We live in an age where busyness is worn like a badge of honor. If you’re not busy, you’re lazy. If you’re not hustling, you’re falling behind. But somewhere between the endless notifications, the back-to-back meetings, and the scroll-induced insomnia, many followers of Jesus have lost something far more important than productivity—we’ve lost depth.
The Tyranny of the Urgent
Jesus warned about this exact problem. In the parable of the sower, He describes a group of people who hear the Word, but then “the cares of the world and the deceitfulness of riches and the desires for other things enter in and choke the word, and it proves unfruitful” (Mark 4:19, ESV). Sound familiar? We claim to want intimacy with God, yet we schedule everything else first and then toss Him our leftovers.
We blame our schedules, our kids’ activities, or our jobs, but let’s be honest: we make time for what we value. If we can binge-watch Netflix or check social media for hours each week, we have time for prayer. If we can wake up early for a flight or a workout, we can wake up early to be in the Word.
The Cost of Shallow Christianity
The result of all this distraction? A generation of believers who know church but don’t know Christ deeply. We attend services, maybe even serve, but when the storms come, our roots are shallow. Jesus rebuked the Pharisees for their outward religiosity but lack of true relationship with God, quoting Isaiah: “This people honors me with their lips, but their heart is far from me” (Matthew 15:8, ESV). Ouch.
If we don’t fight for spiritual depth, the world will gladly keep us busy with everything else. The enemy doesn’t need to destroy you; he just needs to distract you.
Reclaiming Spiritual Depth in a Fast-Paced World
So how do we push back against the busyness that suffocates our faith? Here are three non-negotiables:
1. Prioritize the Secret Place
Jesus Himself—God in the flesh—regularly withdrew to be alone with the Father (Luke 5:16). If He needed that, how much more do we? The early church was devoted to “the apostles’ teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers” (Acts 2:42, ESV). Spiritual depth doesn’t happen by accident; it happens by devotion.
Set an appointment with God and keep it. If your boss called a meeting, you’d show up. If your phone dings, you check it. Give God more priority than your notifications.
2. Sabbath Like You Mean It
Sabbath isn’t a suggestion—it’s a command. God Himself rested on the seventh day (Genesis 2:2). Jesus said, “The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath” (Mark 2:27, ESV). Yet many of us treat rest like a luxury instead of a biblical necessity.
Turn off the noise. Stop idolizing productivity. Make space for worship, reflection, and simply being with God.
3. Say No to Lesser Things
Not everything that demands your attention deserves it. Paul warns, “Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil” (Ephesians 5:15-16, ESV). That means learning to say no.
No to unnecessary meetings. No to mindless scrolling. No to overcommitment. Every “yes” you give to distractions is a “no” to your spiritual growth.
The Call to Depth
Jesus never said, “Come, be busy for Me.” He said, “Abide in Me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in Me” (John 15:4, ESV).
Spiritual depth isn’t about adding more to your schedule. It’s about removing what doesn’t matter so you can abide in what does. The question isn’t, “Do you have time for God?” The question is, “Is He truly your priority?”
Let’s be honest—being a biblically faithful Christian today feels like trying to stand still on a surfboard in the ocean. Culture is shifting rapidly, and with every new wave of societal expectation, believers face a decision: adapt or fight. But the question is, how do we engage a world that’s constantly redefining truth while remaining unwavering in our faith?
The Tension
To be accepted by culture the demand is that Christians “evolve.” If you don’t, you’re labeled intolerant, irrelevant, or worse. The pressure is real. The temptation to compromise can be strong. Some churches have adjusted their theology to stay palatable, watering down biblical truth to fit societal norms. Others have doubled down, becoming so combative that they drive people away rather than invite them to Jesus.
Neither extreme is the answer. Jesus never compromised truth, but He also never used truth as a weapon to bludgeon people. He engaged culture with love, but He never let culture redefine righteousness. That’s the tension we must navigate.
The Call
Paul’s words to the Romans couldn’t be more relevant:
“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.” (Romans 12:2, ESV)
We are called to be transformed—not to conform. That means we don’t bend biblical truth to fit cultural trends. But it also means we don’t isolate ourselves in a Christian bubble, screaming judgment at the world with our fists flailing about from behind the safety of our church walls. Jesus sent His disciples into the world, not away from it (John 17:18). Our mission isn’t to withdraw—it’s to engage with wisdom and courage and humility.
