I’m back.

My last post here was on February 13th; a few days later, we entered the Lenten season, which began on Ash Wednesday and officially ended on Easter Sunday.

Normally, I would’ve kept everything going. That’s how I’m wired.

I like consistency.

I like structure.

I like staying on schedule.

But information alone won’t form us. In fact, when we’re constantly inundated with it, it can actually work against the kind of formation we’re aiming for.

So, this year, I took a different approach; I wanted to give myself and our church the margin to stay focused on the Lenten season, so I paused my Substack writing.

After going into the season feeling a little off, I feel realigned coming out.

This weekend in our first post-Lent series, we’re re-entering Church in the Wild, our deep dive into the Book of Acts. After spending the past several weeks exploring the Gospel story, we return to Acts, the story of how ordinary people filled with extraordinary power bore witness to Jesus in hostile territories around the world.

In preparation, I created a Bible Reading Plan for the month to serve as a refresher on chapters 1-3 we covered last year. If you missed Week 1 of the plan, you can catch up on the daily readings on YouTube and be on the lookout for Week 2, which drops Sunday evening.

Inner Circle Insider

Currently Reading: Preaching in a New Key: Crafting Expository Sermons in Post-Christian Communities

This book was highly recommended by several people I trust and has been on my list for some time, so I’m excited to finally get around to it. It feels right on time, given the cultural moment we find ourselves situated in.

He writes:

“There is no such thing as culturally neutral preaching. We need to calibrate expository preaching to the context in which we preach. So much has changed, and the preaching conversation has not kept up. It seems to me that most of the preaching in the West is calibrated to Western culture at the turn of the millennium, if not earlier.”

Translation: Culture has changed, but our approach to preaching has not. We are preaching to a world that no longer exists.

And even if you’re not a preacher, this still affects you.

The way Scripture is taught shapes what you believe, which ultimately shapes how you behave, and it’s hard to live right if you believe wrong.

For those looking for deeper engagement, I’ll be sharing reflections like this on my paid channel called The Inner Circle. It’s a space for more in-depth thoughts and ideas that don’t always fit into the other writing channels.

You can join The Inner Circle for $5/month or $50/year.

News broke recently that U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) has signed a long-term lease for office space in downtown Columbia, South Carolina.

A decision that has reportedly caught city officials off guard, sparking debate about its procedural and political implications.

While I am not interested in the procedural or political calculus of such decisions, I am interested in the theological work of helping people of faith interpret moments like this.

Because for Christians, our conclusions about border policy, detention protocols, or federal authority are never merely pragmatic. They are downstream from our theological convictions about those whom Scripture calls “strangers.”

First, let’s define it.

A stranger is a socially vulnerable outsider, often ethnically, culturally, or politically displaced.

That definition matters because America has long been shaped by two competing narratives of national identity, each carrying its own implicit theology and moral vision of belonging.

One tells a story of refuge, opportunity, and possibility.

The other tells a story of protection, preservation, and purity.

At its best, that first story is the true American Dream.

At its worst, that second story is American exceptionalism, a distorted theology of chosenness popularized within the white evangelical movement, based on the belief that prosperity proves moral superiority and divine preference.

And when that distortion takes root, it turns strangers into suspects.

But such a posture is at odds with the biblical witness, which consistently presents God as attentive to and often identified with the socially vulnerable outsider.

In the Torah, Yahweh commands:

“The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt. I am the Lord your God.”

Leviticus 19:34 NIV

Here we see God connecting mercy to memory by reminding them that they were once the vulnerable ones and that their faithfulness to Him would be measured not merely by the vows they made, but by how they treated the vulnerable among them.

Over and over again, the Old Testament pairs three groups together: the widow, the orphan, and the foreigner, and Yahweh makes clear that injustice toward them is not merely a social issue; it’s a spiritual one.

When we turn to Jesus in the New Testament, the pattern intensifies.

When asked to define “neighbor” in Luke 10, a question that one could argue was posed in a prejudiced manner, Jesus responds not with a definition, but with a parable in which a Samaritan, an ethnically despised outsider, becomes the moral exemplar.

And then Jesus goes even further.

In Matthew 25, He self-identifies not with the powerful, but with the hungry, the prisoner, and the stranger:

The Greek term used here, xenos, shares its linguistic root with the word xenophobia, literally meaning “fear of the foreigner.”

The kingdom of God is, among other things, the slow dismantling of xenophobia.

Scripture, therefore, resists any attempt to define “neighbor” narrowly or to collapse moral responsibility into national proximity.

Now, before I go, let me address the political elephant in the room.

Some might read this and assume I am advocating for “open borders.”

I am not.

As Christians, we can affirm the need for policy, process, and lawful systems, but we cannot allow our moral imagination to be discipled by national fear.

As Rev. Dr. Elizabeth Arnold writes:

“Seeing the stranger as an enemy and working toward keeping them away is incompatible with the teachings of the New Testament. For those who claim the Bible’s teachings to be authoritative, the New Testament’s unified command to treat the stranger hospitably should be the lens used in considering matters around immigration.”

Policy may define jurisdiction, but it must not define compassion.

The law may regulate entry, but it must not regulate mercy.

Ancient Echoes is a repost of a piece I wrote a year ago. I’m sharing it again because the moment has caught up with the message.

Some words don’t expire; they echo.

Happy Reading!

Some things never change.

I know that sounds provocative coming from a guy in the business of change, as both a pastor and coach, but hear me out.

I’m not saying they can’t change. I’m saying they don’t.

Not at the deepest level.

At the core of history, despite the shifts in culture and technology, the fundamental realities of human existence remain the same.

To quote the wise man, “There’s nothing new under the sun.”

Think about it.

If you sat down with anyone from ancient history, what would they say about the world we live in now? Sure, they might not recognize our technology, but they’d recognize our struggles: the pursuit of power, the loss of moral clarity, and the longing for something transcendent.

This is why history repeats itself. Not because time is a loop but because humans remain stubbornly predictable. Look across history, and you’ll find three cycles that show up again and again:

1. Empire & Decay

2. Moral Drift

3. Technological Advancement & Amnesia

Let’s take a closer look.

1. Empire & Decay

History is full of empires that seemed invincible until they weren’t.

Egypt ruled for centuries, only to be overtaken by the Assyrians.

Assyria fell to Babylon.

Babylon fell to Persia.

Persia fell to Greece.

Greece fell to Rome.

[insert Jesus’ lifetime]

The pattern is always the same. Civilizations expand, accumulate wealth, reach their golden age, and then collapse from the inside.

Rome is a classic example.

The most powerful empire the world had ever seen. At its peak, it controlled much of the known world. It had advanced infrastructure, a powerful military, and a legal system that shaped the West. But it reeked of political, economic, and moral corruption by the time it fell.

And the people didn’t see it coming.

The emperors lived in luxury while the people were pacified with panem et circenses, bread and circuses.

Keep them fed. Keep them distracted.

Sound familiar?

No, America isn’t Rome. But it’s naive to think we aren’t following a similar trajectory.

We are the most powerful nation in the world, yet deeply divided.

We have 24/7 entertainment, yet depression and loneliness are skyrocketing.

The great lie of every empire is that it will last forever.

The truth of history is that none of them do.

2. Moral Drift

In the Old Testament, a cycle that beautifully summarizes the human condition plays out repeatedly.

It goes like this:

Faithfulness: The people follow God.

Comfort: They get comfortable.

Drift: They start making compromises.

Disaster: Everything falls apart.

Repentance & Restoration: They cry out to God, and He restores them.

