crueler, more self-congratulatory, or more obsessed with control—then it is not good news. It might announce itself as Christian. But it isn’t like Christ.
A major danger—and one we are living in right now—is when bad theology and harmful action become conjoined. Bad theology becomes active fuel for doing harm in the name of God. In reality, it’s just a political ideology wrapped in religious language. Doxology is not welcome there.
That’s exactly what we’re witnessing today: A theologically warped political theater of control, dominance, and purity chasing after the false gods of safety and supremacy. All dressed up in Jesus-language and golden crosses. Funded by fear. Driven by the desire to conquer, not to serve. And it destroys, rather than restores. It kills, rather than gives life. It is not good news of a cross shaped life. It is bad news with a cross logo.
So what do we do?
We return—boldly and humbly—to the foundation of Christian belief and practice:
- God is love. If you do not know love, you do not know God.
- To love God is to love your neighbor.
- To love your neighbor is to defend the poor, welcome the stranger, and honor the dignity of every image-bearer.
- As you do so, you will experience the nearness of God.
That’s not soft theology.
That’s hard, radical, inconvenient theology. Good theology.
It’s theology that requires hesed—steadfast, holy love.
It’s theology that takes up a cross—self-emptying and sacrificial service.
And that just might save us all.
Shane Ash 