That Sounds Fun with Annie F. Downs - Podcast Rankings and reviews

This podcast and Annie’s words are somewhere the Spirit shows up for me so often. The conversations are raw and real and hopeful. The tone is gentle, kind, and fun. I love Annie and how she speaks truth and love over so many!

I have been listening for about 7 years. Listening to Annie is a like having a great conversation with a good friend. She is so genuine and fun, but also loves Jesus BIG and encourages all of us to do the same through the conversations with the guests she has on. I highly recommend!!

I just listened to the episode with Erin Hicks-Moon. Let me tell you, in the middle of all your serious talks about church hurt, asking questions, grief etc- you had me CRACKIN’ up! You got a new fan.

Long time listener. Annie just gets better and better. Came for enneasummer, stayed for thought provoking discussions from a down to earth, Jesus loving woman who always strives to be the best her.

Dear Annie,

I was a longtime listener of That Sounds Fun. For a while, I truly believed you were a much-needed voice in Christian media—funny, relatable, thoughtful, a much-needed voice for Christian singles in the church looking for purpose. I appreciated the way you made spiritual things feel accessible without sounding preachy. But somewhere along the way, the show stopped feeling like discipleship and started feeling like self-help with a Jesus filter.

That shift wasn’t sudden. It came through the slow accumulation of guests and frameworks that subtly, and sometimes not-so-subtly, displaced Scripture with therapeutic spirituality. The repeated platforming of voices like Beth McCord and Ian Morgan Cron, for example, helped normalize the Enneagram—not just as a personality tool, but as a spiritual lens. And yet its origins in mysticism and Gnostic ideas about the “true self” remain a deep theological red flag. The gospel doesn’t tell us to excavate a hidden essence or endlessly pathologize normal childhood wounds as “traumas” —it tells us to die to ourselves and be made new.

Then there are guests like Carlos Whittaker, whose motivational tone often leans more into emotional hype than biblical clarity. I attended a live event you hosted together—a book signing in a church, with candles, wellness vendors, and T-shirts sold in the lobby. Carlos gave a sort-of sermon on the Ethiopian eunuch that felt more like TED Talk inspiration than exegesis. You played the “funny one,” keeping things light and charming and making balloon animals. But the whole experience felt hollow and commodified, like spiritual formation had been replaced by vibes and branding.

Even when you feature thoughtful, biblically orthodox guests, like Jon Tyson, who I respect deeply, the show’s format flattens everything. All perspectives are framed with the same light, affirming tone. The listener is left to sort out what’s true, what’s nearly true, and what’s completely off. But if you’ve built trust by being the “safe” Christian friend, people may not know to be on guard. That’s what makes it not just disappointing. It’s spiritually confusing and, frankly, dangerous.

This is why I stepped away from listening. I’m not angry. I’m grieving. Because I believe you love Jesus and want to serve people well. But I also believe the tone of fun, comfort, and emotional relatability has overtaken the responsibility of truth-telling. Not everything that feels good is spiritually good. And not everything that “sounds fun” is faithful.

From one believer to another: I hope you’ll consider the weight of your platform and recalibrate. We don’t need more Christian influencers—we need Christian leaders who are willing to anchor themselves to orthodoxy, even when it’s not marketable.

With sincerity,
A former listener who still hopes for more