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At its core, worldliness is not fundamentally cultural; it’s spiritual. It’s not a matter of location; it’s a matter of affection. Historically, groups like the Gnostics taught that the material world was evil and that only the spiritual realm was good. Legalists adopt a similar mindset. They treat the world around them—people, places, habits, and practices—as inherently corrupt and assume that sanctification comes through separation from those things. That mindset leads to cultural withdrawal, not gospel witness. It creates fences instead of bridges. This intersection is where the legalist and the Pharisee overlap. Both externalize sin and respond with manmade safeguards: extrabiblical rules that are meant to keep the soul pure but ultimately isolate it from the people God has called us to reach.
I once lived this way. I assumed worldliness was embedded in my environment, so I withdrew. My Christianity became smaller, more guarded, and less relational. I faded from the culture I was meant to influence. I thought I was being holy, but I was just being absent. This model didn’t come from Jesus. He never taught withdrawal as a method of sanctification. These ideas came from well-meaning Christian voices who, in the name of purity, passed on a man-centered “doctrine of separation.” But Jesus did the opposite. He entered His culture intentionally.
Christ did not become a sinner, but He befriended sinners. He loved the unlovely. He moved toward people, not away from them. The more I clung to a separated life, the more conflict I experienced. I judged the world that I wouldn’t engage. I kept people at a distance while claiming to represent the God who draws near. It wasn’t holiness; it was pride cloaked in piety. And that pride produced a hollow, rule-based spirituality void of gospel joy. Legalism cannot produce the fruit of the Spirit because it’s rooted in self-effort, not divine affection. You can control your behavior, but you cannot manufacture love, peace, or joy through external conformity. Legalism trades freedom for performance. And when performance becomes the goal, joy is replaced with anxiety, and holiness becomes a burden rather than a delight.
Christians are absolutely called to live distinct from the world. But before we separate, we must ask: From what, exactly, are we separating? Scripture makes clear that the root of worldliness is not found in fashion, entertainment, or social structures. The problem is not cultural but internal. I used to believe the line was between me and the world, but the gospel taught me to draw that line within my heart. John and James say the same.
Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride of life—is not from the Father but is from the world (1 John 2:15–16).
But each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death (James 1:14–15).
Worldliness doesn’t originate in clothing styles, media, or public venues. It begins with disordered desires, with misplaced affections that elevate self above God. John warns us not to love the world, not because the world is always visibly evil, but because our love can be easily misdirected by lust. James, too, connects sin to the inward pull of desire, not to cultural habits.
This attitude changes everything.
You can live in total cultural isolation and still be consumed with lust, greed, and pride. You can live in a monastery and still lust for the world. Worldliness is a condition of the soul before it becomes a pattern of behavior. That’s why Jesus rebuked the Pharisees for cleaning the outside of the cup while leaving the inside untouched (Matthew 23:25–26). So, where should the line be drawn? In the heart. The gospel reshapes what we love—shifting our affections from self to Christ, from control to surrender, from performance to worship.
John is not instructing us to withdraw from the culture around us. The problem isn’t our setting; it’s our sin. If I define holiness by avoiding certain people, places, or practices, I risk alienating myself from the very people God has called me to serve. Evangelism dies in isolation. Jesus didn’t retreat from sinners. He moved toward them. He lived among them. He ate in their homes. He ministered in their streets. His presence didn’t affirm their sin; it offered them something better: Himself. I’m eternally grateful that Christ didn’t separate Himself from me. He didn’t wait for me to clean myself up or cross the moral divide. He crossed it for me. His holiness didn’t repel me; it rescued me. He wasn’t offended by my uncleanness; He entered into it to transform me.
So the question is not “Should I engage the culture?” but “How should I engage the culture?” What do biblical discernment and cultural faithfulness look like? What do I do with clothing, entertainment, alcohol, friendships, and other areas of personal practice? These are not surface-level questions. They require a heart grounded in the Word, shaped by the gospel, and submitted to Christ’s Lordship.
Paul addresses this exact tension in 1 Corinthians 8. The early church wrestled with issues of liberty, particularly whether it was permissible to eat food sacrificed to idols. Some believers, sensitive to their past religious practices, believed it was sinful. Others knew the truth—that the food itself was not inherently defiled. Paul doesn’t side with one group over the other. He speaks instead to the heart. He affirms the liberty of the stronger believer but warns them not to use that liberty at the expense of the weaker brother. Knowledge without love becomes arrogance. Freedom without consideration becomes a sin. Paul doesn’t say, “Stop eating meat forever.” He says, “Don’t let your freedom destroy your brother.” If your liberty becomes a stumbling block, you’re no longer walking in love. The gospel calls us to use our freedom to build up others, not to elevate ourselves.
I’m free, biblically, to attend a movie theater. However, if I know a weaker brother has been taught that such behavior is sinful, I am not going to flaunt my freedom. My goal is not to win an argument but to love my brother. John, James, and Paul all agree that the real issue is not the action; it is the heart behind it. Both the free Christian and the strict Christian can fall into self-righteousness. One boasts in liberty, the other in restraint. Both make their practice a measurement of godliness. That is not holiness; that is pride. It becomes a legalistic arms race: who is more spiritual, the one who abstains or the one who enjoys freedom? However, that is the wrong question. Gospel clarity reminds us that righteousness is not found in rules or reactions but in Christ alone. Only when our identity is secure in Him can we exercise liberty without arrogance and practice restraint without judgment.
