I have been thinking about a phrase/statement/sentence we use a lot. It is a sentence I have heard. It is a sentence I have understood. It is a sentence I have probably used, or nearly used, or imagined using when trying to explain why certain things did not become what they were meant to become.
The sentence is this: “God was not at the centre.” There is truth in that sentence. That is what makes it important.
There can be relationships, decisions, ambitions, partnerships, friendships, businesses, projects, families, communities, and seasons of life where God is mentioned, but not centred. There can be moments where His name is respected, but His rule is resisted. There can be prayers over things that have not been surrendered. There can be spiritual language around choices that are still being governed by ego, fear, appetite, image, insecurity, pressure, or the desire to be chosen.
So I am not writing this because the sentence is wrong. I am writing because I have become interested in what happens immediately after the sentence is spoken. That little space. That small window. That almost invisible shift in the room, or in the heart, when someone says, “God was not at the centre,” and suddenly the story feels more understandable. People may nod. The questions may slow down. The pain may become easier to categorise. The failure may start to sound spiritually explained. The past may begin to take on a neat moral shape. A complex human story, full of choices, wounds, immaturity, fear, affection, pride, longing, confusion, good intentions, bad habits, and unfinished formation, may suddenly feel like it has been given its final label. And in that moment, something subtle can happen. A phrase that should invite truth can become a conclusion. A sentence that should open the soul before God can become a way of closing the conversation before people. A confession can become a courtroom. That is the thing I am trying to understand.
But I need to say this – I have no interest in turning old pain into content, old people into examples, or old mistakes into proof of current wisdom. This is not a performance. I am trying to understand to gain clarity.
The thing is … the more I accept Christ as the Way, the Truth, and the Life, the more careful I become with spiritual language. Not less willing to use it, but more aware of its weight. Faith-language is not ordinary language. It reaches places in people that logic alone does not reach. It can settle the nervous system. It can comfort shame. It can silence a room. It can give moral structure to chaos. It can become an altar. It can also become a shield.
When we say, “God was not at the centre,” we may be saying something deeply true. But we may also be doing many other things at the same time. For instance – spiritually, we may be acknowledging that our lives were not submitted to God in that area.
Psychologically, we may be searching for coherence, because the human mind struggles to carry unresolved complexity for too long. We want the story to make sense. We want pain to have a shape. We want the ending to explain the beginning.
Emotionally, we may be trying to reduce shame. A spiritual explanation can feel cleaner than a messy one. It can make the wound more speakable.
Socially, we may be creating a boundary. Sometimes the sentence says, “Please stop prying. I have already placed this matter before God.” That can be healthy. Not every person is entitled to the full anatomy of our pain.
But morally, if we are not careful, the same sentence can quietly place others beneath us. It can create a hierarchy between the person we were and the person we are becoming. It can make the past look spiritually inferior and the present look spiritually superior. It can suggest that failure belonged to a Godless version of the story, while maturity belongs to the one now telling it.
That may comfort the ego more than it honours the truth. And this is where the inquiry becomes serious for me. What do we actually mean when we say God was not at the centre?
- Do we mean we did not pray?
- Do we mean we did not attend church?
- Do we mean we ignored warnings?
- Do we mean we were led by desire?
- Do we mean the relationship, decision, or season was shaped more by fear than obedience?
- Do we mean we wanted God’s blessing, but not God’s governance?
- Do we mean we had faith as an idea, but not surrender as a posture?
- Do we mean we called something love, but did not submit it to Love Himself?
Because saying God was not at the centre can be too vague to heal anything unless we let it become more specific before Him. It is not enough for God to be named. God must be allowed to rule. That is different.
A relationship can contain Christian language and still not be surrendered to Christ. A family can honour religious tradition and still not be governed by truth. A business can quote Scripture and still be driven by greed. A leader can speak of purpose and still use people as instruments. A person can say “God willing” and still be unwilling before God. So maybe the question is not only whether God was at the centre.
