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I think it’s safe to say. The modern American church is addicted to safety.

We’ve built sanctuaries that feel more like coffee shops than spiritual battlegrounds. We’ve traded sermons that pierce the soul for talks that soothe the ego. We’ve made small groups “low commitment,” worship “non-offensive,” and mission trips “Instagrammable.” Somewhere along the way, we stopped following Jesus—and started selling a sanitized version of Him that fits nicely into a 70-minute service with great parking.

But here’s the problem: Jesus was never safe.

He touched lepers. He flipped tables. He confronted religious leaders to their faces. He loved the wrong people, said the wrong things, and died the most scandalous death imaginable. And then He had the nerve to look us in the eyes and say:

“If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.” (Luke 9:23, ESV)

The cross is not a metaphor for a mild inconvenience. It’s a symbol of execution. So why are we so desperate to make Christianity comfortable?

Safety Has Become Our Idol

We don’t say it out loud, but it’s everywhere: safety first. Don’t offend. Don’t challenge. Don’t talk about sin, sacrifice, repentance, or surrender. Keep it light. Keep it nice. Keep it moving.

But here’s the truth: a gospel that never confronts won’t ever transform.

We’re raising generations of Christians who think following Jesus means showing up to church when it’s convenient, tossing $20 in the plate, and maybe posting a Bible verse on Instagram. Meanwhile, people are starving for something real, something dangerous, something that calls them out of mediocrity and into mission.

We have all the right branding. We have polished worship sets and clever sermon series. But Jesus didn’t die to make us marketable. He died to make us holy.

Discipleship Is Dangerous

The early church was anything but safe. Read Acts. Those Christians were bold, reckless, filled with the Holy Spirit, and completely unconcerned with cultural approval. They faced prison, persecution, and death—and they rejoiced that they were counted worthy to suffer for Jesus.

Now we can’t even handle a negative comment on social media. Now we get all bent when someone challenges us. Now if someone disagrees with us they get canceled and forgotten.

We’re not called to blend in. We’re called to stand out. We’re not called to be liked. We’re called to be faithful. And sometimes, being faithful means taking real risks—sacrificing time, money, comfort, and popularity to love radically, serve sacrificially, and speak boldly.

Jesus didn’t play it safe. So why do we?

It’s Time to Be Dangerous Again

We need churches that stop measuring success by attendance and start measuring it by obedience. We need pastors who preach truth even when it stings. We need communities where it’s okay to get uncomfortable—where confession, accountability, and repentance are normal. We need Christians who are more concerned with holiness than hashtags.

“So, because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth.” (Revelation 3:16, ESV)

Jesus didn’t come to build lukewarm institutions. He came to light a fire. And maybe it’s time we let Him burn down our addiction to comfort so He can rebuild us into something powerful.

Not safe. Not soft.

But holy dangerous.

Out There – Part Two

Let’s be honest, when we hear someone say, “You’re called to make a difference,” we often think of big, flashy things: feeding the hungry, starting nonprofits, flying overseas, preaching in packed stadiums.

But you know where it really starts?

Right outside your front door.

Literally.

The people who live 30 feet from your kitchen. The ones you wave at when you’re hauling the trash cans to the curb. The ones whose names you sort of know, but mostly refer to by vague identifiers like “the guy with the loud truck” or “the lady with the tiny dog.”

We walk past people every day who are lonely, hurting, overwhelmed, and we don’t even know it. Not because we don’t care. But because we’re busy, distracted, or honestly just unsure where to start.

Here’s where Jesus messes with our excuses.

When asked what the most important commandment was, He said:

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart… and love your neighbor as yourself.” (Luke 10:27)

Seems straightforward. Until someone asks the same question we’re all still asking: “But who counts as my neighbor?”

Jesus didn’t give a clear street address. Instead, He told a story, one where the “neighbor” was the person right in front of you. The one most people overlook. The one you might normally avoid.

Which means: Your neighbor is whoever’s near.

Not just the people you like. Not just the ones who look like you, think like you, vote like you, or believe like you. Whoever’s close is who God’s called you to love.

And if we’re being really honest… loving strangers feels awkward. Loving neighbors can feel even harder. There’s history. There’s tension. There’s fences, both literal and emotional.

But what if mission isn’t always about crossing oceans? What if it’s about crossing the street?

What if your greatest act of obedience this week is a conversation in your driveway?

That doesn’t sound like much. But it matters. A lot.

Because presence is powerful.
Because consistent kindness breaks down walls.
Because behind every closed garage door is a human being who wonders if anyone actually sees them.

So here’s your challenge this week:

• Learn one name you don’t know.
• Linger just one minute longer in the driveway, on the sidewalk, or at the mailbox.
• Ask one real question and actually care about the answer.

This is how neighborhoods become communities. This is how strangers become friends. And yes — this is how Jesus works through ordinary people to do extraordinary things.

No Bible degree required. No perfect personality needed. Just availability and a little intentionality.

You don’t have to fix your neighbors. Just love them.

You don’t have to force conversations about faith. Just live it, and when the time is right — share it.

You don’t have to be weird. Just be real.

Next up: Part Three – “Bringing Meaning to Monday.”

Because if mission isn’t just for missionaries… maybe Monday morning matters more than you think.