This May marks 20 years of full-time ministry for me.

That sentence feels strange to write. Two decades of preaching, pastoring, leading, building, walking with people through joy and heartbreak, and trying—imperfectly—to be faithful to what God has placed in front of me.

And for the first time in those 20 years, I’m stepping into a significant sabbatical. From May 1 to August 1, I’ll be intentionally stepping away from the normal rhythms of ministry.

I’m meeting this sabbatical season with both optimism and a little bit of fear.

There’s a notebook I keep in my Evernote files called “Content to Develop.” It’s all the articles, speaking engagements, sermons, papers, etc. that are coming down the road. For the past few years, that file has been overflowing each week. Constant content - the never-ending cycle of needing a new, fresh word. While I’m grateful for the opportunities, I’ve felt myself becoming weary trying to keep up.

There’s a rhythm in Scripture that I haven’t always paid close enough attention to. In the Old Testament, God didn’t just command His people to rest—He commanded the land to rest. Every seventh year, the ground was to lie fallow. No planting. No harvesting. No striving to produce.

And it wasn’t because the land was useless. It was because rest was the very thing that would make it fruitful again. That kind of rest requires trust.

Trust that God can provide without constant output. Trust that fruitfulness doesn’t come from endless effort. Trust that stepping back is not the same thing as falling behind.

A lot of people have asked me lately, “How are you feeling about it?” And the honest answer is—I’m not entirely sure. Part of me is excited. There’s an anticipation I can’t quite explain. A sense that God may want to do something deeper than what happens in the weekly rhythm of preaching and leading.

But if I’m being honest, part of me is also a little afraid. Because when you slow down… when you step away from the noise, the opportunities, the momentum… you start to see things more clearly. And sometimes that clarity is uncomfortable.

It’s easy for me to stay busy. Ministry has a way of doing that. There are always sermons to write, people to care for, opportunities to step into, voices to influence. And if I’m not careful, I can begin to draw more from the doing of ministry than from simply being with Jesus.

It’s much harder to sit still long enough to ask deeper questions:

• Where is my identity actually rooted?

• What am I carrying that I was never meant to carry?

• Have I allowed ministry to define me more than Christ has?

Those aren’t questions you answer in a hurry.

If I’m honest, the younger version of me would have resisted this. There’s too much to do. Too many people to reach. Too much momentum to risk slowing down. The spiritual things you say to justify why you won’t allow yourself to rest.

But the older Matt is learning something different. I’m learning that unceasing movement doesn’t produce lasting fruit. I’m learning that Sabbath is not a luxury—it’s a form of trust. And I’m learning that sometimes the most faithful thing you can do is let the ground rest. Because rested ground is not unproductive ground. It’s ground that is being renewed beneath the surface.

So, I don’t know exactly what these next three months will hold. I don’t have a detailed roadmap for what God will do or reveal. But I’m stepping into this season with a quiet, eager anticipation. That He will meet me. That He will reveal things I couldn’t see while moving so quickly. That He will draw me closer to Himself—not as a pastor, not as a leader—but simply as His son.

If you think of me over these next few months, would you pray for me?

• Pray that I would have the courage to slow down.

• Pray that I would be attentive to the voice of God.

• Pray that whatever needs to be uprooted, healed, or restored—God would do it fully.

And pray that when the season comes to step back in… the ground would be ready to bear even more fruit.

Grace and peace.

Matt

We discuss my sabbatical in our latest episode of our Reflections on Now Podcast:

Jesus’s resurrection is the beginning of God’s new project not to snatch people away from earth to heaven but to colonize earth with the life of heaven. That, after all, is what the Lord’s Prayer is about. - N.T. Wright

There is an uncomfortable pattern emerging in many evangelical spaces today: SILENCE. When the church should be standing alongside the marginalized or working toward the restoration of broken communities, we often say little. The reason is not always fear or apathy, it is theology. When our understanding of the gospel is reduced to individual salvation and a future in heaven, it becomes far too small to engage the real needs of our world.

What if the gospel many of us inherited is true, but incomplete? What if we have reduced the good news to a transaction for the afterlife instead of renewal of the world?

