Today, it usually follows a format of someone speaking to another person who has fucked up in some way: sometimes it’s a peer, other times it’s a system like capitalism, car infrastructure or Chipotle, or fictional characters like Doctor Frankenstein. In meme form, I’m more familiar with the phrase as a joke about friendzoning a dude by calling him your “brother in Christ,” but this is something totally different. In other words, it’s not supposed to be all over my Twitter timeline and TikTok For You Page, and yet, there it is. This phrase was supposed to stay in the memories from church life I’ve worked hard to repress, of being a 10-year-old solemnly shaking hands with a 60-year-old pastor at the door of the sanctuary before service begins, or sitting in a repurposed, thickly carpeted prefab shed in the summer of ninth grade while a 28-year-old youth leader with frosted tips talks about what makes my male friends “stumble.” (I’m sorry if you understood that one, my sibling in Christ.) So, seeing people say “my brother in Christ” gives me something akin to a low-level cringe-PTSD. I’m what some people would call an “exvangelical”-someone who’s left an evangelical Christian past and might still be still recovering from it-although I don’t like the word itself.
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