Like it or not, I recently stopped calling myself a Christian. The word “Christian” (or Evangelical, Fundamentalist, extremist, religious right-winger or whatever the moniker du jour) has become an anemic word — sapped of its life-changing, revolutionary meaning and converted into a mere media buzzword. Thus, I am serving notice — I would rather call the kettle black and be what I am: a follower of Christ. This smacks of a more vivid reality to me.

The real, historical Christ, His life documented in the Bible, gives me clear ways to live. I can forgive 70 times seven, clothe the naked, feed the hungry, exercise grace to those who don’t deserve it (and the list goes on). I can live life based on a clear example, cleansed of the aspersions cast upon me by the world. To be a Christ-follower, I must give up all to follow Him and serve others in love and grace in every situation. This Christ-following life is also active. It flows out of an intimate relationship with the Savior of the universe, not membership in some marginalized, media-defined demographic group.

I am exasperated at being labeled because I follow Christ. I was knocked into reality by the unfortunate Christian television fare sputtering across the airwaves late one night. As I blankly channel surfed, I was strangely transfixed by one of the “Christian” shows on a popular “evangelical” network. Without going into the embarrassing detail, I realized just how out of touch the portrayal of my Christian faith appeared. My heart sank: If people who don’t follow the God I follow are watching this, then they likely are making some awfully far-fetched assumptions about who I am, and more importantly what I believe.

Then, during our recent election, I wearied of being lumped into the same group as the “Evangelicals.” Not that I particularly disagree with Evangelicals, though their approach generally gives me discomfort. Rather, my heart resisted being broad-brushed into a very stereotyped voting block. Suddenly, the popular assumption about me (and all my thoughtful and genuine Christ-following compatriots) was that I was none other than a religious fanatic bent on using the government to impose my morals upon others.

There are reasons for these unfortunate portrayals. We, as followers of Christ, have become hypnotized by the institutionalized evangelical church and have given up on the true movement of Jesus. We have succumbed to Jesus-in-a-Box, all wrapped up nice and neat, so He is palatable to the longing masses. We have allowed easy, legalistic spirituality into our ranks, and have left by the wayside the gritty life of sacrificial love in the name of Jesus. All in all, the full life in Christ has been subverted by an evangelical cultural complex. Even in my passion to live a genuine life following Christ, I too have given in to “cheap grace,” in the words of Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Meanwhile the masses of spiritually hungry humanity parade past us, without a clear distinction as to why Christ is the one true way, truth and life.

A question begs to be asked: Are we true disciples anymore? Or just out-of-date relics of pop culture, no different from the well-motivated followers of any other world religion?

What is the challenge before us? To live as true disciples and not mere constructs of culture-defined Christianity. It is high time to take a long, hard look at how we live and how we have contributed to such a maligned view of Christianity. In fact, the time is now to drop the weak “Christian” label in the name of true, transforming discipleship, driven by the unabashed grace of God — and nothing else.

We all undoubtedly have been exposed to teaching in the church that I call laundry-list sanctification. To be a “Christian,” we need to pray the prayer, do devotions, go to Sunday school and try to live out our faith. But that’s all about us, and we are left hungering. It is not by our legalism that they shall know us, but by the movement of Christ in and through us — by the Christ-driven sacrificial love that disarms the skeptic and is a warming balm to the hurting. Anything less than this is a far-from-biblical life and one of the core reasons we as followers of Christ are so maligned in culture.

As I have followed Christ, I have noticed how easy it is to shift the responsibility of my life onto others, projecting judgment onto them. Rather than gazing intently (and usually with great trembling before God) into my own heart, and seeing God’s vivid grace, I settle for making sure everyone else is in line with God.

Living the Christian to-do list drives our focus onto how others are doing. If we have a checklist, it’s easy to make ourselves feel better about our messy spiritual needs by glaring at the failings of others. It is the draining antithesis of grace. On the other hand, grace motivation says that God’s redemption is so profound that our hearts leap at the thought of acting out in holiness. The to-do-list route is malnourished. The grace-motivated path leads to a feast at the banquet table.

As the pundits and drivers of our culture have spewed forth sometimes bigoted views of the supposed Christian life, I have found it easier to react with anger and judgment toward those who oppose the Author of my faith. And I have found it easier to get frustrated with the institutional Christianity that somewhat naively sprinkles more fuel on the fire. And I am left wanting.

Yet, when God gives me that rare ability to get over myself, and I actually start serving others with a keen passion for their souls — rather than an interest in accolades, position, perfect theology or anything else that takes my eyes off the Only Reason for living — I find my deep inner longing sated. Meanwhile, I struggle to communicate with my God, that my desires might become His, and I can finally forget the petty distractions of legalism. As I struggle to see Christ through my blurred spiritual vision, I begin to get a sense of who He truly is. Then, only then, can I truly be His follower.

Maybe someday I, along with a few million other “followers of Christ,” will help restore the name “Christian” to its original meaning.