Repeat

This isn’t just an Israelite problem.

In the early days of Rome, it valued discipline, self-sacrifice, and civic virtue. But as they grew wealthy, they grew corrupt, abandoning the things that had once made them strong, and within a few centuries, the empire was gone.

Plato saw this pattern coming long before Rome fell. He warned:

"The excess of liberty, whether in states or individuals, seems to only pass into the excess of slavery.”

To quote the prophetic words of Christopher Wallace, “mo money, mo problems.”

Moral drift doesn’t happen overnight. It’s slow. Subtle.

America is teetering.

We live in a time when “everyone is doing as they see fit.”

Truth is no longer fixed. Morality is no longer shared.

We see it in racism that refuses to die, sexism that keeps reinventing itself, and injustice that hides behind progress.

We’ve seen empires collapse under the weight of their own contradictions.

Rome declared peace while crushing dissent.

America declares equality while injustice lingers in its systems.

When a society is in moral drift, it doesn’t just decline. It unravels.

Will we look up one day and find our empire gone?

3. Technological Advancement & Amnesia

One of the most overlooked dangers of progress is that the more advanced we become, the easier it is to forget what matters.

Take the Tower of Babel. Humanity came together to build something unprecedented, a tower to the heavens. It was technological progress and architectural genius.

But the deeper issue?

They weren’t building to glorify God.

They were building to glorify themselves.

And in their pursuit of greatness, they lost their way.

Take the Industrial Revolution, for example. It led to massive economic growth, life-saving medical advancements, and global connectivity. But it also dehumanized workers, disrupted family rhythms, and turned people into machines in the name of productivity.

Now, we’re in the Digital Revolution. We have:

More information than any generation before us, but less wisdom.

More access to Scripture than the early church could have dreamed of, but less time reading it.

More ways to connect than ever, but are less connected.

Aristotle warned about this centuries ago:

“Educating the mind without educating the heart is no education at all.”

We have access to endless knowledge. But without formation as an anchor for our souls, we’re just building another Tower of Babel.

Don’t mishear me; technology isn’t evil.

But it’s dangerous when it becomes an end instead of a means.

If history teaches us anything, it’s that these cycles will continue.

Unless we choose another way.

That’s the invitation of Jesus, not to escape history but to learn from it. Not to follow the cycles but to break them.

Here are three things we can do:

Live as if the Kingdom of God is more real than any empire.

“But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well” -Jesus.

Anchor ourselves in truth when the world is drifting

“To the Jews who had believed him, Jesus said, ‘If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.’” -Jesus.

Build our lives on something stronger than technology, culture, or progress.

“Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock.” -Jesus.

The question isn’t whether history will repeat itself.

The question is, will we wake up before it does?

Every February, our church engages in a formation-focused series around either race or relationships.

In 2026, our focus turns to race, which is especially significant given our theme for the year: Radical Warfare.

That pairing is not accidental.

If Radical Warfare, as we define it, is the tension between the kingdom of God and the kingdoms of this age, then few areas expose that tension more clearly than race and faith.

Consider this month’s article a primer for the weeks ahead as we learn how to live together in A Different World.

Stories are among the most powerful tools of formation. They don’t just shape what we believe, they shape who we become.

In our pursuit of meaning, we are constantly constructing what neurologists call mental maps, frameworks that help us make sense of reality, locate ourselves within it, and decide how to live.

Two such stories are especially relevant for this series.

There is the cultural story, the one we inherit through history, media, family narratives, and lived experience. This story tells us who we are, where we belong, and what we should expect from the world and from one another.

And then there is the Christian story, the story Scripture tells about a God who creates humanity in His image, who enters history in Jesus, who confronts sin and injustice, and who is forming a new kind of people marked by love for God and love for neighbor.

The challenge, though, is that when confronted with these two stories, we often feel forced to choose one and ignore the other.

But discipleship doesn’t work that way, especially for black folks.

Ignoring our cultural story often leads to a faith that feels detached, naïve, or even complicit.

Ignoring our Christian story allows culture to define identity, dignity, and justice on its own terms.

A Different World holds the conviction that formation requires holding space for both.

Each week during the series, we will unpack one of the three pillars that define race and faith: identity, dignity, and justice.

Here’s a week-by-week preview.

Week One (Sunday, February 1st) | Identity

We begin by examining how identity is shaped when power shifts and fear enters the story. Scripture reminds us that the stories we tell about who we are and who others are often emerge long before we are aware of them. This week invites us to consider how identity can be assigned, distorted, or resisted, and what it means to locate our truest identity within God’s larger story.

Week Two (Sunday, February 8th) | Dignity

Dignity is tested when obedience to God collides with systems that devalue human life. This week centers on the quiet courage it takes to preserve life under pressure and highlights how faithfulness often takes shape in ordinary, unseen acts. We are invited to reflect on how honoring the image of God sometimes requires costly resistance.

Week Three (Sunday, February 15th) | Justice

Justice emerges when God refuses to ignore suffering and chooses to act on behalf of those who have been harmed. This final week turns our attention to God’s response to oppression and the responsibility that follows divine compassion. We will consider what it means to be formed by a God who not only hears the cry of the afflicted but sends His people to participate in His work of deliverance.

A Different World officially kicks off on Sunday, February 1st.

Due to the threat of wintry weather, you can join us online this weekend for Pt. 1

CLICK HERE TO SET YOUR REMINDER

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. is remembered as a giant in history and rightfully so.

His words were etched into our moral imagination, and his courage helped shape the course of justice in America and around the world.

And yet, every year, especially on this day, the same question resurfaces:

What do we do with his humanity, and does it somehow discredit his legacy?

Before we dive into that, let’s keep it a buck about how we got here.

It would be naïve to treat this renewed fixation on King’s humanity as accidental or merely academic.

This is a concerted effort, particularly by those in power, to demonize King to diminish his legacy.

When a prophetic voice proves inconvenient, the strategy is rarely to engage the message on its own terms. Instead, the messenger is reframed, their complexity weaponized, and their humanity turned into scandal.

But, don’t be fooled, the aim is not historical clarity but moral erosion.

The idea is that if the man can be reduced to his vices, we can ignore his vision.

Unfortunately, this is not new. Power has always sought to domesticate prophets first by silencing them, and later by reshaping how they are remembered.

However, King remains a threat even in death because his message lives on.

His insistence on nonviolent resistance, economic justice, and the inherent dignity of every human being continues to interrogate our modern systems, still built on inequality and fear.

That is why the battle over his legacy matters.

A softened King, a compromised King, is far easier to celebrate with platitudes and holiday quotes than a King who still demands repentance, restructuring, and repair.

Back to my initial question:

What do we do with his humanity, and does it somehow discredit his legacy?

I don’t think so.

But, hear me out.

There is a deep temptation, especially in a cynical age, to believe that moral authority requires moral perfection.

However, Scripture tells a different story.

“We have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.” — 2 Corinthians 4:7 (NIV)

The Christian story has never been built on spotless heroes.

Abraham lied.

Moses murdered.

David abused power.

Peter denied.

Paul persecuted.

And still, God advanced redemption through their lives.

Not because their flaws were insignificant but because God’s purposes were more important.

That remains true of King.

What those in power fail to realize is that their plan to highlight King’s humanity doesn’t dishonor him. It places him where he always stood: not above history, but within it. Not as a messiah, but as a messenger. Not as perfection incarnate, but as a man who bore the weight of his moment with courage, conviction, and cost.

The civil rights movement did not require a flawless leader; it required a faithful one.