Maybe the question is: what occupied the centre when God did not?
- Was it fear?
- Was it pride?
- Was it loneliness?
- Was it the need to be seen?
- Was it the desire to be chosen?
- Was it chemistry?
- Was it status?
- Was it survival?
- Was it family pressure?
- Was it religious appearance?
- Was it the fantasy of being loved without the discipline of becoming loving?
- Was it a dream that had not been tested by truth?
- Was it the comfort of having someone, something, somewhere, some plan, some title, some future to hold onto?
That is where the sentence must lead us if it is going to serve truth. Otherwise, it becomes a slogan. And slogans can be dangerous when they sound like wisdom.
I wonder how often God hears us explain something in His name, while He is still waiting for us to bring the explanation to Him.
I wonder how often He hears us say, “God was not at the centre,” and gently asks, “Will you now let Me show you what was?”
Not to condemn us. To reveal us.
Because God’s truth does not expose in order to humiliate. God’s truth exposes in order to heal, judge rightly, reorder, restore, discipline, and redeem. The same light that reveals the dust is the light that makes cleaning possible. But if I use God-language too quickly, I may never let the light do its full work.I may walk away with a sentence instead of surrender. I may walk away with closure instead of formation. I may walk away sounding wise, while still protecting the deeper places that God wants to reach. This is why the little space after the sentence matters. It is almost like a spiritual courtroom.
- The listener hears the sentence and may form a judgment.
- The speaker hears themselves saying it and may feel a kind of relief.
- The absent person may be silently placed into a category.
- The past may be arranged into a case.
- The present self may become the witness.
- The future self may become the judge.
And somewhere in that room, if we are not careful, God’s name may be used as evidence without God Himself being allowed to preside. That is the danger. Because God is not merely evidence in our story. He is Lord. He is not a rhetorical device. He is not a spiritual stamp placed at the end of an explanation. He is not the sentence we use to make ourselves feel less exposed. He is the Truth before whom every sentence must become honest. So perhaps the more faithful way to speak is not to rush into, “God was not at the centre,” as if the phrase explains everything.
Perhaps the more faithful way is to say: “I am learning that God was not centred in the way I thought He was. I am still allowing Him to show me what truly governed me, what I ignored, what I protected, what I feared, what I desired, what I called love, what I called wisdom, and what I called peace.” That kind of language does not close the door. It opens it. It does not invite gossip. It invites reverence. It does not perform maturity. It practises humility. And humility, at least as I am learning it, is not the lowering of the self into worthlessness. It is the correct placement of the self before God. It is not self-hatred. It is spiritual accuracy. It is not shrinking away from life. It is allowing God to sit where only God belongs. That is why I find myself returning to this sentence carefully. “God was not at the centre.”
Yes, maybe. But before I use that sentence to explain failure, I must be willing to let God use it to examine me. Where was He not centred? Where did I ask Him to bless what I did not want Him to govern? Where did I use spiritual language while avoiding spiritual obedience? Where did I confuse being sincere with being surrendered? Where did I want clarity from God while withholding honesty from Him? Where did I want a Godly outcome without a crucified ego? These are not easy questions. But they are clean questions.
They do not require me to hate myself. They do not require me to condemn anyone else. They do not require me to flatten history into villains and heroes. They simply require me to stand before God without rushing to manage the story. And perhaps that is where true formation begins. Not when I can explain what happened. But when I can let God examine what happened, what it did to me, what it revealed in me, and what He still wants to redeem through me.
So this is not a post about old relationships. It is not a post about old people. It is not even a post about failure. It is a reflection on the weight of spiritual language. Because when we bring God into an explanation, we must be careful not to remove ourselves from examination. May we not use His name to sound healed where we are still hiding. May we not use His name to sound wise where we are still wounded. May we not use His name to close a matter He is still trying to open truthfully. May we have the courage to say, with trembling honesty:
Lord, do not only help me explain the past. Help me become truthful before You.
One, Perfect Love.