Why Christians Should Be MAHA

the Church should seek physical health

Yesterday my friend Ryan sent me a podcast titled “Is ‘Crunchy’ Christianity Biblical?” from a pastor and podcaster I respect. Two thoughtful, biblically literate men set out to answer the question—and managed to miss it almost entirely. This conversation comes in the wake of Douglas Wilson’s book Confessions of a Food Catholic—a kindred project in its objective, and likewise marked by a similar strain of profound ignorance.

Both make arguments predicated on the idea that some Christians—the “crunchy” ones—take their health too seriously. And as such, it’s causing them to be fearful, prideful, judgmental, and even to delve into gnosticism.

Today here at Running On Butter, we will examine—and dismantle—the “concerns” these men have about the rise of we who eat butter and minimize microplastics.

I place “concerns” in quotation marks because their arguments are predicated on scenarios that are either nonexistent or vanishingly rare. In ROB’s house, bringing attention to a non-issue isn’t discernment or vigilance; it’s noise. Clanging cymbals. And frankly, it’s peeving this Buttercup to high heaven.

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Stewardship: taking care of God’s creation or vanity?

Christians are called to steward God’s creation. We often think of safeguarding the beauty and integrity of the natural world as part of this duty. And rightly so. But it is our own physical bodies, the pinnacle of creation and now temples of the Holy Spirit, that ought to be governed with the greatest sobriety and gratitude.

In the aftermentioned podcast, Greg Gifford, a biblical counselor and professor at the Masters University, suggests that using the principle of stewardship to care about our health is “nebulous” and that “scripture doesn’t give us a detailed blueprint for how to manage every aspect of our physical health.”

This line of thinking—“it’s not mentioned in the Bible, so out of sight, out of mind”—from a biblical counselor, no less.

Scripture does not provide a detailed blueprint for most areas of life, yet we are still held accountable for how we steward them. Our finances. Our knowledge. Our children. Our government.

To silo bodily stewardship for its supposed lack of specificity reveals a hodgepodge, piecemeal theology. One that clings to explicit directives while overlooking the broader call to honor God in all things, even in what we eat and drink, as the Apostle Paul exhorts.

In a way, this is its own form of legalism—not building one’s life and convictions on the full counsel of Scripture and its repeated principles, but on what Scripture does not explicitly say.

Even if we grant Gifford’s premise—that Scripture says little about nutrition and health—we are still called to steward our bodies through natural law and wisdom, applying common sense in light of the knowledge we have.

After all, the New Testament offers virtually no detailed directives for how to establish a government. Yet we would not conclude, as Gifford suggests, that there is little to glean or build upon in constructing a government that provides its citizenry protection and freedom.

Parents, too, might wish for a meticulous account of what their child’s upbringing should entail. How to discipline (what do you do with a defiant three-year-old or a rebellious teenager?), how to educate (where should they go to school, and what should they learn?), how to nurture (how do you show love while encouraging independence—and when is the right time for it?), and how to pass along faith and tradition. But they are not given one.

And more than that—Scripture does, in fact, provide a remarkably rich account of guidance related to health and nourishment.

It warns, “it is not good to eat much honey” (Proverbs 25:27)—a principle that, in our context, readily extends to the overconsumption of all sweets. It commends nourishing foods: sprouted bread (Ezekiel 4:9), vegetables (Daniel 1:12–16), olive oil (Psalm 104:14–15), milk (32:14), meat (Genesis 9:3; 1 Kings 4:22-23), and fruits like figs, grapes, and pomegranates (Deuteronomy 8:8), each received with gratitude and without excess (Proverbs 23:20–21). It calls us to discipline our bodies (1 Corinthians 9:27), to walk in self-control (Galatians 5:22–23), and to glorify God in all things—even in eating and drinking (1 Corinthians 10:31).

And there are many more examples that could be added. For further study, Jordan Rubin’s andDr. Josh Axe’s The Biblio Diet offers an extended look at Scripture’s health-related principles.

Legalism: confusing seed oils with sin

The examples Gifford offers to support his reasoning for speaking on the topic are that some of his online followers feel so overwhelmed by food and health discourse that they begin asking questions like: Is eating seed oils sinful? Is it morally wrong not to avoid microplastics?

I know a lot of healthy, godly people. My nine siblings, my parents, my church, hundreds of friends. Even my girlfriend happens to be pretty into this health thing.

And not once in real life or online have I encountered anyone who questions whether raw milk is morally superior to pasteurized milk. I don’t know anyone—or have seen a sliver of content—advancing the idea that Wonder bread is unholier, spiritually speaking, than homemade sourdough. I have never once thought: we gotta deploy Romans 14 to combat this heresy.

And yet these nonexistent examples are treated as the foundation of Gifford’s and Wilson’s critique of “crunchiness” in the church. When the supposed threat does not exist, the critique becomes unwarranted and unhelpful.

But even so, let’s again assume that Gifford’s examples are true—that some people actually wonder whether they need Christ’s intercession for choosing conventional carrots over organic ones.

Let’s grant the scenario: suppose this person—let’s call her Jessica—is one of Gifford’s own counseling clients. As she begins to unpack her moral anxieties, a wise counselor might ask:

“Jessica, what are you reading or watching that’s giving you the impression that scented laundry detergent is sinful?”

She might mention a few mom influencers or a doctor she follows on YouTube, expressing that she feels “mom guilt” and like she’s failing as a Christian.