To honor King is not to canonize him.

By canonize, I mean we do not need to pretend he was more than human.

The power has never been in the vessel.

The power has always been in the treasure it carries.

Before I go, in the spirit of calling a thing a thing: to focus exclusively on King’s humanity without honor isn’t discernment; it’s deflection.

But perhaps that is the hope behind the criticism:

To keep us so busy debating the man that we never have to deal with the message.

A few days ago, a church skit by Druski went viral.

The scene was familiar to many who have spent time in or around certain megachurch cultures: a preacher suspended from the ceiling, dramatic entrances, exaggerated prophecies, emotional offerings, and an atmosphere thick with spectacle.

The video sparked immediate debate.

Some went so far as to accuse Druski of mocking God.

But I want to suggest a way that may run against the grain (pun intended).

What if this wasn’t a mess, but a mirror?

Indulge me.

Art has always played a prophetic role in society.

Not prophecy in the predictive sense, but prophecy in the revealing sense.

Artists have a way of holding up a mirror to a culture and forcing it to see itself.

Satire, especially, does not invent reality; it amplifies it. It takes what already exists and turns the volume up so loud we can no longer ignore it.

And that’s precisely why it makes us uncomfortable.

We can grow remarkably desensitized to our own excesses. Over time, what once felt strange becomes normal. What once felt heavy becomes entertaining. What once felt sacred slowly becomes familiar and eventually theatrical.

When an artist takes those same elements and puts them on display outside the controlled environment of, say, Sunday morning, we suddenly see them for what they are or at least, what they can become.

But in true human fashion, when we don’t like our reflection, our instinct is often to blame the mirror.

We accuse it of distortion, question its motives, and argue about its tone.

Now, that doesn’t mean everything in the skit was fair. Satire is, by nature, exaggerated. It flattens nuance. It collapses the good and the bad into a single caricature. But caricatures only work when there’s enough truth in them to be recognizable.

No one laughed because it was foreign. They laughed because it was familiar.

And that familiarity should give the church pause.

For years, many churches, especially large, platform-driven ones, have blurred the line between worship and performance. We’ve borrowed heavily from entertainment culture, sometimes in the name of relevance, sometimes in the name of growth, and sometimes simply because it works.

But at some point, we have to ask an uncomfortable question:

What are we training people to expect when they come to meet God?

The danger is not that God can’t move through spectacle. He can. The danger is that spectacle begins to replace substance, and no one notices because it still “works.”

Attendance grows.

Clips go viral.

Giving increases.

Meanwhile, formation remains shallow, discernment weak, and faith increasingly dependent on stimulation.

That’s when parody stops being cruel and starts being clarifying.

Druski didn’t invent flying pastors, over-the-top prophetic moments, or emotionally manipulative offering appeals. He simply held them up, stripping them of their spiritual language and placing them in the realm of the absurd. And when spiritual practices look absurd outside of their usual setting, it may be worth asking whether they were ever as sacred as we assumed.

And while we’re here, offering a critique of religious practices isn’t new.

Jesus regularly exposed religious excess not by mocking God, but by confronting the systems that claimed to represent Him. He warned against public displays designed to impress rather than transform. His sharpest words were not for outsiders, but for insiders who had confused appearance with faithfulness.

To be clear, I am not comparing Druski to Jesus or parody to prophecy; I am simply observing that God has a long history of using unexpected moments to reveal uncomfortable truths to His people.

That’s why I’m less concerned with whether this skit “offended” the church, and more concerned with why it resonated so widely.

If the reflection makes us uncomfortable, the solution isn’t to be outraged. It’s repentance, or at least reflection.

Because mirrors, when used well, are gifts.

They show us where we’ve drifted.

They reveal what we’ve normalized.

They invite us to change.

So maybe the question isn’t whether this moment was a mess or a mockery.

Maybe the better question is whether we’re willing to look at it long enough to learn something.

Each year, our church rallies around a theme. It helps us to align our preaching, programming, and practices around a central idea that coincides with our overall mission.

Our theme for 2026 is Radical Warfare.

Radical Warfare is the language we use to describe the tension between the kingdom of God and the kingdoms of this age.

The first series in the year of Radical Warfare, Call of Duty, is a three-week vision series designed to recruit, ready, and rally the people of Kingdom South around the mission God has given us to combat this tension: To work the words of Jesus together in Columbia.

Consider this month’s article a primer for the weeks ahead as we respond to this Call of Duty.

Every collective has values, spoken or unspoken.

But in moments of conflict, values stop being theoretical.

In war, what a country is willing or unwilling to do tells you exactly what it values. Strategies change. Tactics adapt. But values remain the compass. They determine how power is used, where sacrifice is made, and what is ultimately protected.

The same is true of a church.

At Kingdom South, our values are not decorative. They are not aspirational slogans or branding language. They are formative commitments. They are meant to live in us, not merely hang around us.

Back in November, I trained our leadership team around a single, clarifying mission:

To ensure we become a church that values our values.

When my tenure as Pastor comes to an end, hopefully two decades from now, that is all that will matter to me.

The most important question won’t be, “Did we win?”

It will be, “Did we win without violating our values?”

If we have to violate our values to win, I don’t want that prize.

By now, especially if you don’t go to Kingdom South, you’re probably wondering what our values are. 🤔

I’m glad you asked.

1. Spiritual Formation—We Become Like Jesus

Jesus is more than our Savior; He’s our example. We don’t just want the benefits of His sacrifice; we seek His rule over our lives. So we surrender to the slow, refining work of sanctification, trusting it as God’s will for us to become more like Jesus.

2. Authentic Community—We Live As Family

Following Jesus isn’t a solo journey but one taken in step with others. We resist hyperindividualism and choose community, building relationships marked by honesty and accountability. Church isn’t just a place we go to; it’s the people we grow with.

3. Missional Living—We Serve Others

We're working out what it means to fulfill the Great Commission while living the Great Commandment in a post-Christian society. As a people sent by Jesus, we believe our greatest gift to others isn't our church; it’s our lives lived in service, as Jesus did.

What do our values have to do with Radical Warfare? 🤔

I’m glad you asked.

Each week during the Call of Duty series, we will frame one of our core values as a form of resistance to prevailing cultural ideologies.

Here’s a week-by-week preview.

Week One (Sunday January 11th) | Spiritual Formation vs Cultural Formation

Every day, our desires, assumptions, and reflexes are being shaped (Cultural Formation), often without our awareness or consent. Spiritual Formation is our counterstrike. It is the intentional, lifelong practice of becoming like Jesus rather than being shaped by the urgency, distraction, and consumption of our age.

Week Two (Sunday January 18th) | Authentic Community vs Privatized Faith

Privatized Faith reduces discipleship to a personal experience, detached from shared life and mutual responsibility. Authentic Community is our counterstrike. It resists the myth of self-sufficiency. From the beginning, the way of Jesus has been communal, formed in shared life, mutual responsibility, and honest relationships.

Week Three (January 25th) | Missional Living vs Cultural Retreat

Cultural Retreat is the instinct to withdraw from the world in fear to protect purity, comfort, or identity by pulling back from engagement. Missional Living is our counterstrike. To follow Jesus is not a call to retreat, but a call toward presence, embodying the kingdom of God in our neighborhoods, our city, and our everyday lives.

Call of Duty officially kicks off at Kingdom South on Sunday, January 11th.

Consider this your invitation to join us.

Oh, one more thing.