The Challenge
So how do we actually do this? How do we live as faithful Christians in a culture that increasingly rejects biblical truth? Here are three essential principles:
Know the Word Better Than the World Too many Christians crumble under cultural pressure because they don’t actually know what the Bible teaches. They follow feelings rather than Scripture. But Jesus said, “If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples” (John 8:31, ESV). If you don’t know God’s truth, how can you stand firm in it? A biblically illiterate Christian is a culture-driven Christian. Know the Word. Live the Word.
Love People Without Affirming Sin Culture tells us that to love someone, we must affirm every choice they make. But that’s a lie. Jesus loved sinners deeply, but He never left them in their sin. He called them to repentance (Mark 1:15). Real love tells the truth. Real love cares about someone’s eternity more than their temporary approval. Can we have hard conversations yet maintain grace? Can we show compassion without compromising truth? That’s the challenge with which we must wrestle.
Expect Rejection—and Rejoice in the Midst of It Let’s not be surprised when standing for biblical truth makes us unpopular. Jesus promised it would: “If the world hates you, know that it has hated me before it hated you” (John 15:18, ESV). The early church didn’t win the world by being liked—they won the world by being faithful. Christianity was countercultural then, and it still is today. If you’re standing firm and facing pushback, take heart—you’re in good company.
The Mission
The world is going to keep shifting. Morality will keep evolving. But God’s truth does not change. Our job isn’t to keep up with culture—it’s to stand firm in Christ while loving people fiercely. That means embracing the tension, speaking truth boldly, and showing the world that real freedom isn’t found in following every new cultural wave—it’s found in following Jesus.
So, friend, are you ready? The culture is moving. Will you move with it, or will you stand firm on unchanging truth?
Every pastor hears it. The joke. The jab. The wild assumption that preaching a 25-minute sermon on Sunday is the entire workload.
Eh, we usually smile. Maybe laugh. But if we’re being honest? That question stings a little—not because it’s mean-spirited, but because it’s so far from reality.
The truth is, most pastors juggle more roles than people realize. One article claimed pastors carry the weight of 16 different jobs. That’s cute, but I stopped counting after 25.
Yes, we preach. We teach. But that’s only the tip of the iceberg. Beneath the Sunday morning platform is a whole world of behind-the-scenes work—most of it unseen, and a good chunk of it unexpected.
We’re spiritual counselors and crisis responders. We walk with people through death, divorce, depression, and diagnosis. We field phone calls at midnight. We hold babies and bury parents. We lead when things go well… and we absorb the blame when they don’t.
But that’s just the obvious stuff.
Here are a few less glamorous roles that end up on the pastoral plate:
Graphic Designer. Someone’s got to make the sermon slides, flyers, Instagram posts, and event graphics. And no, we didn’t go to art school—we just Googled how to use Canva and hoped for the best.
Tech Support. Why isn’t the livestream working? Why is the mic cutting out? Why did the ProPresenter file disappear? Ask the pastor. Apparently, preaching and IT now go hand-in-hand.
Janitor. Overflowing toilet in the kids’ room? Trash left after the potluck? Glitter explosion from Sunday school? Guess who’s got the keys—and the gloves. I recently was seen taking out the trash and one of our members said wow you’re the garbage man too?
Crisis Communications. Someone offended, a staff conflict brewing, or a sensitive issue threatening to divide the room? Welcome to the world of emotional landmines and leadership triage.
Mediator. When tensions rise between team members, families, or committees, pastors often become the calm in the chaos. It’s less about choosing sides and more about shepherding hearts—without losing our own in the process.
Social Worker. We help people navigate food insecurity, job loss, eviction, addiction, and broken relationships—not with all the answers, but with presence, prayer, and a Rolodex of local contacts. For you younger folks that’s a paper version of the contact list in your iPhone.
So yeah—pastoring is beautifully sacred work. But it’s also messy, heavy, and relentless. It doesn’t clock out at 5 p.m. It rarely fits in a tidy job description. And no, it’s not just “Sunday morning stuff.”
It’s real-life soul work. It’s administrative chaos and sacred silence. It’s wearing 10 hats before lunch and still needing to write a sermon.
But What If You Didn’t Have to Carry It Alone?
If you’re a pastor, you’ve probably asked the question—either quietly or in exhaustion: “Does it really have to be this heavy?”
The answer? Not if you’re willing to build the right team.
But let’s be real. Most churches can’t afford to hire a full staff. Budget constraints are real, and for many pastors, the idea of bringing on communications, operations, or donor development professionals feels like a distant dream.
But what if you actually had access to this kind of support—and so much more—through the right partnerships?
