Why So Casual?

Read

Matthew 15:18 “But the things that come out of a person’s mouth come from the heart, and these defile them.”

Think

There’s a unique discomfort in hearing someone mock something that matters deeply to you. It could be your culture, your family, your faith. The jokes might be subtle, the sarcasm polished, but you feel it. The distance. The disrespect. The disconnect between what something means to you and how lightly they treat it.

That’s the tension at the heart of the third commandment. Not just misuse, but disregard. Not just ignorance, but indifference. Today we’re not talking about the slip-ups or the heat-of-the-moment reactions. We’re talking about what happens when reverence dries up entirely. When God’s name becomes nothing more than a punchline, a throwaway phrase, or a prop in a life that no longer sees him as holy.

Jesus addresses this head-on when he says, “The things that come out of a person’s mouth come from the heart.” What we speak reveals what we actually believe. Not what we claim to believe, but what’s been seated deep inside. That means a casual, careless, or mocking use of God’s name doesn’t just say something about our words. It says something about our worship.

We see this in the one who curses God’s name out of habit, without apology. The one who shrugs and says, “It’s just how I talk.” The one who blasts his name in anger or ridicule, who says “Jesus Christ” in traffic but never in prayer. It’s not about the words alone. It’s the posture behind them. Reverence isn’t even a thought, because God doesn’t feel real, or relevant, or worthy.

In a world that celebrates authenticity and self-expression, language has become raw, honest, and often, unfiltered. But the danger of unfiltered speech is that it often reveals an untended heart. Words that dishonor God don’t just come from stress or upbringing. Sometimes, they come from a slow drift toward spiritual numbness.

There’s a story told of a man who nearly drowned and was pulled from the ocean by a stranger. Later, when asked about it, he never stopped telling people about his rescuer—what he looked like, how he pulled him out, how grateful he was. Now imagine someone being rescued like that, but then mocking the rescuer’s name every time it was brought up. Laughing at it. Using it in anger. Using it for effect. It would raise a question: did they really understand what happened? Did they really believe they were saved?

That’s the same question worth asking when someone continually misuses the name of God: Do they really know him?Have they really grasped the depth of his grace? Because when you’ve been rescued, you don’t mock the name of your rescuer.

This isn’t about being uptight or religiously rigid. It’s about being spiritually awake. God’s name isn’t just another name. It’s not in the same category as ours. His name is holy because he is holy. In the Old Testament, the people of Israel wouldn’t even pronounce the name of God out loud. It was considered too sacred. Too weighty. Too full of glory to be spoken with casual lips.

We’ve swung far in the opposite direction. We’ve replaced awe with irony, reverence with irreverence. And often, we’re so used to it that we don’t even notice. We laugh at shows that use God’s name as a joke. We scroll past captions that reduce him to a punchline. We repeat phrases that include his name, not because we mean to, but because it’s everywhere.

But over time, that casualness starts to shape our view of God. When his name becomes weightless, he becomes forgettable. When his name carries no honor, our hearts lose their hunger.

Jesus makes it clear: “What comes out of the mouth is what defiles.” The word “defile” sounds intense, but it simply means “to make something impure.” To dilute it. To rob it of what makes it distinct. That’s what happens when we treat the name of God like background noise. We’re not just saying something meaningless. We’re slowly teaching our hearts that he is.

It’s like wearing a wedding ring while cheating. The outward symbol remains, but the inward reality has been abandoned. You’re keeping the form, but denying the meaning. Using God’s name while living a life that mocks his presence is a kind of spiritual adultery. It says, “I’m attached to you in name, but not in truth.”

The danger isn’t just in offense. It’s in distance. The more casually we treat God, the less likely we are to seek him. And eventually, the less we believe we even need him. The name that once marked our salvation becomes a placeholder in our speech.

But reverence can be restored.

This isn’t a call to shame. It’s a call to sobriety. To wake up from the drift. To realize that the One whose name we misuse is still speaking. Still saving. Still patient. Still holy. And he’s inviting us to remember who he really is.

Start here: imagine how you speak about someone you admire deeply. A mentor. A hero. A loved one who’s passed away. You don’t joke about them lightly. You don’t throw their name around carelessly. There’s weight there. Memory. Respect. How much more should that be true of God?

You don’t need to be perfect in speech. But you need to be present. Present enough to notice what’s coming out of your mouth. Present enough to feel the drift. Present enough to ask the Spirit for help when the patterns feel too deep to break.

God is not interested in lip service. He’s after a heart that knows him—and a life that reflects that knowledge. Not stiff, not scared, but full of real love. The kind that shows up in your words, not just your theology. The kind that says, “You are worth more than my carelessness. You are worth more than my sarcasm. You are holy.”

Apply

Take an honest inventory today. Where has casualness crept into your relationship with God? Is his name still sacred to you—or has it become a placeholder, a reflex, a reaction? Don’t just monitor your speech. Reflect on your heart. Where has reverence faded? Invite God to restore it. Not through fear, but through fresh awareness. Through love that remembers who he is.

Pray

God, I confess I’ve grown casual in ways I didn’t even notice. I’ve used your name in ways that don’t reflect who you are. Forgive me. Wake me up to your holiness. Teach me to speak of you with awe and awareness. Let reverence rise again—not out of guilt, but out of love. In Jesus’ name. Amen.