Alongside each series this year, I’ve created a Bible Reading Plan that aligns with its theme. While our Call of Duty series is just beginning, the Bible Reading Plan began on January 1. However, it’s not too late to join us.

CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD

I’ve loved reading for as long as I can remember.

As a kid, I spent countless hours chasing Harry Potter through the halls of Hogwarts.

Those stories did more than entertain me; they awakened my imagination and shaped how I see the world around me.

Looking back, I’m convinced that God was already at work in those early pages. He was forming something in me long before I had language for it. My love for reading would one day become a vocation in a world shaped by information, ideas, and influence.

Today, I read more than ever. It’s a core discipline of mine as a pastor and public theologian. It sharpens my thinking, stretches my convictions, and helps me engage culture with clarity and depth.

With that in mind, here are my top five books of the year in no special order.

1. 107 Days by Kamala Harris

If you’ve been following me this year, this pick probably won’t come as a surprise.

I’ll say this upfront: I have a lot of respect for what she pulled off with this book. Few political memoirs have carried this level of expectation and delivered in a meaningful way.

This one did.

While I don’t believe she should run again, reading this book gave me a deeper appreciation for her story and the complexity of the moment she stepped into. It challenged some of my assumptions and gave me a fuller picture of the person behind the headlines.

If you’re looking for political tea, this one is hot.

I shared a more in-depth reflection when I first read it back in the fall. You can find that review below. ⬇️

2. How Fascism Works by Jason Stanley

Whether you love or hate Donald Trump, you can’t deny his impact on American politics over the last decade.

Of the many accusations leveled against him, one of the most frequent is that he represents a form of modern fascism.

But what does that actually mean?

Jason Stanley’s How Fascism Works offers more than a soundbite; it offers a framework.

Rather than focusing exclusively on any single figure like Trump, Stanley examines the patterns, language, and strategies that have historically enabled fascist movements to take shape across cultures and eras, with particular attention to the role of nationalism. As he explains:

“Nationalism is at the core of fascism. The fascist leader employs a sense of collective victimhood to create a sense of group identity that is by its nature opposed to the cosmopolitan ethos and individualism of liberal democracy.”

The power of the book is not in telling you what to think, but in helping you recognize how certain ideas take root, spread, and gain legitimacy.

Whether you agree with all of his conclusions or not, this book forces an uncomfortable but necessary reckoning: understanding how fragile democratic values can be and how easily fear, nostalgia, and tribalism can reshape a society.

I highly recommend it, especially if you want to make sense of the world around us.

🔐 Not an Inner Circle Member Yet?

🕵🏽‍♂️ You’re viewing a free preview of this month’s edition of On My Shelf.

Would you like books 3-5 plus future insights, delivered to your inbox monthly?

I’d love to invite you into the Inner Circle.

👇🏾 Click the link below to join and unlock the full post.

Read more

⬇️ If you missed Part 1, Darkness Before Dawn, you can read it below before continuing.

Two weeks ago, we sat with Isaiah’s diagnosis of the world.

But Isaiah never intended his words to end in diagnosis.

Biblical prophecy, after all, is not merely about naming what is broken; it is about announcing what God intends to do about it.

Isaiah’s declaration is striking not only for what it says, but for how it says it:

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned.

Isaiah 9:2 NIV

The verbs matter.

Isaiah speaks as though the future has already occurred.

The light has dawned.

This prophetic tense does not deny present darkness; it announces divine certainty.

God’s promised action is so assured that it can be spoken of as accomplished before it is fully seen.

When the Gospels recount Jesus’ birth and ministry, they do so with Isaiah’s words echoing in the background.

Matthew’s Gospel makes the connection explicit, locating the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry in Galilee and declaring that this region, once named by Isaiah as a place of deep darkness, is now the first to see the promised light.

¹³ Leaving Nazareth, he went and lived in Capernaum, which was by the lake in the area of Zebulun and Naphtali— ¹⁴ to fulfill what was said through the prophet Isaiah: ¹⁵ “Land of Zebulun and land of Naphtali, the Way of the Sea, beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles—¹⁶ the people living in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned.”

Matthew 4:13-16 NIV

John’s Gospel goes even further, lifting Isaiah’s imagery into a cosmic register:

⁴ In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. ⁵ The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

John 1:4-5 NIV

What Isaiah promised, the Gospels proclaim.

Yet, the manner of fulfillment remains surprising.

The light did not arrive through domination or spectacle.

It did not announce itself with political power or religious force.

Instead, God chose incarnation.

The eternal Word became flesh.

The Creator entered creation.

The Light entered the darkness from within.

The Christian claim is not that God shouted instructions from a distance, but that He stepped into the human condition, taking it upon Himself.

Salvation did not descend as an abstract idea; it arrived as a vulnerable child, born into poverty, obscurity, and political occupation.

However, the birth of Jesus did not immediately alleviate the world’s suffering.

But something decisive did happen: the story turned.

The New Testament consistently frames Jesus not merely as a teacher or reformer, but as the beginning of a new creation. What began in Genesis, creation emerging from darkness, begins again in Bethlehem.

The light that dawns is not symbolic optimism; it is ontological change.

Reality itself has been altered.

From this point forward, darkness is no longer ultimate.

Sin is no longer sovereign.

Death is no longer final.

The Light has come, and the darkness cannot undo that fact.

Reflection Questions

Even though these are not red-letter words, they can help us work the red-letter life.

1. Since the Light has already come in Jesus, how does that reality reshape the way you interpret the darkness you still encounter in your life, relationships, and the world around you?

2. In what specific ways might God be inviting you to live as a person of new creation this Christmas, not by escaping the world’s brokenness, but by bearing witness to the Light within it?

As you reflect, I invite you to listen to “Never Lost,” a song that echoes the Advent confession that the Light has come and the darkness will not prevail.

May its words strengthen the hope you carry.

🎧 CLICK HERE TO LISTEN

As we prepare to close out 2025, this will be the final Against the Grain post for the year. And I can think of no better way to end than by examining the quiet, often unquestioned influence algorithms have on our moral imagination.

A brief note: by moral imagination, I mean the framework that shapes how we see the world, what feels normal, good, or desirable. By conscience, I mean the inner faculty that evaluates our actions as right or wrong.

Moral imagination forms the lens; conscience renders the verdict.

Let’s get started.

We like to think we are more informed than ever.

And there is some truth to that.

We carry more knowledge in our pockets than any generation before us and have instant access to breaking news, expert opinions, historical archives, and endless commentary.

And yet, beneath all of this information, something more concerning has happened.

We have lost the ability to discern.

Not because we lack intelligence but because we have slowly outsourced the formation of our conscience to systems that were never designed to promote human flourishing.

Calm down. I’m not anti-media.

I am, however, pro-human, so I can’t help but see and say how media affects us.

Algorithms don’t just deliver content; they shape attention. And what shapes our attention over time shapes our loves, our fears, and, eventually, our sense of right and wrong.

Chris Hayes captures the tension of this cultural moment well when he writes in The Sirens’ Call:

“The promise of the information age was unparalleled access to every single last bit of human knowledge at every moment, and the reality is a collective civic mental life that permanently teeters on the edge of madness.”

For most of human history, moral formation happened slowly through family, community, ritual, sacred texts, and shared practices. Conscience was trained over time through repetition, reflection, and responsibility.

Our digital age operates differently as algorithms reward response.

What rises to the top of our feeds is not what is truest or most thoughtful, but what provokes the strongest reaction.

Over time, this trains us not to think deeply but to respond reflexively.

And that training process is what formation looks like in real time.

Stay with me.