The counselor nods. “And when they talk about microplastics entering the bloodstream… are they quoting Scripture, or just explaining how the body works?”

“Just explaining it,” Jessica admits.

“Right. So they’re not saying it’s sin?”

“No.”

“They’re not suggesting you need to repent for buying conventional carrots?”

“No…”

The counselor pauses.

“Jessica… did any of these people at any point claim to be your pastor?”

“…No.”

“Did they assign you a penance at the farmer’s market?”

“…No,” Jessica says with a cracking smile.

“Okay,” the counselor says. “Then I think we’ve found the problem.”

Jessica: “Hi, I’m the problem. It’s me.”

“That, you are.”

Jessica represents a contingent of people (oftentimes mothers) who interpret information—scientific findings, observable realities—as morally loaded guns. As though health scientists at Stanford spend their mornings plotting how to unsettle suburban Christian moms with their research papers on microplastics.

If you feel that your mind or spirit cannot handle certain reports of reality—that you cannot take in information that may be, at times, concerning or even convicting—you have every right to step away from it. You don’t have to follow accounts that talk about healthy deodorant. You have agency. You can unfollow.

Better yet, you can remove yourself from the online discourse altogether. As a good health influencer might say: go outside and touch some grass.

But if you find yourself writing to a biblical counselor about it—on Instagram, no less—the issue may not be the information. Like Jessica, the problem may lie closer to home.

Gluttony: the bygone sin

In all his discussion of how Christians ought to think about health, Gifford neglects Scripture’s clear warnings against gluttony and laziness. Solomon is unambiguous: “the drunkard and the glutton will come to poverty” (Proverbs 23:21), and “a man without self-control is like a city broken into and left without walls” (Proverbs 25:28). Paul likewise commands believers to “glorify God in your body” (1 Corinthians 6:20).

I find myself going back and forth on where to place the blame for America’s food and obesity crisis—whether on systemic failures or on individual responsibility.

Most days, my heart breaks for Americans—often low-income families—who are given few real options and little informed understanding of how damaging much of our food supply can be. I have many friends who have been shaped by this system, and I feel for them deeply.

And yet, at times, I find myself wondering whether part of the issue may also involve something Scripture speaks to plainly, but the church rarely addresses: the sin of gluttony.

Perhaps this is a difficult topic because, statistically speaking, many Americans are overweight, and a significant portion are obese. It’s understandable that churches would want to tread carefully, not to offend or to “major on the minors.” I share that instinct. Sunday service should be about God’s holiness. I’m not advocating for the church to become a kind of hybrid between a recovery program and a fitness class.

But I do wonder if there is a faithful and compassionate way to speak about what Scripture actually says—about self-control, about discipline, about stewardship of the body. At the very least, it seems worth having thoughtful conversations about health as a matter of stewardship?

I don’t pretend to have a perfect answer for how churches should engage this issue. But I do believe that avoiding it altogether has contributed to a kind of ignorance around a discipline that is both spiritual and physical.

They don’t know what we’re dealing with

In both Wilson’s book and Gifford’s podcast, there are clear indications that they lack a serious understanding of how health actually works. Wilson, for example, mocks those who avoid gluten, suggesting that unless someone has a “sincere” allergy—something like an immediate, severe reaction—they should simply eat what’s put in front of them.

But this reasoning reflects a shallow view of health. It assumes that only acute, dramatic reactions matter, while ignoring the far more common reality: the body is shaped by cumulative, everyday inputs.

Many people avoid certain foods not because of life-threatening allergies, but because of how those foods affect us 10 years down the road. What seems insignificant in a single meal, over time, meaningfully reshapes the body’s biochemistry to where disease proliferates.

The chronic diseases that now dominate American life do not arise from “sincere” allergies. They develop slowly—over years and decades—fueled by repeated bad habits and seemingly “insincere” allergies or sensitives.

For Wilson, who emphasizes long-term, generational thinking, this issue should be especially significant. It is difficult to build a lasting Christendom if we are a people increasingly weakened by insulin resistance.

Gifford cites the FDA and expert consensus. Need I say more?

Their ignorance of modern health and disease hinders their ability to consider this issue with both biblical wisdom and modern context. Which makes their confidence in addressing it all the more puzzling, and frankly, irritating.

“We’re all gonna die anyway”

Many Christians poke fun at health-conscious brothers and sisters, saying things like, “We’re all going to die anyway,” or “Our days are numbered.”

Of course, both statements are true. Our bodies will eventually fail, and God knows the number of our days. But that reality shouldn’t discourage us from pursuing wisdom and living healthfully.

If anything, it should motivate us. Because my days are numbered, I want to steward them well. To live with energy and strength.

Yes, to enjoy life and the people I love, but more importantly, to have greater capacity to serve others and faithfully carry out the work God has given me.

(I also recognize that God often uses suffering and illness for our sanctification and for the advancement of the Gospel. That is not what I’m addressing here. I’m talking to the 25-year-old guys who habitually eat fast food and drink energy drinks.)

I believe in God’s sovereignty. And I also believe that we are given real responsibility in how we live day to day.

After all, if the apostles had adopted a fatalistic mindset—“we’re all going to die anyway”—their mission would have been truncated. Instead, they endured, acted, and pressed forward with purpose. Even Jesus, at times, withdrew from danger until the appointed hour had come—showing us that personal action operates within God’s sovereign plan.

Trust in God’s authority has never been an excuse for passivity—and certainly not laziness. It has always been a call to faithful stewardship.