But what if you try to accommodate every potential offense? Won’t that lead to a joyless, rigid, isolated life? It could, if you misunderstand what Scripture teaches. We are not called to walk on eggshells or appease legalists. Jesus Himself didn’t avoid offense; He often caused it. The gospel is offensive. It confronts pride, exposes idols, and demands surrender. Paul said the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing (1 Corinthians 1:18–25), yet that didn’t stop God from preaching it or from pursuing sinners. Mature Christians understand this tension. We will, at times, offend. That’s not a failure of love; it’s a reality of truth. The goal isn’t to avoid all offenses—it’s to prevent unnecessary offenses. We must walk in humility, patiently bearing with weaker brothers while also refusing to let legalism define our discipleship.
Avoiding all offense is not possible or biblical. Jesus embedded Himself in His culture. He dined with sinners, walked through public spaces, and lived among people at every stage of belief and unbelief. And He still offended—not by being reckless, but by being righteous. We are called to the same model. Separation is not about geography or appearance; it is about affection and allegiance. We are called to be distinct in the world, not absent from it. If you try to avoid everything that could potentially offend someone, you’ll end up living in isolation, not holiness. Maturity requires discernment, love, humility, and wisdom. Sometimes, that means refraining. Other times, it means engaging, even when it’s misunderstood. We’re not here to live in fear but to serve in grace, trusting God to work in the hearts of others as we walk in truth.
Jesus distinguished Himself not through cultural withdrawal but through sacrificial love. He served the Samaritan woman (John 4), welcomed the weeping outcast (Mark 14), counseled the religious elite (John 3), and confronted both sinners and the self-righteous (John 8). If you want to follow Jesus, serve the people around you. Love your spouse with humility. Model biblical manhood or womanhood to your children. Walk into your community with gospel courage. Holiness is not retreat; it is presence with purpose.
If your appearance distracts from Christ, whether through immodesty or exaggerated modesty, you have missed the point. The Pharisees did this. They used clothing to signal spirituality, but their hearts were far from God. John does not place worldliness in wardrobe choices; he places it in desires, pride, and misplaced loves. I have never looked at an immodestly dressed woman and thought about God. Nor have I looked at someone overdressed for religious effect and thought about God. In both cases, my attention was on the person, not the Lord. That is the danger of both extremes: they pull attention away from Christ. Jesus blended into His culture—visibly ordinary but inwardly radiant. He dressed like those around Him. His distinctiveness was not in outward appearance but in love, truth, and obedience to the Father. We can do the same.
Cultural relevance and modesty are not opposites. You can be faithful, present, and discerning. The key is not how you look but what rules your heart.
Worldliness is not about where you go or what you wear. It is about what you love. Legalism says, “Keep your distance.” The gospel says, “Guard your heart.” Let your holiness be shaped by grace, not fear. Let your freedom be governed by love, not pride. Let your mission flow from joy, not judgment. And in all things, pursue Christ, not conformity.
It is a tragedy that Christians have treated the matter of nonconformity at a shallow level. The simplistic way of not conforming is to see what is in style in our culture and then do the opposite. If short hair is in vogue, the nonconformist wears long hair. If going to the movies is popular, Christians avoid movies as “worldly.” The extreme case of this may be seen in groups that refuse to wear buttons or use electricity because such things, too, are worldly.
A superficial style of nonconformity is the classical pharisaical trap. The kingdom of God is not about buttons, movies, or dancing. The concern of God is not focused on what we eat or what we drink. The call of nonconformity is a call to a deeper level of righteousness that goes beyond externals. When piety is defined exclusively in terms of externals, the whole point of the apostle’s teaching has been lost. Somehow, we have failed to hear Jesus’ words that it is not what goes into a person’s mouth that defiles a person but what comes out of that mouth. We still want to make the kingdom a matter of eating and drinking.
Why are such distortions rampant in Christian circles? The only answer I can give is sin. Our marks of piety can actually be evidences of impiety. When we major in minors and blow insignificant trifles out of proportion, we imitate the Pharisees. When we make dancing and movies the test of spirituality, we are guilty of substituting a cheap morality for a genuine one. We do these things to obscure the deeper issues of righteousness. Anyone can avoid dancing or going to movies. These require no great effort of moral courage. What is difficult is to control the tongue, to act with integrity, to reveal the fruit of the Spirit. —The Holiness of God by R. C. Sproul (pp. 161-162)
Sproul did not mince words. Legalism distorts holiness into a costume. It makes easy sacrifices—like skipping movies—while ignoring the weightier matters of the law: justice, mercy, humility.
If you have seen legalism in yourself—or others—do not retreat. Respond. Let Christ rule your heart, not cultural conformity or religious tradition.
Rick launched the Life Over Coffee global training network in 2008 to bring hope and help for you and others by creating resources that spark conversations for transformation. His primary responsibilities are resource creation and leadership development, which he does through speaking, writing, podcasting, and educating.
In 1990 he earned a BA in Theology and, in 1991, a BS in Education. In 1993, he received his ordination into Christian ministry, and in 2000 he graduated with an MA in Counseling from The Master’s University. In 2006 he was recognized as a Fellow of the Association of Certified Biblical Counselors (ACBC).