Contrary to popular belief, the idea of formation is not a Christian thing; it’s a human thing. It’s the process by which we intentionally or unintentionally align our lives around certain principles or practices.

Therefore, formation is happening to all of us, all the time, whether we consent to it or not.

The apostle Paul understood the subtle power of cultural formation long before algorithms existed.

“Do not be conformed to the pattern of this world,” he wrote, “but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.”

We should be careful not to misread Paul here, as this verse is sometimes used to justify a lack of cultural engagement within the Christian community.

If this sounds familiar, it should.

But in our modern world, the “pattern of this world” is not only philosophical; it’s technological.

It’s no longer just about what we believe but about who or what has trained us to believe it, because Scripture never treats conscience as static or automatic.

Paul addresses conscience repeatedly in his letters, especially in his correspondence with the Corinthians, where he assumes conscience can be weak, misinformed, or strengthened over time (see 1 Corinthians 8:7–12; 10:23–29).

Conscience is not merely something we have; it’s something we develop.

And like any faculty, it is shaped by practice, repetition, and authority.

When we submit our moral imagination to algorithmic systems, we allow them to become our primary trainers.

Over time, they teach us what deserves attention, what deserves outrage, and what deserves silence.

They do not ask whether something is edifying; they ask whether it will keep us engaged.

So, what shall we say to these things?

For me, the solution is not withdrawal from the digital world, nor louder moralizing within it, but the recovery of conscience through countercultural acts of resistance that slow us down long enough to think, practices like silence before sharing and community before commentary.

Practices that help us discern, not disenage.

In an age obsessed with immediacy, slowness is a form of wisdom.

In a culture addicted to outrage, restraint is a moral act.

Selah.

A pause—an invitation to stop, reflect, and let what has been said settle before moving on.

Against The Grain

Against the Grain is the second newsletter from the “with Sean Dreher” Substack. It focuses on culture, conscience, and curiosity. As a missional thinker, I remind myself that Paul said not to be conformed, he didn’t say not to be informed. In these writings, I’ll wrestle with the cultural realities (and assumptions) of our day and how we can process them as followers of Jesus. It’s my best attempt at imagining what Paul would say if he were writing a letter to America.

Although these reflections don’t come directly from Jesus' teachings, they fit squarely within the mission of Work These Words.

Jesus didn’t appear in a vacuum; He stepped into a story that had been unfolding for centuries, a story shaped by Israel’s prophets and promises.

Therefore, to work the words of Jesus, we must understand the world He inherited and the hopes He fulfilled.

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned.

Isaiah 9:2 NIV

Before Isaiah’s words can speak to us, we need to hear them as they were first spoken.

The more clearly we understand their world, the more faithfully we can live in ours.

Isaiah 9:2 emerges from a scene of national trauma. The northern tribes of Israel, especially Zebulun and Naphtali, had been crushed under the weight of the Assyrian empire. These were border tribes, the first to be invaded and the hardest hit. Their land was ravaged, their identity shaken, and their future uncertain. They became known pejoratively as “Galilee of the nations,” a reminder that foreign powers now shaped what once belonged to Israel.

So when Isaiah speaks of people “walking in darkness,” he is not describing general discouragement or a bad season of life; he is naming people living under political oppression, military occupation, spiritual confusion, and social fragmentation.

Darkness, for Isaiah’s audience, was not a metaphor; it was their reality.

A reality not too different from ours.

Here in modern America, we’ve grown painfully familiar with darkness.

The darkness of loneliness in an age of hyper-connection.

The darkness of exhaustion in an age of relentless pursuit.

The darkness of disorientation in an age of guides and gurus.

But there is hope.

Isaiah’s words remind us that God does some of His best work in the dark.

Creation began in darkness.

And so did the first light of a new creation, when salvation slipped into the world on a quiet night in Bethlehem.

Next week, we will turn toward that Light, but for now, we sit in the tension.

For now, we hope.

The good news of Advent isn’t that the darkness is gone; it’s that the Light is coming.

Reflection Questions

Even though these are not red-letter words, they can help us work the red-letter life.

1. How does understanding the historical darkness of Isaiah’s audience deepen your awareness of the places in your own life and the world around you where God’s light is needed most?

2. What practices (prayer, rest, attentiveness, confession, community) can help you carry hope into the places where you are most tempted to despair, retreat, or numb out?

We’re two months into the Church in the Wild series.

In case you’re unfamiliar, it’s our deep dive into the book of Acts, the story of how ordinary people, filled with extraordinary power, bore witness to Jesus in hostile territories around the world.

Volume 1 is in the books.

In this month’s primer, I’ll offer a recap of where we’ve been in Volume 1 and a preview of where we’re headed in Volume 2 as we continue to explore Acts and the power of witness.

ACTS 1

Acts 1 opens by grounding the entire narrative in the continuing ministry of the risen Christ.

In my former book, Theophilus, I wrote about all that Jesus began to do and to teach ² until the day he was taken up to heaven, after giving instructions through the Holy Spirit to the apostles he had chosen. ³ After his suffering, he presented himself to them and gave many convincing proofs that he was alive. He appeared to them over a period of forty days and spoke about the kingdom of God.

Acts 1:1-3 NIV

Luke is careful to frame the later ascension not as Jesus’ departure but as His enthronement, the moment He assumes His rightful place as the exalted King who now directs His mission from heaven.

⁹ After he said this, he was taken up before their very eyes, and a cloud hid him from their sight. ¹⁰ They were looking intently up into the sky as he was going, when suddenly two men dressed in white stood beside them. ¹¹ “Men of Galilee,” they said, “why do you stand here looking into the sky? This same Jesus, who has been taken from you into heaven, will come back in the same way you have seen him go into heaven.”

But before the church is sent, it is told to wait, a deliberate move underscoring that Christian mission originates in divine empowerment, not human strategy.

⁴ On one occasion, while he was eating with them, he gave them this command: “Do not leave Jerusalem, but wait for the gift my Father promised, which you have heard me speak about. ⁵ For John baptized with water, but in a few days you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.”

Acts 1:4-5 NIV

After Jesus’ ascension, the chapter concludes by noting the community’s desire to restore the apostolic order after Judas abandoned his post.

¹⁵ In those days Peter stood up among the believers (a group numbering about a hundred and twenty) ¹⁶ and said, “Brothers and sisters, the Scripture had to be fulfilled in which the Holy Spirit spoke long ago through David concerning Judas, who served as guide for those who arrested Jesus. ¹⁷ He was one of our number and shared in our ministry.”

Acts 1:15-17 NIV

Their discernment in electing Matthias reveals an early ecclesiology, one in which leadership is discerned communally, anchored in the story of Israel, and submitted to the God “who knows the hearts of all.”

²³ So they nominated two men: Joseph called Barsabbas (also known as Justus) and Matthias. ²⁴ Then they prayed, “Lord, you know everyone’s heart. Show us which of these two you have chosen ²⁵ to take over this apostolic ministry, which Judas left to go where he belongs.” ²⁶ Then they cast lots, and the lot fell to Matthias; so he was added to the eleven apostles.

Acts 1:23-26 NIV

This chapter, specifically verse 8, serves as a table of contents for the entire book, as it will take us from Jerusalem to the ends of the earth.

⁸ But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”

ACTS 2

Acts 2 stands as one of the most theologically dense chapters in the New Testament.

Luke situates Pentecost within Israel’s redemptive calendar, signaling that what unfolds is not an isolated spiritual experience but the fulfillment of God’s long-promised plan to pour out His Spirit on all flesh.

