“Less Prozac, more protein.” That’s the sermon now. Not from a pulpit, but from the stage of the Young Women’s Leadership Summit — a Turning Point USA shindig for trad-curious TikTok evangelicals trying to squat their way to salvation.

Alex Clark, wellness influencer and right-wing hype girl, laid it out like gospel: conservative women are the “cool kids” because they lift, eat clean, and have their hormones balanced. Liberals? They’re apparently panicking in front of ring lights with “five shades of autism.”

If that sounds like a parody, you haven’t spent enough time in evangelical diet culture — where discipline is divine, carbs are sin, and Jesus definitely wants you doing deadlifts before dawn. We’ve moved beyond purity rings. Now it’s protein shakes and Pilates for Christ.

Because here’s the thing: Christian diet culture isn’t about health — it’s about control. Under the guise of faith and fitness, evangelicals have repackaged body shame, gender roles, and capitalist grift into a gospel of thinness. Jesus may have broken bread with sinners, but today’s church would rather count macros than show grace.

Purity Culture Got a Gym Membership

In the grand tradition of “make women smaller in every possible way,” diet culture has always had a seat at the evangelical table — as long as it skips dessert.

It’s not enough for women to be submissive and silent; now they need to be shredded too. Tradwives are back, y’all — accessorized with glutes, gloss, and God. They call it wellness. I call it patriarchy in athleisure.

This isn’t just an aesthetic. It’s moral sorting. Are you disciplined or indulgent? Holy or hedonistic? Fit for marriage — or just fat?

And let’s not pretend this is about actual health. It’s about keeping women busy with calories and CrossFit so they don’t notice they’re not allowed a voice in the boardroom or the pulpit.

The Saints of Sweat: Christian Grift Gains

If you thought this was just a vibes thing, bless your heart. There’s a whole economy built on this theology of thinness.

Let’s start with Gwen Shamblin and her Weigh Down Workshop. Her gospel? Fat people just don’t love Jesus enough. And people ate it up (well, metaphorically). What started as a church weight-loss class turned into a cult with matching hairdos and a multimillion-dollar empire. 

Shamblin herself preached self-denial while living large — until her private plane crashed in 2021. God’s not mocked, but gravity is ruthless.

Then there’s Rick Warren’s Daniel Plan — a 40-day wellness fast dressed in Old Testament cosplay. It paired evangelical hustle with celebrity doctors like Daniel Amen and Dr. Oz. The message? God won’t heal your fat body if you’re not trying hard enough.

And let’s not forget Brittany Dawn — a fitness influencer who sold “custom” plans to Christian women, ghosted her clients, got sued for fraud, and then rebranded as a Jesus-loving lifestyle guru. Nothing says redemption like a pivot to holy girl boss.

Fat as Sin, Fitness as Sanctification

This is where it gets theological. For evangelicals, the body isn’t just a temple — it’s a test. Your waistline is your worth. If you’re fat, it’s not a health issue — it’s a moral one. A lack of self-control. A sign you’re spiritually flabby.

Scripture gets cherry-picked like a Whole Foods salad bar: Daniel’s veggie fast, Ezekiel bread, maybe a Proverbs 31 protein bar. Add in some “modest is hottest” merch and call it orthodoxy.

Even schools got in on the act. At Oral Roberts University in the ’70s, students with higher body fat were put on weight loss contracts or faced suspension. In 2016, the school issued fitness trackers to all freshmen. Because nothing says “grace-based faith” like mandatory step counts.

Ozempic and the End of Evangelical Suffering

Modern weight-loss meds like Ozempic and Wegovy have upended the whole moral economy. If you can lose weight without suffering, what happens to the spiritual flex?

Evangelicals aren’t just skeptical of the science — they’re offended by the ease. One former Christian wellness influencer told Christianity Today that Ozempic undermines “self-control, which is a fruit of the Spirit.”

Ah yes, because true holiness is measured by how hard you suffer, how long you go hungry, and how tiny your jeans are. Grace is nice and all, but did you earn it? Did you suffer enough to deserve it?

Spoiler: that’s not how Jesus works. 

But don’t tell the FitFaith crowd. They’re too busy logging their macros for the Lamb’s Supper.

Bread of Life (Now Gluten-Free)

It’s wild how the guy who said “Blessed are the poor” and fed crowds with carbs has been rebranded into a keto coach.

Jesus didn’t heal people based on their BMI. He didn’t hand out diet plans. He shared meals — with the marginalized, the unclean, the undeserving. He gave them bread, not advice. He offered grace, not contracts.

Meanwhile, the modern church sells shame with a side of supplements. They don’t break bread anymore — they monetize it. Because grace doesn’t sell supplements, but shame sure does.

Final Set

Here’s the real flex: this whole faith-fueled fitness grind isn’t about holiness — it’s about avoidance. Aesthetic righteousness is easier than actual righteousness. Lifting weights is simpler than lifting the burdens of the poor. Tracking macros requires less vulnerability than loving your enemies. And fitting into your skinny jeans takes a lot less work than fitting the ways of Jesus into your everyday life.

This version of Christian wellness isn’t transformation — it’s camouflage. It gives the illusion of control, discipline, and virtue without the inconvenient demands of compassion, justice, or grace. You get to feel godly without having to be Christlike. It’s the wide road in yoga pants.

Jesus wept — not because the sinners weren’t shredded, but because the faithful keep choosing control over love, image over substance, performance over presence.

And yeah, that’s a hell of a lot easier than carrying a cross.

For more Snarky Faith, check out the podcast and more:

Snarky Faith t-shirts and mugs available here.

Snarky Faith website

Snarky Faith: podcast

Snarky Faith on Instagram: @stuartdelony

Snarky Faith on YouTube: @snarkyfaith

Snarky Faith on Bluesky: @snarkyfaith.bsky.social

Snarky Faith Group on Facebook: www.facebook/SnarkyFaith