For many Christians, the gospel has been framed almost entirely around one question: IF YOU DIED TONIGHT, WOULD YOU GO TO HEAVEN?

Don’t misunderstand me, forgiveness of sin and the promise of enteral life are central to the gospel. But what if the gospel is more than just about getting people into heaven? What if it’s also about bringing heaven to earth? The bible tells a much bigger story.

When the Gospel Becomes an Escape Plan

In much of modern evangelicalism, the gospel has been reduced to something like a spiritual insurance policy: believe the right things - say the prayer - secure your future in heaven. Unfortunately, when this becomes our picture of the gospel it becomes disconnected from the present moment. Faith becomes about escaping the world rather than participating in God’s work of renewing it. We shrink the gospel.

The Gospel Jesus Preached Was About a Kingdom

Jesus did not spend most of his time talking about heaven. He preached about the kingdom of God. The gospel is not simply forgiving sinners so they can leave this earth one day but about reclaiming this world through the reign of King Jesus.

A Small Gospel Produces Small Disciples

When the gospel is reduce to personal salvation, faith becomes privatized. Christianity becomes about personal spiritual experience.

But in reality, the kingdom of God touches everything: Neighborhoods - Economies - Justice - Education - Families - Culture - Cities. A small gospel inevitable produces small disciples. A deficient gospel produces a malnourished vision for cultural transformation.

The Gospel Is Always Moving Toward the Poor

Throughout the Gospels, the kingdom of God is consistently moving toward the margins. Jesus clearly declares his mission in Luke 4 “to proclaim good news to the poor.” The early church embodied this reality. The gospel always creates communities where the needs of the poor are met, resources are shared, and social barriers are dismantled. The kingdom of God becomes visible and tangible.

The Story Ends With the Renewal of Creation

The biblical story does NOT end with people escaping earth. LOUDER FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK! It ends with heaven and earth being united. Revelation 21 gives us this final vision. Not abandoning creation or the earth but renewing it. The gospel clearly includes the restoration of communities - cities - relationships - and the whole creation.

Can We Recover the Full Gospel?

When the gospel is reclaimed in its fullness, the church begins asking different questions: Instead of only asking, “How do we save souls?” We begin asking:

• How do we bring the kingdom to our city?

• How do we reflect heaven in our neighborhoods?

• How do we embody the reign of Christ among the marginalized?

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We are currently journeying through the book of Philippians as a church, and one area where the Spirit has been quietly at work in me through this text is learning to reorder my desires — or perhaps better said, to reorder my loves.

It’s striking to notice that Paul is not anti-world. Rather, he has detached himself from false sources of identity. Paul helps us see that spiritual maturity is not learning to hate the world, but learning to love Christ so deeply that lesser attachments begin to lose their power over us.

Below is my own paraphrase of Philippians 3:7–11:

Because Christ has become everything to me,

I have released all the things the world once taught me to treasure.

I refuse to let them have control over me.

Nothing compares to knowing Christ

and being found completely in Him —

not trusting in my own goodness or attempts to make things right,

but discovering my true life in Christ alone.

Oh, that I might know Him deeply —

to fully experience the power of His resurrection,

to share in His sufferings and the way of the cross,

so that whatever it costs,

I may share in His resurrection life

and one day be fully resurrected with Him.

Notice how Paul loosens his attachment to the things of this world and slowly reorders his desires. This transformation does not come through willpower, but through continually reorienting his heart toward Christ.

The passage reveals a progression: Paul releasing himself from the very things that once made him feel secure: status, achievement, certainty, and identity rooted in performance. Christ is no longer useful to Paul’s life; Christ becomes his life; the singular focus of his pursuit.

There is something deeply freeing about loosening our attachments, not through suppression or discipline alone, but because we are beholding something far more beautiful than what we are surrendering.

Paul ultimately releases outcomes, reputation, safety, and certainty — the very things we so often place on the throne of our hearts.

Consider this: when Christ becomes your life — when He becomes everything — circumstances lose their authority to define you.

As I write during the season of Lent, I’m reminded how practices like fasting, self-denial, and willingly embracing discomfort begin to loosen the quiet grip the world holds on our souls. In releasing what we once depended on, we slowly discover a deeper contentment, one that is not dependent on circumstance.