The multilingual proclamation symbolizes a reversal of Babel and the birth of a multiethnic, Spirit-empowered people whose unity does not erase difference but sanctifies it.

⁵ Now there were staying in Jerusalem God-fearing Jews from every nation under heaven. ⁶ When they heard this sound, a crowd came together in bewilderment, because each one heard their own language being spoken. ⁷ Utterly amazed, they asked: “Aren’t all these who are speaking Galileans? ⁸ Then how is it that each of us hears them in our native language? ⁹ Parthians, Medes and Elamites; residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia,¹⁰ Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya near Cyrene; visitors from Rome ¹¹ (both Jews and converts to Judaism); Cretans and Arabs—we hear them declaring the wonders of God in our own tongues!”

Acts 2:5-11 NIV

Peter’s sermon, the first Christian proclamation of the gospel, anchors the Spirit’s activity in the death, resurrection, and exaltation of Jesus, emphasizing that the outpouring is evidence that Jesus now reigns.

³⁶ “Therefore let all Israel be assured of this: God has made this Jesus, whom you crucified, both Lord and Messiah.”

Acts 2:36 NIV

The chapter concludes with the formation of a radically countercultural community devoted to the apostles’ teaching, fellowship, shared meals, and prayer. Their economic generosity, communal rhythms, and public witness reveal that Pentecost is not merely an event to be celebrated but a way of life to be embodied.

⁴² They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. ⁴³ Everyone was filled with awe at the many wonders and signs performed by the apostles. ⁴⁴ All the believers were together and had everything in common. ⁴⁵ They sold property and possessions to give to anyone who had need. ⁴⁶ Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, ⁴⁷ praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people. And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.

Acts 2:42-47 NIV

So what now?

ACTS 3 AND BEYOND

As we turn the page to Acts 3 and the chapters that follow, Luke transitions the narrative from ecclesial formation to public engagement.

The community shaped by prayer, Scripture, and the Spirit now steps into the socio-religious landscape of first-century Jerusalem with its streets, gates, marketplaces, and judicial structures where its witness will inevitably provoke scrutiny and resistance.

In this next movement of Acts, the church emerges not as a privatized spiritual fellowship but as a visible, missional body whose faithfulness will require courage.

We will see a Spirit-empowered community praying under pressure, speaking truth to entrenched power, attending to the marginalized, negotiating internal complexities, confronting institutional corruption, crossing ethnic and cultural boundaries, and extending the reach of God’s kingdom into spaces previously considered inaccessible.

In short, Acts 3 and beyond will unveil the church’s vocation as a witness in the contested spaces of the ancient world, or as we like to call it, church in the wild.

Church in the Wild continues at Kingdom South from now until the end of the year.

Consider this your standing invitation into the mystery and the movement.

Thank you for being here.

Whether you’re a free subscriber or part of the Inner Circle, I’m truly grateful.

In today’s creator economy, attention is currency, so thank you for lending me yours.

For a while, I wrestled with what I could offer that would make the paid subscription feel distinct from the free one.

And I think I’ve finally found the answer.

This Substack (with Sean Dreher) houses three newsletters:

🗣️ Work These Words — The teachings of Jesus and how they apply to our world.

💭 Against the Grain — Paul-like reflections on culture, conscience, and curiosity.

📚 On My Shelf — Books shaping my world and work behind the scenes.

Until recently, On My Shelf was available to all subscribers.

But I’ve decided to move it behind the paywall as an exclusive gift to the Inner Circle.

🔐 Not an Inner Circle Member Yet?

🕵🏽‍♂️ You’re viewing a free preview of this month’s edition of On My Shelf.

Would you like this month’s reflections plus future insights like it delivered monthly?

👇🏾 Click the link below to join the Inner Circle and gain full access.

Read more

A quick note: Pay attention to what Jesus did and did not say. He didn’t say you couldn’t have both. He did say you couldn’t serve both. Money isn’t just a tool; it’s a rival master. And masters don’t like to share.

Which brings us to the great American paradox.

Every Thanksgiving, we gather with friends and family to pause and give thanks.

Then Black Friday comes.

And the gratitude from the day before is pushed aside in pursuit of more.

Let me be clear, this isn’t a finger-pointing post; I’m in this, too.

It’s not that our gratitude is absent. It is often overwhelmed by the compulsions of a culture formed by hyper-individualism, consumer capitalism, and dopamine-driven urgency.

Studies in behavioral psychology show that scarcity cues, often dominant on Black Friday, such as limited-time sales or low-stock warnings, trigger fear-based responses in our amygdala.

The fear of missing out.

The fear of not having enough.

Or worse, the fear of not being enough.

And sadly, in America, those fears are often fueled by what I call a theology of more.

In too many American churches, the language of faith has been subtly co-opted by consumer logic. What was once a theology of dependence on God has been recast as a transactional spirituality, where divine favor is measured by material gain. Wealth becomes proof of righteousness, and poverty is silently coded as spiritual failure.

This framework not only distorts the teachings of Scripture on contentment and stewardship, but it also reinforces economic inequality by spiritualizing it.

That’s another post for another day.

But as followers of Jesus, there is a better way.

A way not built on fear, but on trust.

Not accelerated by urgency, but anchored in enoughness.

A way that invites us to rest, resist, and remember who we are, and whose we are.

Not measured by consumption, but marked by contentment.

A way that dares to see Thanksgiving as a kind of Sabbath.

Because it’s hard to stay thankful when we can’t stay still.

Walter Brueggemann captures it beautifully in his short book on Sabbath.

He writes:

“The way of mammon (capital, wealth) is the way of the commodity, that is, the way of endless desire, endless productivity, and endless restlessness without any Sabbath. Jesus taught his disciples that they could not have it both ways.”

May we have the courage to choose the better way.

Happy trails.

It may come as news to you, but this week, the Department of Education, or what’s left of it, announced a proposal that would redefine the meaning of professional degrees.

This “redefinition” would cause several essential professions to lose their professional degree status, in turn significantly limiting access to loans for those pursuing them.

Some of the affected fields, if this proposal goes into effect, would include: Education, Nursing, Social Work, Public Health, Occupational Therapy, Physical Therapy, Audiology, and Speech-Language Pathology.

Although I’m not in any of those fields, I am a public theologian, so what goes on in the world around me matters to me.

Most importantly, though, I’m an advocate for the marginalized, so I can’t ignore that this proposal affects fields heavily populated by women.

Frankly, it pisses me off.

But I’m working on not calling people names at this stage in my Jesus journey.

Speaking of Jesus, let’s turn the corner and get to the heart of this post.

There’s a story recorded in Mark’s Gospel that I want to explore briefly.

It was now two days before Passover and the Festival of Unleavened Bread. The leading priests and the teachers of religious law were still looking for an opportunity to capture Jesus secretly and kill him. ² “But not during the Passover celebration,” they agreed, “or the people may riot.”

³ Meanwhile, Jesus was in Bethany at the home of Simon, a man who had previously had leprosy. While he was eating, a woman came in with a beautiful alabaster jar of expensive perfume made from essence of nard. She broke open the jar and poured the perfume over his head.

⁴ Some of those at the table were indignant. “Why waste such expensive perfume?” they asked. ⁵ “It could have been sold for a year’s wages and the money given to the poor!” So they scolded her harshly.

Mark 14:1-5 NIV

Mark 14 places us in the home of Simon the Leper. A woman enters the room carrying an alabaster jar worth a year’s wages. She breaks it and pours it on Jesus.