That’s what we found in the FiveTwo Network.
As pastors, we know the Gospel. We know how to do Sunday morning. But what I found in FiveTwo was the ability to better organize and manage the rest of the workload—the part that often gets overwhelming.
Through this partnership, we gained:
Laser-focused ministry strategy that helped us work smarter, not just harder.
Organizational gurus who cleared the clutter and streamlined some of how we operate.
A communications team that didn’t just tell us what to do—they gave us practical, field-tested best practices.
A donor development team that helped us see what we were missing—opportunities for growth, generosity, and long-term sustainability.
Bringing on staff is great if you can do it. But if you can’t, you don’t have to grind yourself into the ground doing it all alone. There are people and networks designed to come alongside pastorsand churches and bring clarity to the chaos.
Because here’s the truth: Ministry done alone is exhausting. Ministry done together? Now that’s unstoppable.
If you’re a pastor or leader feeling the weight of it all—maybe it’s time to ask: Who could stand beside me in this?
I found that answer in FiveTwo. If you’re looking for the same kind of support, I’d love to share more about how this partnership changed the way I lead.
“Prayer flows naturally from a heart of humility and faith—it’s the honest recognition that we can’t do it on our own and the confident trust that God is ready and willing to help.”
Let’s talk about something we don’t often admit out loud in church: A lot of us struggle to pray.
We say things like, “I know I should pray more,” or “Life’s been so busy I just haven’t had time even to pray.” But underneath the excuses is a deeper issue. A spiritual one. One we don’t always see or name:
Prayerlessness isn’t just a discipline problem—it’s a gospel problem.
In Luke 11, Jesus’ disciples came to Him with a request: “Lord, teach us to pray.” That request tells us something about prayer – it isn’t automatic. Even for people who followed Jesus every day, they had to learn how to do it.
And so do we.
Let’s be real with ourselves for a moment. Most of us don’t stop praying because we don’t care. We stop praying because we forget who God really is. And we forget who we really are.
The Real Reason We Don’t Pray
Let’s be honest: If we truly believed we were helpless without God—and if we really trusted that God was eager to help—we wouldn’t hesitate to pray.
We’d run to Him. All the time. But we don’t.
We try to carry it all ourselves. We worry. We stress. We plot and plan and problem-solve… and somewhere along the way, we forget to pray.
Here’s the truth:
Prayerlessness is not about God being distant. It’s about us misunderstanding the gospel.
The gospel tells us two things:
We are desperately in need. (John 15:5 – “Apart from Me, you can do nothing.”)
God is more willing to help than we are willing to ask. (Romans 8:32)
If you’ve drifted from prayer, it’s not because God has changed—it’s because something in your heart has. But the good news? Jesus gives us a way back.
Let’s walk through the prayer He taught His disciples—not as a script to recite, but as a framework for a deep, honest, vibrant prayer life.
“Father, hallowed be your name.”
In Luke 11, Jesus starts where we should start: with relationship.
We don’t pray to a distant force or man behind a curtain. We’re not sending words into the void. We’re coming to our Father—a perfect, holy, personal God who wants to be known.
You are not a stranger in the throne room. You’re a child coming home.
Romans 8:15 says we’ve received the Spirit of adoption, and we cry out, “Abba, Father.” That’s intimate. That’s the language of love.
But He’s not just Father. He’s holy. Set apart. Worthy of worship. And before we ask for anything, Jesus teaches us to remember who God is and why His name matters.
Try this: Before you bring your needs to God, stop and worship Him. Speak His names: Provider. Shepherd. Healer. Savior. King. Worship shifts the focus from your problems to His power.
“Your kingdom come.”
This is a dangerous prayer. It means surrender.
It means laying down our agendas and picking up His.
“Your kingdom come” is not asking God to bless what we’re already doing. It’s asking Him to interrupt our plans with His greater purpose.
This is about living under God’s reign, not just believing in His existence.
Matthew 6:33 says, “Seek first the kingdom of God…” Not second. Not when it’s convenient. First.
Try this: Ask God where His kingdom needs to come more fully in your life—in your family, in your decisions, in your heart. And then… be ready to obey.
“Give us each day our daily bread.”
This might sound like the least spiritual part of the prayer, but it’s deeply holy. Because it’s about dependence.
We live in a culture that idolizes self-sufficiency. We’re told to hustle, grind, plan, and build a life where we don’t need anyone.
And then Jesus teaches us to pray:
“Father, I need You today.”
