It’s amazing how a single sentence in an email can resurrect a whole era of spiritual confusion.
I got the email the other day, and it left me both heartbroken and a little amused — the kind of message that makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time. It came from a man named Matthew who grew up, like I did, in the Evangelical world, where dating was often treated like a moral hazard or a spiritual test. He wrote about how much he longed for a girlfriend — someone who shared his faith and actually wanted to be with him — and how deeply it tormented him that she never seemed to appear.
The advice he got was familiar. Stop looking. Desire only Jesus. God will bring her when the time is right.
And then came the moment that made me snort and sigh at once. A college youth minister once asked him, with straight-faced spiritual seriousness:
“What can a girlfriend do that Jesus can’t?”
Well gosh.
I can think of a few things.
Matthew wanted to say, “A girlfriend can kiss. Hug. Hold hands. Want to marry me. Does Jesus want to do any of that?” but thought the better of it and held his tongue.
It’s funny. And it’s sad. Because I think a lot of us were trained to be suspicious of our own longing — especially romantic longing — as if it was something to outgrow or crucify, rather than something God might actually understand.
So yeah, I’ve got a few thoughts on dating. And on why “just date Jesus” was probably one of the most theologically bizarre pieces of advice we ever gave young people.
My Dating Story
I came of age during what you might call the purity movement — a time in Evangelical culture when dating was often portrayed as dangerous, desire was treated like a moral threat, and romance was something you were meant to delay until you were basically ready to marry.
The movement had a poster child: a book called I Kissed Dating Goodbye, written in the late 1990s by a young Christian named Joshua Harris. It exploded in popularity and quickly became required reading for Christian teens like me. The book’s core message was this: dating was too emotionally risky, too physically tempting, and too spiritually compromised to be trusted. So don’t date. Ever. Wait for God to show you the one — ideally through a process called “courtship,” which usually involved your parents, a purity ring, and roughly zero physical affection.
To a teenage version of me, this all sounded incredibly serious and incredibly holy. I didn’t want to mess it up. I prayed before youth events that I wouldn’t develop feelings for the wrong person. I second-guessed every crush. I treated dating like it was a final exam for which I was constantly underprepared.
That’s the kind of mindset I carried: if you really loved God, you wouldn’t trust your own desire. You’d wait. You’d be pure. You’d prove your faithfulness by suppressing what made you human.
It all sounds extreme in hindsight. But at the time, it felt like obedience. It felt like the narrow road. Only later did I realize that what it really created was fear, confusion, and a strange sense of guilt for wanting to love and be loved.
When I Became the One Giving the Advice
Years later, I became a youth pastor.
And like so many of us who grew up with this kind of theology, I didn’t question it — I passed it on.
I repeated the lines I’d been taught because they sounded wise. Wait on God. Guard your heart. Don’t awaken love before its time. I told young people not to chase relationships. Not to let their desire lead them. Not to settle for anyone who wasn’t “running hard after Jesus.” It all sounded so spiritual. So protective. So mature.
But underneath it? The same fear I’d grown up with — just repackaged with a slightly cooler haircut and a guitar strap over my shoulder.
I thought I was helping them stay pure. I thought I was saving them from the heartbreak I’d seen. But looking back, I think I was handing them the same anxiety I’d carried: that to want someone too much was to want God too little. That you could disobey God simply by falling in love with the wrong person… or at the wrong time… or with the wrong intensity.
I never said “just date Jesus” — not in those exact words. But I said things that amounted to it. I idealized singleness as a kind of spiritual badge. I implied that desire was something to be tamed, tested, and mostly avoided. I reinforced the myth that God would reward contentment with a perfect partner, if you could just prove you didn’t need one.
And here’s the hard truth: I thought I was protecting them from heartache. But I might have been helping to create it.
Why I Changed My Mind
I didn’t have a single lightning-bolt moment. No voice from the heavens saying, “Hey, you’ve been wildly overthinking dating.” But the shift came — quietly, and then all at once.
It started with exhaustion.
As a youth pastor, I kept seeing teenagers tied up in knots, trying to “do it right.” They were terrified of catching feelings. Paralyzed by the idea of leading someone on. Genuinely wracked with guilt after a first kiss. I realized they weren’t becoming wise or mature — they were becoming anxious, performative, and deeply confused about what it meant to love someone well.