Her act is both sacrificial and prophetic.

But the men in the room don’t see any of that.

Instead, the text says they rebuked her harshly.

The Greek carries the sense of “snorting with indignation,” a phrase used for scolding someone as if they are beneath you. In the Greco-Roman world, it was the verbal posture men used toward children, slaves, or the socially inferior.

In other words, they weren’t simply “annoyed.”

They were offended that she had stepped into a space they believed was theirs.

This moment only makes sense when you understand the world Jesus lived in. It was a world where women were barred from testifying in court because their voices were deemed unreliable; where theological reasoning was considered a male domain; where women ate separately at public banquets, and where a woman stepping into a room of men, especially without invitation, was seen as a breach of social order.

So imagine then how this woman stepping forward with a costly offering would send the men into a frenzy.

To be clear, when they rebuke her, they are not just concerned with money or propriety; they are protecting a system that allows only men to make meaningful, public contributions.

It’s discrimination disguised as discernment.

But then Jesus, the Master Teacher, steps in.

⁶ “Leave her alone,” said Jesus. “Why are you bothering her? She has done a beautiful thing to me. ⁷ The poor you will always have with you, and you can help them any time you want. But you will not always have me. ⁸ She did what she could. She poured perfume on my body beforehand to prepare for my burial. ⁹ Truly I tell you, wherever the gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her.”

Mark 14:6-9 NIV

The point I’m making here is that this proposal is not accidental.

It communicates, “this work doesn’t count,” which really means “this work doesn’t count when certain people do it.”

It is the modern equivalent of the same old story:

Women bring their gifts, and systems try to push them back.

But I can hear Jesus’ words echoing as loudly today as they did back then.

🗣️ LEAVE HER ALONE.

Whether she’s following in her mom’s footsteps by becoming a teacher, or a passion for helping others has led her into nursing, leave her alone.

Whether she is single and trying to make ends meet or a wife doing everything she can to fill in the gaps, leave her alone.

Whether she is counting down to her final student loan payment or is so far in debt she feels like she’s drowning, leave her alone.

I believe that’s what Jesus would say.

Reflection Questions

The way of Jesus is accessible to us when we put His words into practice.

So this week, work these words:

👩🏾 As a woman:

By not shrinking your calling to fit their comfort. Break the jar anyway.

👨🏾As a man:

By using your (male) privilege to defend women’s right to belong.

✝️ As the church:

By honoring women’s voices, gifts, scholarship, leadership, and presence.

Since this piece was written, the House has officially passed the bill to end the government shutdown, and the President has signed it into law. While this development changes the headlines, it does not change the heart of this article. In many ways, it underscores it.

Two weeks ago, I wrote about the impact the government shutdown had on SNAP benefits, a piece I titled Oh, SNAP. That post serves as a precursor, setting the stage for what I want to explore today.

If you missed it, I’d recommend reading that one first, then circling back here.

After weeks of the longest government shutdown in American history, something unexpected happened on Sunday, November 9th.

Seven Democrats and one Independent (who caucuses with the Democratic Party) voted with Republicans to reopen the government.

You may not think it’s strange, but I do.

The very lawmakers who refused to support an earlier funding deal (that would’ve prevented a shutdown) because it excluded extending healthcare subsidies for millions are now championing a resolution that leaves those same households exposed.

So, what changed between then and now?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

They caved with no guarantee that their initial demand would be met.

As annoying as that is, that’s not quite what I want to write about this week.

Our system offered two lessers: restore SNAP benefits and pay government workers, or extend healthcare subsidies for millions at risk of losing coverage or having their premiums skyrocket.

Neither comprehensive. Both urgent.

And yet, we’re being told to celebrate one while ignoring the other.

Unfortunately, we have not solved the crisis; we have merely shifted the burden.

For me, this isn’t just about what’s on the table; it’s about how the table got set, who set it, and why it only seats these two choices.

Let’s briefly interrogate what I see as three drivers:

Structural Invisibility

The quietest crises, like hunger and healthcare, are often the deadliest because they operate in media silence.

Out of sight, out of cycle.

They don’t trend or rally headlines these days unless the optics are useful.

But structural invisibility is a policy in itself.

The systems that govern food assistance and healthcare access are designed to function in the background, like plumbing. You only notice when something breaks. And even then, it’s easier to blame the flood than the faulty infrastructure.

That’s why SNAP cuts and lapsed subsidies rarely spark moral outrage; they remain invisible until the consequences are impossible to ignore, but by then, someone’s fridge is empty or their prescription has run out.

Political Theatre

Shutdowns are not policy debates; they’re performance.

We watch them unfold like a Netflix series with conflict and cliffhangers.

But this isn’t drama, it’s daily life, and it’s dysfunction.

The storylines are scripted, the players rarely change, and the people most affected are never in the room.

In this theater, hunger and healthcare became leverage, not sacred rights or signs of collective care. They’re just tools of negotiation in a partisan tug-of-war, a war we’re expected to cheer for even when the “victory” is temporary.

Because as long as people remain hungry and uninsured, how can we possibly call that a win?

Narrative Inertia

We’ve been taught to choose the lesser evil, rarely pausing to ask why those are always our only options.

But in a culture shaped by capitalism and discipled by individualism, it’s clear.

It’s easier to approve emergency measures than to reimagine the system that created the emergency.

And once that narrative sets in, anything more feels unrealistic, idealistic, or radical.

What’s truly radical, though, isn’t choosing the lesser of two evils but naming the evil of two lessers and refusing to play the game.

When crisis knocks again (and it will), may we have the courage to hold the line.

Happy trails.

Jesus didn’t just teach new things; He taught us to rethink old things.

Six times in Matthew 5, He says, “You have heard that it was said…but I say to you.”

(See Matthew 5:21–26, 5:27–30, 5:31–32, 5:33–37, 5:38–42, and 5:43–48)

These weren’t random cultural proverbs; they were rooted in the Torah (the first five books of the Hebrew Bible). To be clear, no, Jesus wasn’t against Scripture; He was, however, against misinterpretation, which often leads to misuse.

To anchor His teaching, Jesus first offers these foundational statements:

¹⁷ “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them. ¹⁸ For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth disappear, not the smallest letter, not the least stroke of a pen, will by any means disappear from the Law until everything is accomplished. ¹⁹ Therefore anyone who sets aside one of the least of these commands and teaches others accordingly will be called least in the kingdom of heaven, but whoever practices and teaches these commands will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. ²⁰ For I tell you that unless your righteousness surpasses that of the Pharisees and the teachers of the law, you will certainly not enter the kingdom of heaven.

Matthew 5:17-20 NIV

Then he proceeds to deconstruct (their interpretations) to reconstruct God’s original intent.

Let’s go ahead and address the elephant in the room since we’re here. 😬

Deconstruction and reconstruction are hot-button terms right now, and depending on where you’ve heard them, they may carry some baggage. So, for the sake of clarity and charity, here’s what I mean when I use them in this context:

Deconstruction is the critical process by which individuals interrogate inherited theological frameworks, cultural assumptions, and ecclesial traditions to discern their fidelity to the person, teachings, and mission of Jesus Christ. It entails a hermeneutical re-evaluation, often prompted by spiritual dissonance, historical insight, or cultural critique. Properly understood, it is not an end in itself, but a means of purification, stripping away syncretisms, distortions, and ideologies that have accrued around the faith.

Reconstruction is the constructive theological task that follows deconstruction, rebuilding one’s faith with intentionality, rooted in a Christocentric reading of Scripture, informed by historic orthodoxy, and practiced within a faithful community. It prioritizes integration over fragmentation, humility over certainty, and spiritual formation over dogmatic rigidity.