This echoes back to the wilderness, when God gave Israel manna—just enough for each day. If they tried to hoard it, it went bad. Why? Because God was teaching them to trust. And this prayer is all about us trusting God with even the smallest piece of our day, something like a cracker!
Try this: Each morning, ask God:
“What do I need today?”
“Where am I weak?”
“What am I trying to carry alone?”
And then release it to Him. Trust Him to provide enough grace for today.
“Forgive us our sins, for we also forgive everyone who sins against us.”
Prayer isn’t just about changing our circumstances—it’s about healing our relationships.
This part of the prayer reminds us that we’re still in need of grace. And that God’s grace isn’t meant to stop with us—it’s meant to flow through us.
Did you see what Jesus said there? For we also forgive everyone who sins against us. But do we? Do we really forgive everyone? That’s what this part of the prayer is saying. Forgive us just like we have forgiven others.
The more we understand how deeply we’ve been forgiven, the more we become willing to forgive others.
1 John 1:9 promises that when we confess, God is faithful to forgive. But Jesus ties that forgiveness to our willingness to let go of bitterness toward others. That’s bold. That’s hard. But it’s necessary.
Try this: Ask God to search your heart.
Where do you need to confess?
Who are you holding a grudge against? Forgiveness isn’t forgetting. But it is releasing. And it will set your soul free.
“And lead us not into temptation.”
We all have weak spots. We all have patterns we fall into. And left on our own, we’ll keep walking straight into the same mess again and again.
This final petition is a cry for guidance and strength.
“God, I know I’m prone to wander. I know where I’m vulnerable. Please lead me away from the edge of my own struggles.”
1 Corinthians 10:13 promises that God always provides a way out of temptation. But we have to want it. We have to ask for it. He doesn’t prevent the temptation from happening. He doesn’t just zap us out of those moments. He provides a way out and then we have to use it to escape. If we find ourselves trapped in a temptation, it’s likely because we refused to follow God’s escape plan.
Try this: Be honest with God about your temptations. Name them. Ask for help before you fall. Invite the Holy Spirit to lead you toward holiness, not just rescue you from regret.
The Real Reward of Prayer
After teaching this prayer, Jesus tells a story about persistence. He says to ask, seek, knock—because your Father is listening.
And then He ends with this promise:
“If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask Him?” (Luke 11:13)
Did you catch that?
The greatest gift God gives in prayer… is Himself. Not just provision. Not just protection. His presence.
So What Now?
If prayerlessness has crept into your life, don’t just promise to try harder. Let the gospel reshape your view of God.
You are more in need than you realize.
God is more ready to help than you imagine.
Prayer is not a burden. It’s a lifeline.
So start small. Start where Jesus started. Let the Lord’s Prayer be more than words—let it be the heartbeat of your spiritual life.
Want to take this deeper?
Try one of these:
Pray the Lord’s Prayer slowly every morning this week. Pause after each line. Let it guide your conversation with God.
Write the Lord’s Prayer in your words. What would it sound like if you said it from your life?
Pair up with someone to pray together once a week. Prayer doesn’t grow well in isolation. It flourishes in community.
Let’s not settle for a life where we say we believe in God but live like we don’t need Him. Let’s become people of prayer—not out of guilt, but because we’ve rediscovered how good our Father really is.
He was kind. He was compassionate. He was full of grace and truth. But “nice”? Not in the way we’ve defined it.
“Nice” smiles when it should speak. “Nice” avoids conflict instead of calling out injustice. “Nice” would rather preserve appearances than pursue holiness.
And if we’re being honest, the modern American church is drowning in nice—while it’s starving for truth.
The Gospel Isn’t Polite
Jesus flipped tables in the temple (Matthew 21:12–13), called out religious leaders as “whitewashed tombs” (Matthew 23:27), and publicly rebuked his own disciples when they got it wrong (Matthew 16:23).
If Jesus walked into most churches today, we’d probably form a committee to ask Him to tone it down.
We’ve confused the tone of love with the truth of love. And in the name of being “nice,” we’ve created churches that are conflict-avoidant, spiritual kiddy-pools, and allergic to accountability.
The Fruit of the Spirit Isn’t Niceness
Let’s look at Galatians 5:22–23:
“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.”
Notice something missing? Niceness. It’s not there. You know what else isn’t there? People-pleasing. Passive aggression. Smile-and-nod Christianity.
Kindness is there—but kindness is strength under control, not cowardice wrapped in fake smiles.
Jesus was kind to the broken, but He was brutally honest with the prideful. That’s love. That’s what the Church needs more of.
