High school is already a minefield of changing personalities, questionable fashion choices, and people trying desperately to figure out who they are. Usually, that manifests as a goth phase or a sudden obsession with indie bands nobody has heard of. But for one student on Reddit, her friend “Jessica” decided to make her entire personality about performative piety, and frankly, the lunch table just wasn’t ready for the sermon.
Our narrator is an 18-year-old girl who has been friends with Jessica for a while. Jessica is a devout Christian, which is great. We love people finding peace and community. At first, it was totally normal—a cross necklace here, a Bible verse in the Instagram bio there. It was nuanced, personal, and seemingly made her happy.
But then, the vibe shifted. Jessica didn’t just want to be a Christian; she wanted to be the CEO of Christianity at their high school. She started bringing her Bible to the lunch table, which is a bold move when everyone else is just trying to eat their sandwiches in peace. She started reminding everyone “God is Great” while they were trying to gossip about math class.
It got worse. She created a separate Instagram account dedicated to telling other people how to live a “holy life.” She even tried to launch a Christian podcast. It went from personal faith to a full-blown marketing campaign, and her friends were the unwilling target audience. It’s one thing to have beliefs; it’s another to treat your friend group like a congregation that needs saving.
The breaking point came during a lunch discussion where Jessica decided to gatekeep jewelry. She went on a rant about how “offensive” it is for non-Christians to wear crosses as fashion. Then, she turned her sights on Jesus Christ Superstar, one of the narrator’s favorite musicals, calling it “egregious.”
Our narrator, having reached her limit with the holier-than-thou commentary, tried to be reasonable. She told Jessica that while her beliefs are fine, the friend group was getting sick of her bringing Jesus into every single conversation. She also defended the musical as a valid artistic exploration.
Jessica didn’t take this feedback well. She looked at our narrator coldly and dropped a line so manipulative it made my jaw drop: “Are you suggesting you’re better than Jesus?”
I am sorry, what? That is the ultimate trap. It’s a rhetorical grenade designed to shut down any criticism by equating herself with the divine. But our hero didn’t back down. She was sick and tired, and she let the sarcasm fly.
She looked her friend in the eye and delivered the clapback of the year: “Look, Jesus loves you, but he wants you to shut the f*ck up.”
I am deceased. I am buried. Put it on my tombstone.
She then went on to tell Jessica that her level of devoutness was ridiculous and that she didn’t need to make her “Christianness” her entire personality. She pointed out the obvious: Jessica was acting like she was better than everyone else just because she prayed more.
Jessica hasn’t spoken to her since, and the narrator is feeling conflicted, wondering if the swearing was “stooping down.” Let me assure you: N-T-A. You are not the ahole.
Jessica wasn’t being “devout”; she was being insufferable. She was using her faith as a bludgeon to judge her friends and feel superior. Sometimes, when someone is standing on a soapbox screaming at you while you’re trying to eat lunch, the only way to get them down is to be a little bit savage. Jesus might love her, but he probably also appreciates a quiet lunch break.