Detachment, in the Christian life, does not lead to apathy. It leads to freedom. The less Paul needs the world to validate him, the more freely he is able to love within it.

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Lent is a season in the Christian calendar marked by repentance, prayer, fasting, generosity, and reflection on the cross and resurrection. For forty days, the church steps into a rhythm meant to slow us down and re-center our lives on Christ. It mirrors the life of Jesus in Matthew 4, when he was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to fast, pray, and be tested. Lent is not simply tradition; it is a journey that builds anticipation toward Holy Week, Good Friday, and ultimately Easter morning.

But more than anything, Lent is an invitation to recalibrate the soul.

It is a season to ask honest questions: What have I grown attached to? What am I reaching for when I’m tired, anxious, or bored? What am I desiring more than Christ?

We live in a time when our attention is constantly being claimed. Social media pulls us into endless comparison. Breaking news alerts demand our outrage and opinion. The comforts of modern life slowly become the coping mechanisms we rely on to make it through the day. Most of us are not intentionally choosing these attachments, we are simply drifting into them. Lent interrupts the drift.

Lent is not about losing something; it is about discovering what has quietly been owning us.

Fasting, prayer, and reflection are not acts of earning God’s affection. We already have that in Christ. Instead, Lent is a voluntary walk into the wilderness so that the Spirit can speak freshly to our hearts. We starve certain comforts not because they are evil, but because they have become excessive. In the quiet that follows, we begin to notice what has been numbing us and what has been shaping us.

• Awareness leads to repentance.

• Repentance leads to reordered desires.

• Reordered desires lead to renewed love.

This is why Lent matters now more than ever. Our culture runs on speed, noise, and distraction. Lent invites us into slowness, silence, and intentionality. It is not punishment; it is preparation. It is not shame; it is clarity. It is not about proving devotion; it is about recovering it.

I often call Lent a “brutiful” experience — brutal because it exposes our attachments, beautiful because it restores our focus. We willingly wrestle with the things that compete for our hearts so that we can rediscover the joy of undivided devotion to Christ.

We enter the wilderness not to lose ourselves, but to find that Christ is enough.

Lent reminds us that the road to resurrection always passes through honesty, surrender, and renewed hunger for God. And in an age of endless distraction, that invitation may be more necessary than ever.

There is a reckoning happening in the church. I’ve been watching it play out almost every week in the headlines.

And it’s overdue.

Across churches, ministries, and Christian organizations, what has been hidden is being exposed—abuse, manipulation, deception, misuse of power, spiritual coercion. For some, this reckoning feels sudden. For others, it feels inevitable. For many, it feels deeply painful.

I’ve watched this from a distance.

And I’ve lived it up close.

I’ve sat with leaders I deeply love and respect as they’ve talked about “incidents” within their churches or organizations—often things they didn’t personally do, but things that happened on their watch. And more than once, I’ve heard those moments framed as “attacks of the Enemy meant to stop the work of God.”

And here is where the lie takes root. Is the uncovering of truth really the tactic of the Enemy? Or is it the work of the Holy Spirit?

We must be honest enough to ask the question.

Because Scripture is clear: the Spirit leads us into truth, not away from it. The Spirit exposes what is hidden—not to shame, but to heal. Not to destroy the church, but to refine it. Not to halt the work of God, but to purify it.

Yet I’ve watched a familiar pattern play out.

• A leader acknowledges an abuse.

• An issue comes to light.

• A failure is admitted—sometimes vaguely, sometimes selectively.

And then, almost immediately, a new and compelling vision is cast.

• A fresh initiative.

• A renewed call to revival.

• New metrics for growth.

• The next big thing.

Why? Because stopping to perform an honest autopsy—naming what actually went wrong, how it was allowed, who was harmed, and what systems enabled it—rarely looks like success in our leadership culture.

• So instead of slowing down, we speed up.

• Instead of grieving, we pivot.

• Instead of repenting, we rebrand.

And in doing so, we quietly preserve the very culture that made the abuse possible in the first place.

This is how cycles repeat.