Nice Churches Don’t Make Disciples
A “nice” church says:
“Everyone’s welcome—just don’t expect us to talk about your sin.”
“We love you—just not enough to tell you the truth.”
“Let’s all get along—even if it means watering down the gospel.”
But look at Jesus’ final command before the ascension:
“Go and make disciples… teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.” – Matthew 28:19–20
Making disciples requires teaching, correcting, challenging, and stretching. None of that feels “nice”—but all of it is loving.
A nice church might be full, but it’s often spiritually empty. A bold church might lose people—but the ones who stay will be set on fire for Jesus.
How the Church Can Kill Niceness (And Grow Bold Love Instead)
1. Stop Confusing Conflict with Division Healthy churches should have tension. Jesus created it constantly. Conflict isn’t a sign of failure—it’s often the birthplace of growth. Let your leaders challenge. Let your sermons convict. Let your groups go deep.
2. Preach the Whole Gospel The gospel includes grace and repentance, love and truth, mercy and obedience. If your messages never offend anyone, you’re probably not preaching the same gospel Jesus did. Caution: you don’t have to preach the whole counsel of God at once though!
3. Practice Biblical Confrontation Matthew 18 gives a model for calling out sin—in love, privately first, and then more directly if needed. Most churches avoid this altogether, opting for passive silence or church gossip. Let’s bring back real accountability. Heck let’s bring back the real church not this postmodern game of pretend we play on Sunday.
4. Raise the Bar, Don’t Lower It Jesus never lowered the standard for anyone—but He always offered the strength to meet it. Don’t coddle Christians. Call them up. People crave challenge more than comfort—they just don’t always know it yet.
Kindness Changes Lives. Niceness Just Numbs Them.
You can be polite all the way to someone’s spiritual deathbed.
Nice Christians won’t change the world. They’ll just blend into it.
But bold, truth-filled, Spirit-led disciples? They’ll shake foundations, flip tables, love radically, and speak life with power.
Jesus wasn’t crucified for being nice. He was crucified because He told the truth in love—and the world couldn’t handle it.
Let’s stop being nice churches. Let’s be dangerous churches—the kind hell fears and heaven empowers.
Imagine walking into your favorite worship service: the lights dim, the audio swells as the band begins a movingly beautiful version of “Gratitude.” To use a phrase from my teenage daughter the vibe is on point. You raise your hands. You feel it. You really feel close to God.
But here’s the haunting question: Were you worshiping God—or just enjoying the atmosphere?
Don’t get me wrong—worship is meant to be beautiful. Emotional. Immersive. But too often in the modern church, we’ve slipped into something dangerous: worshiping the feeling of worship rather than the One we’re supposed to be worshiping.
It’s spiritual consumerism with a Jesus sticker on it.
The Golden Calf Got an Upgrade
Let’s not kid ourselves—we’re not the first to get this wrong. In Exodus 32, the Israelites got impatient and created a golden calf. But catch this: they still called it worship.
“Tomorrow shall be a feast to the Lord.” – Exodus 32:5
They used God’s name but shaped worship in a way that pleased them.
Fast forward to today—how different is that from the church that obsesses over the perfect setlist, fog machine, or the emotional arc of a worship service?
When our attention shifts from God’s presence to our preferences, we’ve made an idol—even if it’s dressed in beautifully moving harmonies.
But before you start shaking your fist at all those modern worship folks with your derogatory comments about “co-wo” (short for contemporary worship). The traditional camp can fall into the same trap when it comes to worship.
When Tradition Becomes the Golden Calf
Worship can become just as hollow when we cling to rituals and styles more than the Savior they’re supposed to point us to.
Jesus warned the Pharisees about this very thing:
“These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me. They worship me in vain; their teachings are merely human rules.” – Matthew 15:8–9
It’s possible to sing hymns with perfect four-part harmony, recite the liturgy by memory, and still completely miss the heart of God.
When our posture becomes, “We’ve always done it this way,” we need to ask: Are we preserving reverence—or just protecting our preferences?
Reverence is beautiful. But repetition without heart is just noise.
What the Bible Actually Says About Worship
Worship in Scripture has little to do with music and everything to do with surrender.
“Therefore, I urge you… to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship.” – Romans 12:1
Real worship costs something. It requires sacrifice. It often feels more like obedience in the mundane than a spiritual high on a Sunday.
David got this too:
“I will not offer burnt offerings to the Lord my God that cost me nothing.” – 2 Samuel 24:24
Modern translation? “I won’t just show up and sing if my heart isn’t submitted.”
