Pondering Platitudes

Why the Church Must Go Deeper

The other day, as I was aimlessly scrolling through Instagram reels—let’s just call it “pastoral research”—I stumbled upon a video from one of my favorite Instagram personalities: Beverly Mahone. If you don’t know her, you’re missing out. She’s smart, funny, wise, and deeply committed to helping people build their vocabulary—not to show off, but to speak with greater clarity and power. She’s even written several books full of what she calls “choice words.”

A platitude, she explains, is a phrase that might sound wise or comforting, but has been so overused it’s lost its meaning. It’s like a greeting card sentiment repeated so many times that no one stops to think whether it still says anything at all.

That got me thinking about the platitudes some folks (certainly not me) toss around in church.

You know the ones:

• “God won’t give you more than you can handle.”

• “Everything happens for a reason.”

• “Let go and let God.”

• “Thoughts and prayers.”

• “It’s all in God’s timing.”

• “God helps those who help themselves.”

• “When God closes a door, God opens a window.”

At best, these are meant to offer comfort. At worst, they can feel dismissive or even cruel—especially when spoken into the rawness of someone’s grief, illness, or struggle. They are phrases that sound spiritual but bypass the deep work of being spiritual.

Here’s the thing: the church is not called to be a factory of platitudes.

We are called to be a community of presence. A people of gritty, grounded, and grace-filled truth.

Platitudes are easy. Presence is hard.

Platitudes let us avoid pain. Presence invites us to sit with it.

Platitudes try to offer answers. Presence offers love.

Jesus never said, “Everything happens for a reason.” Jesus said, “Blessed are those who mourn.” He didn’t offer a bumper sticker. He offered himself.

The church is at its best when we are real, honest, and present. When we stop trying to fix people’s pain with words and instead show up with compassion, listening, and solidarity.

So let’s be mindful of the words we use. Let’s retire the empty phrases and reach for language that tells the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. Let’s speak hope without pretending away the hurt.

Let’s trade platitudes for presence. Let’s choose real over rehearsed. Let’s be the kind of church that says less, and means more.

And to Auntie Bev: thank you for the reminder that words matter.