And then came the conversations with people in their 30s and 40s — still single, still waiting, still believing that God would reward their patience with a spouse… any day now. Some were quietly heartbroken. Some were angry. Some felt betrayed by a promise that was never actually in the Bible.
But if I’m honest, the biggest shift came from my own experience.
I followed all the rules. I tried to suppress desire, second-guess every decision, pray through every romantic possibility like I was defusing a bomb. I thought I was being faithful. But I ended up scared — of dating, of getting it wrong, of hurting someone, of being hurt. I went into relationships emotionally guarded, spiritually stressed, and relationally immature.
And then I met people who hadn’t followed any of the formulas — who dated freely, imperfectly, and with grace. People who weren’t afraid of desire, who didn’t see attraction as a threat to holiness. And many of them had stronger, healthier relationships than I did.
That’s when it clicked.
Maybe God’s not standing at the edge of your dating life with a whistle and a red card. Maybe instead of saying, “Don’t do it!” we should have been teaching young people how to date with wisdom.
What I Would Say Now
My son is sixteen, and he recently got his first girlfriend.
It’s tender and sweet and a little nerve-wracking to watch. Not because I’m worried he’s doing something wrong — but because I remember what it felt like to be that age and the weight of spiritual expectation on top of every new feeling.
But here’s the thing that gives me hope: He’s not carrying the same baggage I was.
He’s not panicking over whether this is “God’s will.” He’s not afraid of his own desire. He hasn’t been told that dating is dangerous or that longing is something to be ashamed of. He’s stepping into this gently, thoughtfully — and from what I can tell, joyfully.
He even came to us, unprompted, and told us the boundaries he’s decided to set in the relationship. His idea. Not ours. Not the church’s. Not some purity curriculum’s. Just a 16-year-old trying to love someone well and make sure neither of them gets hurt along the way.
I am proud of him.
He’s not dating because he’s trying to fill a hole or prove a point or unlock a spiritual reward. He’s dating because he likes her. Because they make each other laugh. Because there’s something good and kind and curious about what they’ve found together. He’s in the throes of young love — and I swear, it’s one of the most beautiful things in all of creation.
And so if I had one thing to say now, not just to him, but to anyone navigating love and longing, it would be this: Desire isn’t your enemy. It’s not a flaw in the design. It’s not a test of your holiness. It’s part of what makes you you.
Dear Matthew,
The church was wrong to hold you hostage to the “just date Jesus” movement.
It was wrong to make you feel that longing for a girlfriend was a spiritual failure. Wrong to equate desire with disobedience. Wrong to suggest that Jesus was meant to fill every human need, including the ones he created us to meet through one another.
You didn’t want too much — you just wanted something good.
Someone to hold. Someone to build with. Someone to love and be loved by. That’s not idolatry. That’s being human.
And while I know some meant well, the message you got — that love would come only after you proved you didn’t need it — wasn’t holiness. It was control.
You asked what a girlfriend can do that Jesus can’t.
She can laugh at your jokes. Hold your hand. Choose you.
Jesus loves us, yes — but he doesn’t sit next to us at the movies or text us goodnight or share inside jokes that make no sense to anyone else. That’s not a flaw in your faith. That’s a reflection of your design.
If I could go back, I’d tell my younger self — and I’d tell you — that God isn’t testing your restraint. He’s not disappointed in your longing. He’s not waiting for you to suppress your humanity so he can reward you with a relationship.
He’s already with you. In the ache. In the hope. In the awkward first dates, hard conversations, and gentle discoveries.
So go ahead. Love boldly. Love wisely. Love slowly. Love well.
But love.
And don’t let anyone tell you Jesus is supposed to take her place.
—
This post was previously published on Backyard Church.
***
You Might Also Like These From The Good Men Project
 |
 |
 |
 |
Join The Good Men Project as a Premium Member today.
All Premium Members get to view The Good Men Project with NO ADS.
A $50 annual membership gives you an all access pass. You can be a part of every call, group, class and community.
A $25 annual membership gives you access to one class, one Social Interest group and our online communities.
A $12 annual membership gives you access to our Friday calls with the publisher, our online community.
Register New Account
Need more info? A complete list of benefits is here.
—
Photo credit: iStock