3 Ways the Church Can Reclaim Authentic Worship
1. Teach Worship as Lifestyle, Not Just Music We must preach and model that worship isn’t a genre. It’s a posture. It’s how you treat your spouse. How you handle your money. How you speak to the barista. Sunday morning is just the overflow.
2. De-Platform the Stage It’s time to stop building celebrity culture around worship leaders. They aren’t rockstars; they’re humans. This goes for the ones in skinny jeans and the ones in robes. Their role is to point people to Jesus, not themselves. Let’s start emphasizing participation over performance.
3. Get Uncomfortable on Purpose If worship always feels good, it’s probably not deep enough. Introduce silence. Challenge people to sing unfamiliar songs with lyrics that have some depth. Create moments that stretch people beyond emotional highs into true reverence.
So… What If the Music Stopped?
Would we still worship if the lights stayed on and the guitar was out of tune? If the lyrics were scribbled on a chalkboard and there was no click track in our ears? Would we worship if there was no organ, no robe, and the doxology didn’t make the cut?
Because God hasn’t changed. He is still holy, still near, and still worthy.
The truth is: Jesus doesn’t need a vibe – or a vintage – to be adored.
Let’s not confuse the atmosphere for the Almighty.
Let’s not mistake tradition for truth.
Let’s be a church that loves the Giver more than the gift.
Let’s worship in spirit and in truth (John 4:24)—not just in sound and stagecraft or stained glass and stoles.
We’ve got our doctrinal ducks in a row. We know the creeds. We defend the truth. We believe in Jesus, we believe in the Bible, we believe in grace.
But if belief is all we’ve got—if it never grows legs, never rolls up its sleeves, never does anything—then our faith is on life support.
James doesn’t mince words, so let’s not either:
“Faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead.” (James 2:17, ESV)
Dead. Not dormant. Not developing. Dead.
That should rattle us. Because we’ve built a version of Christianity in the modern world that’s all about belief—but stripped of action. We’ve traded cross-bearing for pew-sitting. We’ve made Christianity a mental exercise, not a lifestyle. A Sunday ritual, not a daily surrender.
James takes aim at this hollow version of faith:
“You believe that God is one; you do well. Even the demons believe—and shudder!” (James 2:19, ESV)
Think about that. Demons have great theology. They believe in God. They know who Jesus is. But they’re not saved. Why? Because belief without obedience is worthless. It’s lip service without life change.
This is where we need a serious wake-up call.
If your faith never moves beyond your brain—if it doesn’t spill into how you love your neighbor, serve your church, speak truth, forgive enemies, and sacrifice for the sake of the Gospel—then it’s not faith. It’s theory.
And theory doesn’t change the world.
Let’s get something straight: We are not saved by works. Paul couldn’t be more clear:
“For by grace you have been saved through faith… not a result of works.” (Ephesians 2:8–9, ESV)
But too many people stop reading there. Verse 10 isn’t a suggestion—it’s a call to action:
“For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.” (Ephesians 2:10, ESV)
You weren’t saved to sit. You were saved to move. To serve. To do good works.
Real faith shows up. It gets uncomfortable. It forgives when it’s hard. It gives when it hurts. It risks boldly. It takes up a cross. If your faith costs you nothing, it’s probably not faith—it’s just belief with a Jesus bumper sticker.
Jesus never said, “Believe in me and live your best life.” He said, “Deny yourself. Take up your cross. Follow me.” (Luke 9:23)
There’s no world where that’s comfortable.
But we’ve made faith safe. Predictable. Tame. And that kind of faith doesn’t scare the devil one bit.
Here’s the bottom line: Faith that doesn’t do anything is faith that isn’t anything. James doesn’t care about your belief unless it leads to bold, visible, tangible action.
So don’t let belief kill your faith. Don’t hide behind good theology while your heart stays untouched. Don’t nod through sermons while your hands stay clean. Don’t settle for head knowledge when Jesus is calling you to whole-life surrender.
We don’t need more people who believe the right things—we need people whose belief burns so hot it sets their lives on fire.
In a world obsessed with bite-sized content, instant gratification, and comfortable ideologies, the Church faces a crucial question: Have we traded the hard, soul-refining truth of God’s Word for something more palatable—something easier to swallow but ultimately less powerful?
