Vulnerability Is Not the Goal
How therapeutic Christianity replaced virtue with emotionalism and why men need Christlike strength, not performative tears.
There’s been a growing controversy in Christian circles lately over so-called “toxic empathy” and what Joe Rigney has called “the sin of empathy.” Predictably, this has kicked up a lot of emotional dust. For many, it’s nearly unthinkable to question whether empathy is something less than virtuous. Most assume empathy is Christlike. And these books rightfully challenge that assumption.
After all, haven’t we been catechized into believing that empathy is the highest form of Christian maturity? That sharing emotionally by entering into someone else’s pain is practically a sacrament? That being a godly man means being in touch with your emotions, crying often, and spilling your guts in a small group?
This is the air we breathe. But what if it’s poisonous?
What if, underneath all this therapeutic spirituality, there’s a hidden assumption that’s not just wrong, but actively corrosive to Christian maturity especially for men?
That assumption is this: that the goal of Christianity is to make men more vulnerable.
Redefining the Goal
Let’s define terms.
To be vulnerable means to expose or disclose a weakness or liability. In military terms, a vulnerability is an undefended position, an area open to attack. In therapeutic terms, “vulnerability” now means making your inner emotional life public. It means expressing feelings, admitting “trauma,” disclosing your pain, especially in front of others. Vulnerability is pitched as the path to peace. Become more vulnerable and have better relationships or so they say. The vulnerable man is the healthy man.
This idea has exploded in popularity in the last two decades. Christian writers, speakers, and influencers have parroted the language of Brené Brown and secular therapists, baptizing modern psychology in Bible verses ripped from their context.
The result? We now assume that “being real” means being emotionally exposed. That godliness looks like oversharing. That if a man doesn’t cry regularly, he’s emotionally unhealthy. And most of all, we assume that emotional vulnerability is transformational. That it leads us to spiritual healing and deeper intimacy with God.
But let’s pump the brakes.
Emotionalism ≠ Maturity
Yes, the Bible says we should bear one another’s burdens (Gal. 6:2). Yes, it tells us to weep with those who weep (Rom. 12:15). And yes, Paul boasts in his weakness so that the power of Christ may rest upon him (2 Cor. 12:9).
But here’s the problem: none of these passages are about cultivating emotional exposure. Paul doesn’t boast in vulnerability. He boasts in his weakness as a means to experience the power of Christ. Bearing burdens doesn’t mean rehashing the same childhood wound over and over in group therapy. Weeping with those who weep doesn’t require manufacturing tears.
Of course, Scripture also shows godly men expressing raw and heartfelt emotion. See David in the Psalms, Jeremiah the weeping prophet, Jesus moved with compassion. Emotional expression is not inherently unmanly or unspiritual. The issue is when emotional exposure becomes a kind of spiritual performance. As if it is a virtue in itself.
When “vulnerability” becomes a spiritual virtue in itself, it doesn’t lead to strength in godliness but often a spiritual apathy. Men begin to see emotional fragility as spiritual growth. They’re taught that crying in front of others is not just allowed, but necessary to be godly. And strength, the opposite of vulnerability, is often viewed with suspicion.
This is emotionalism. And it’s a counterfeit.
The Christ We Follow
The goal of Christianity is not vulnerability. The goal is Christlikeness.
And Christ is not a model of vulnerability. He is a model of strength, obedience, courage, and sacrificial love. Yes, He wept at the tomb of Lazarus. Yes, He cried out in Gethsemane. But He never paraded His feelings. He never made weakness the point. His moments of sorrow were not examples of vulnerability for its own sake, but moments of purposeful, covenantal action in the face of suffering and death.
Jesus didn’t weep so we would cry more. He wept because He was fully human, fully obedient, and utterly committed to glorifying His Father.
He didn’t model soft emotional introspection. He modeled self-denial, discipline, and strength.
Strength Under Control
This doesn’t mean Christian men should be stoic robots. Meekness is a fruit of the Spirit. Gentleness is Christlike. But gentleness is not emotional indulgence. Meekness is not a refusal to lead or speak truth boldly. Christian men should be men of integrity. There is an aspect of what you see is what you get with a Christian man. But that does not require the Christian man to always display everything at all times.
Christian strength is not about having no emotion. It’s about having your emotions rightly ordered under the lordship of Christ. This requires restraint, self-control, and discipline. It does not require “vulnerability.”
A man may feel sorrow, anger, grief, or fear but he is called to govern those emotions with wisdom, not to be governed by them. Whereas vulnerability is often the opposite. We should express our emotions first and then evaluate (if we evaluate at all).
We need fewer men who are experts at crying and more men who are experts at repentance, responsibility, and righteous action. We need fewer “vulnerable leaders” and more virtuous men. Men of conviction, courage, and character.
Real Vulnerability: Confession, Not Catharsis
There is a better version of vulnerability that is good and necessary. It’s called confession.
James says, “Confess your sins to one another” (James 5:16). John says that “if we walk in the light…we have fellowship with one another” (1 John 1:7). Biblical confession is moral, not merely emotional. It’s aimed at repentance, not relief.
God calls us to walk in the light, not to wallow in our wounds. He calls us to die to ourselves, not discover ourselves. And He calls us to confess sin not process our feelings endlessly in community groups.
If your vulnerability doesn’t lead to holiness, it’s not godly. It’s just catharsis.
Building Men, Not Boys
So what’s the way forward?
We need to reject the therapeutic gospel and return to a biblical vision of manhood. One marked by responsibility. We need to train men to master their emotions, not be mastered by them. We need to raise sons who know how to carry burdens, not just share them.
Vulnerability is not the goal.
The goal is virtue. The goal is Christ.