That should bring some relief to our modern minds because, although the challenges we face regarding the misuse of Scripture may feel nefarious, they’re not new. Humans have long twisted sacred words to fit personal or political agendas, even in Jesus’ day.

But the remedy He offered then still holds today. It’s the essence of spiritual growth: not just learning, but also unlearning.

Surprisingly, cognitive science also supports this.

Neuroplasticity research shows that growth isn’t just about adding new information; it’s about making room for it. The brain must prune old neural pathways to create space for new ones. In other words, transformation demands subtraction as much as addition.

Paul frames it this way as he challenges believers in Rome to resist the cultural influences that distort God’s intent:

“Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.”

Romans 12:2 NIV

Of course, this gets personal. Because behind every bad belief is often a beloved teacher.

I’m not here to villainize them; they’re human. They passed on what they knew, shaped by the time and culture in which they lived.

So we can reject the teaching without demonizing the teacher.

We can honor their sincerity even as we outgrow their conclusions.

Unlearning, then, becomes both an act of humility and holiness. It’s how we make room for Jesus to correct, clarify, and deepen our understanding.

The question is, will we let Him?

Reflection Questions

The way of Jesus is accessible to us when we put His words into practice.

So this week, let’s work these words by asking:

1. What’s one assumption about God (or faith) Jesus is asking you to rethink?

2. What’s one assumption about others Jesus is asking you to rethink?

3. What’s one assumption about yourself Jesus is asking you to rethink?

Two weeks ago, I started a series at our church called Church in the Wild.

It’s our deep dive into the book of Acts, the story of how ordinary people, filled with extraordinary power, bore witness to Jesus in hostile territories around the world.

Consider this month’s article a recap of where we’ve been and a preview of where we’re headed as we continue to explore Acts and the power of witness.

But first, sharing is caring.

Share

The Ascension

Jesus is gone. For real this time.

⁹ After he said this, he was taken up before their very eyes, and a cloud hid him from their sight.

Acts 1:9 NIV

After defeating death and spending his most immediate post-resurrection days offering final instructions to those who would carry on his mission, Jesus ascends back to heaven.

As you would expect, those present were awe-stricken by the event.

¹⁰ They were looking intently up into the sky as he was going, when suddenly two men dressed in white stood beside them. ¹¹ “Men of Galilee,” they said, “why do you stand here looking into the sky? This same Jesus, who has been taken from you into heaven, will come back in the same way you have seen him go into heaven.”

Acts 1:10-11 NIV

This question, asked by heavenly messengers, is rhetorical, but revealing because it’s not the first time Luke records something like it.

If you flip back to the final chapter of Luke’s Gospel, you’ll find another scene.

On the first day of the week, very early in the morning, the women took the spices they had prepared and went to the tomb. ² They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, ³ but when they entered, they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus. ⁴ While they were wondering about this, suddenly two men in clothes that gleamed like lightning stood beside them. ⁵ In their fright the women bowed down with their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?

Luke 24:1-5 NIV

Two men. Two white robes. Two disoriented groups of disciples.

One gentle correction: Jesus isn’t there anymore.

At the tomb, they were stuck in grief.

At the mount, they were stuck in nostalgia.

Luke is teaching us something here: There is a human tendency to cling to where Jesus was, rather than where He is leading.

The Tension

Although Jesus is gone, His instructions remain:

⁴ On one occasion, while he was eating with them, he gave them this command: “Do not leave Jerusalem, but wait for the gift my Father promised, which you have heard me speak about. ⁵ For John baptized with water, but in a few days you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.”

Acts 1:4-5 NIV

So, the disciples return to Jerusalem and wait.

¹² Then the apostles returned to Jerusalem from the hill called the Mount of Olives, a Sabbath day’s walk from the city.

Acts 1:12 NIV

While waiting, Peter asserts they must replace Judas and restore the apostolic number to 12.

¹⁵ In those days Peter stood up among the believers (a group numbering about a hundred and twenty) ¹⁶ and said, “Brothers and sisters, the Scripture had to be fulfilled in which the Holy Spirit spoke long ago through David concerning Judas, who served as guide for those who arrested Jesus. ¹⁷ He was one of our number and shared in our ministry.”

²⁰ “For,” said Peter, “it is written in the Book of Psalms:

“‘May his place be deserted;
let there be no one to dwell in it,’

and,

“‘May another take his place of leadership.’

²¹ Therefore it is necessary to choose one of the men who have been with us the whole time the Lord Jesus was living among us,

Acts 1:15-17; 20-21 NIV

How they choose to replace Judas is interesting: they cast lots.

“Then they cast lots, and the lot fell to Matthias; so he was added to the eleven apostles.”

Acts 1:26 NIV

This ancient practice, used throughout the Old Testament to discern God’s will, was their best available method. But here’s the catch: this is the last time in the entire New Testament that casting lots is used.

Why?

Because the Spirit is about to come.

And when the Spirit comes, the method will change.

But for now, they must manage the tension.

Caught Between the Cloud and the Fire

The early church is caught between the cloud of Ascension and the fire of Pentecost.

Jesus is gone, but the Spirit hasn’t come.

They are living in the in-between.

They know what God has done, and they believe in what He will do.

But they still have to wait.

If this in-between space sounds familiar to you, take heart!

You’re not lost

You’re not late.

You’re just in the wild.

Church in the Wild continues at Kingdom South from now until the end of the year.

Consider this your standing invitation into the mystery and the movement.

³⁵ For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, ³⁶ I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

³⁷ “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? ³⁸ When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? ³⁹ When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

⁴⁰ “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

Matthew 25:35-40 NIV

We are weeks into a government shutdown.

Millions of vulnerable citizens brace for what happens when the system supposedly designed to serve them starves them. SNAP (Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program) benefits, a critical lifeline for nearly 40 million Americans, are set to expire at the end of this month.

But what’s more troubling than the crisis itself is the indifference that surrounds it.

Somewhere along the way, we started believing that hardship is personal, not communal, viewing poverty through a lens of distance and suspicion.

We tell ourselves that “those people” should’ve just worked harder.

We believe that hunger is a result of irresponsibility, not inequality.

We adopt the dangerous logic that says: if it doesn’t affect me, it’s not my problem.

And before you check out on me, this isn’t just a political issue. It’s a moral one.

Currently, On My Shelf (pun intended) is the late Rabbi Jonathan Sacks’ book, Morality.

He writes:

“A free society is a moral achievement, and it is made by us and our habits of thought, speech, and deed. Morality cannot be outsourced because it depends on each of us. Without self-restraint, without the capacity to defer the gratification of instinct, and without the habits of heart and deed that we call virtues, we will eventually lose our freedom.”

Yes, we live in a democracy (at least for now), but our freedom only survives on the back of mutual responsibility. You can’t have liberty without virtue. You can’t have community without compassion.

So what can we do?

We can resist the impulse to scroll past suffering.

We can support organizations that feed the vulnerable.

We can raise our voices to demand better from our civic leaders.

A shutdown may seem like a temporary inconvenience to some, but it’s life-altering for others. And if we continue to outsource our moral responsibility, waiting on institutions to act while we look the other way, we’ll not only fail the vulnerable, we’ll fail ourselves.

Because suffering never stays in its lane, it always spills over.

If we’re going to follow Jesus in a culture of indifference, we must swim upstream, remembering his words:

“Whatever you did for one of the least of these…you did for me.”

Read more