It seems more and more that Christianity has been reduced, in many circles, to a moral code and a weekly gathering. Be kind. Be generous. Don’t judge. Go to church. These are all good things—but they’re not the gospel. Somewhere along the line, we’ve started watering down the wild, world-turning truth of Jesus to fit into modern attention spans and emotional comfort zones. We’ve gone from preaching repentance and transformation to offering motivational soundbites and vague spiritual encouragements.
We’ve diluted the Law to avoid offending anyone. We’ve softened the Gospel to make it more inclusive. But in doing so, have we actually robbed it of its power?
Let’s be honest: following Jesus was never meant to be easy or safe. It was never meant to be a set of manageable morals or feel-good messages. It was meant to be a complete and total surrender—a radical reordering of our lives around the way, the truth, and the life of Jesus. Look Jesus didn’t say, “Follow me when it’s convenient.” He said, “Take up your cross and follow me.” That’s not palatable—it’s costly. A cross means a willingness to die. Does that describe the Christianity you’re pursuing?
And yet, when the church begins to focus more on making truth easy to accept than empowering people to truly understand it, something gets lost. We stop discipling and start entertaining. We stop equipping and start appeasing. We give people inspirational fluff instead of deeply rooted theological formation. And the result? Shallow faith, spiritual confusion, and churches full (and that’s being generous) of people who are vaguely moral but hardly missional.
The truth is not always simple. Actually it rarely is simple! It is often messy, challenging, and deeply uncomfortable. But it is also liberating. Jesus said, “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (John 8:32). Not the abridged truth. Not the adjusted truth. The full, fierce, life-changing truth.
Truth that exposes our sin, not to shame us, but to heal us. Truth that confronts our idols and invites us into transformation. Truth that demands we not just believe in Jesus but become like Him.
If a doctor does tests to determine the cause of that lump you found but tries to soften the blow a bit by not telling you it really is cancer. Is that helping you? Does it help when we don’t call a sin a sin? No it lets us go on living as if nothing is wrong when it actually is!
So why have we traded the truth for something easier?
Maybe we fear that people will walk away if the message is too strong. Maybe we’re afraid of being labeled judgmental or outdated. Maybe we’ve bought the lie that we need to compete with culture instead of simply being the light in the midst of it.
But the early church didn’t grow because it blended in—it grew because it stood out. They lived differently. They loved boldly. They held firm to the teachings of Jesus, even when it cost them their comfort, their reputation, or even their lives. That’s what real discipleship looks like.
It’s time we reclaim that kind of faith. One that embraces truth in all its grit and glory. One that teaches people how to think deeply about God’s Word, not just what to think. One that moves beyond shallow slogans and into the depths of Scripture, Spirit, and sanctification.
The world doesn’t need another watered-down version of Christianity. It needs followers of Jesus who are so transformed by truth that their lives become a living testimony. It needs a church that doesn’t shy away from the hard stuff but leans into it—because the hard stuff is often where the healing begins. The hard stuff is where people live every single day.
Let’s stop simplifying truth to make it more palatable. Let’s start raising up disciples who can chew on meat, not just sip on milk. Let’s teach people that the gospel isn’t just about behavior modification—it’s about heart transformation.
Because in the end, it’s not about comfort. It’s about Christ.
There’s something electric about firsts. The first word of a child. The first speech of a new government official. The first sermon of a preacher. In Luke 4:16–30, we get the unforgettable moment when Jesus delivers what many believe is His first recorded sermon—and it’s a mic drop moment that left His hometown stunned, offended, and ultimately enraged.
We start with Jesus returning to Nazareth, His hometown, where He had grown up and was known as “Joseph’s son.” On the Sabbath, He steps into the synagogue, as was His custom, and is handed the scroll of Isaiah. He opens it and finds a passage we now recognize as Isaiah 61—a prophetic vision of God’s justice, mercy, and liberation.
“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” (Luke 4:18–19)
Then, with the eyes of everyone fixed on Him, Jesus calmly declares:
“Today this Scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.” (Luke 4:21)
Mic. Drop.
He’s not saying, “This passage points to a future event.” He’s not saying, “Someday God will do this.” He’s saying, “It’s happening. Right now. In me.”
This is Jesus’ inaugural sermon, and He doesn’t ease into it. He claims to be the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy. He says He is the one bringing good news to the poor, freedom to the oppressed, and sight to the blind. This is not the soft launch of a nice hometown boy turned spiritual leader. This is a bold declaration that the long-awaited kingdom of God is bursting onto the scene—through Him.
At first, the people are amazed. But then things quickly shift.
Jesus anticipates their skepticism: “You’ll say, ‘Do here what you did in Capernaum.’” He calls out their expectation that He should do miracles to prove Himself. Then, He reminds them that prophets aren’t accepted in their hometowns, and that God’s blessings in the Old Testament often came to outsiders—like the widow in Zarephath and Naaman the Syrian.
Now the room turns. The people who were amazed are now furious. Why? Because Jesus isn’t just announcing good news—He’s redefining who the good news is for. He’s telling His hometown crowd that God’s grace is bigger than their boundaries. It’s for the outsiders too. The foreigners. The poor. The broken. The ones they didn’t expect—and maybe didn’t want—included.
That’s the power of this sermon. Jesus sets the tone for His ministry right here: radical grace, bold truth, and a boundary-breaking love that refuses to be boxed in.
It was offensive then, and honestly, for many still stings today. Jesus doesn’t play to our comfort zones. He doesn’t stay safe or small. He preaches a kingdom that flips the script and rattles the status quo.
Luke 4 reminds us that the gospel was never meant to be tame. It was—and is—a mic drop moment that demands a response.
There’s a line that haunts me and should do the same for the modern church: “We’re more well known for what we’re against than what we’re for.”
The reason it’s so haunting is because it’s true! Somewhere along the line, curiosity died. We stopped asking how God might be moving in the world and settled for condemning anything that didn’t fit neatly into our religious categories.
We traded wonder for war. And the gospel doesn’t need more gatekeepers—it needs witnesses.
It’s time for a reset.
Curiosity Isn’t Compromise
Let’s get this straight: being curious is not the same as being soft on truth. We don’t elevate curiosity to avoid conviction—we elevate it to avoid arrogance.
The problem isn’t that we care about truth. The problem is that we’ve started thinking we are the creators of truth.
Truth belongs to God. We are stewards, not bouncers. We hold the truth with courage, but we share it with compassion.
That means instead of blasting everything we don’t like in culture, we start asking better questions:
Where’s the image of God breaking through here?
What ache for redemption is underneath this trend?
How can we point people to Jesus from this exact place?
That’s exactly what Paul did in Acts 17. Standing in the middle of a city drowning in idols, he didn’t light it up with condemnation. He opened his mouth with curiosity.
“Men of Athens, I perceive that in every way you are very religious.” (Acts 17:22, ESV)
That’s not flattery. It’s insight. Paul noticed their hunger. Instead of condemning them for having it all wrong, for worshiping other gods, for condemning them for not wearing the right clothes or using page 5 or 15 in their hymnals – he found common ground. He leaned in with curiosity. He found their altar “To the unknown god” and said, Let me tell you who He is.
“What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you.” (Acts 17:23, ESV)
That’s bold. That’s missional. That’s curious without being spineless. He didn’t snub his nose at them nor did he crumble under the pressure to be relevant. He leaned in with gospel curiosity and God opened a door for His Word to shine through.
We Need a Curious Church Again
A curious church is a dangerous church—in the best waypossible.
Because curiosity opens doors that criticism slams shut. Curiosity engages. Criticism alienates. Curiosity listens. Criticism lectures. Curiosity builds bridges. Criticism burns them down.
Jesus never backed down from truth, but He constantly asked questions that unlocked people’s hearts.
“What do you want me to do for you?” (Mark 10:51, ESV) “Who do you say that I am?” (Matthew 16:15, ESV) “Why do you call me ‘Lord, Lord,’ and not do what I tell you?” (Luke 6:46, ESV)
Jesus wasn’t afraid of hard questions. So why are we?
If we want to reach people, we need to stop lobbing grenades at culture and start sitting at tables. Remember Zaccheus anyone? If we want to represent Jesus well, we need to stop treating curiosity like a threat and start seeing it as a tool of the Spirit.
Let’s Be Known for What We’re For
Here’s the challenge: what if we became known again—not for what we boycott—but for what we build?
We’re for truth. We’re for grace. We’re for families, students, single parents, skeptics, and strugglers. We’re for justice and mercy and life in Jesus. We’re for the kingdom coming on earth as it is in heaven.
We don’t need to run from culture or rage against it. We can walk into it—eyes open, Bibles in hand, hearts on fire.
The church doesn’t need to be louder. It needs to be deeper. More curious. More Spirit-led. More like Jesus.
Let’s stop critiquing from the sidelines and start engaging from the streets. Let’s be like Paul in Athens—deeply rooted, wildly curious, and bold enough to speak truth whereverand whenever we find an altar to the unknown.
Because maybe… just maybe… God’s already there, waiting for someone to connect the dots.