Peacemaking and truth-telling come at an incredibly high price.

But it is a price leaders must be willing to pay.

Truth-telling is painful.

It costs reputation.

It costs momentum.

It costs influence.

It costs the illusion of control.

And it demands a level of honesty that many of us were never formed to practice.

We have to ask harder questions than “Did I personally do the abuse?”

We must ask:

• Did I look the other way?

• Did I minimize warning signs?

• Did I benefit from systems that silenced others?

• Did my leadership style discourage dissent?

• Did this happen on my watch?

• Did our culture reward performance over character?

• Did we confuse loyalty with faithfulness?

If we don’t address the culture—the people, the systems, the unspoken values—that cultivated a space where abuse could grow, then we are destined to repeat it.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Health is not accidental. It is cultivated.

And cultivating health requires listening—especially to voices that make us uncomfortable. Voices we don’t like. Voices that disrupt our narrative. Voices that don’t honor our platforms or protect our reputations. If the only voices we’re willing to hear are affirming ones, we are not leading—we are managing appearances.

We must be willing to tell the difficult truth. And then we must be willing to actually address it.

That means building people and systems that prioritize honesty over optics, accountability over charisma, formation over momentum, and faithfulness over success.

Not to protect institutions.

Not to preserve brands.

But to bring credit to the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Because the gospel does not need our cover-ups. It needs our courage.

And perhaps the most faithful thing leaders can do in this moment is not to move forward faster—but to stop, tell the truth, listen well, and let the Spirit do the slow, holy work of healing what we were too afraid to face.

One of the most overlooked aspects of growth and spiritual formation is learning to tell the truth about what is working against us.

Most of us genuinely want to change. We want to experience the fullness of life Jesus promises. We want to grow in love, joy, peace, patience—the kind of life that actually looks like Christ.

But wanting change and experiencing transformation are not the same thing.

Formation requires more than desire. It requires discernment—the slow, honest work of identifying the enemies of our soul. The patterns, postures, and practices that consistently keep us from living awake to God’s presence and power.

It’s one thing to ask, “Who am I becoming?” It’s another to ask, “What is quietly leading me away from Christ?”

As I entered this new year and began reflecting on areas of growth and formation, I noticed something familiar. The places where I tend to lose the life of Christ in me aren’t dramatic or scandalous. They’re subtle. Ordinary. Socially acceptable.

And yet, they are incredibly effective at robbing me of joy, peace, and attentiveness to God.

Here are three enemies I’ve been naming again—and praying against—with intention.

1. A Hurried Soul

Busyness almost always operates in direct opposition to the fruit of the Spirit.

Love is patient. Hurry is not. Peace is settled. Hurry is anxious. Joy is present. Hurry is always somewhere else.

When my soul is hurried, prayer becomes shallow, listening becomes difficult, and relationships become transactional. I may still be productive—but I am rarely present.

Hurry convinces me that faithfulness is measured by output rather than availability.

Prayer: Help me rest in you. Calm my tense and hurried soul so that I am fully content here and now, in this moment.

2. A Distracted Mind

Distraction is not morally neutral. It slowly trains the mind to live everywhere except where God is.

If the Enemy can keep me distracted, or if I fail to cultivate the self-control needed for attentiveness, my mind will continually drift toward noise, novelty, and numbing. Distraction keeps me from the slow, sacred work of renewing my mind.

When I’m distracted, I don’t stop believing in God—I just stop noticing Him.

And over time, a distracted mind becomes a mind that does not think like Christ.

Prayer: Help me overcome the temptation to numb or distract myself from you. Remind me that nothing in this world will satisfy apart from you.

3. Lack of Vision and Intention

Formation does not happen accidentally. Without a vision for where I’m going, I will always drift back to what’s familiar. Comfort replaces calling. Survival replaces transformation. I settle for managing my faith instead of being remade by it.

Without intention, I confuse past experiences with present formation. I begin living off what God once did rather than opening myself to what He desires to do now.

Vision doesn’t create pressure—it creates hope. It names the possibility of a life fully alive in Christ.

Prayer: Help me not settle for where I am or what I’ve experienced. Give me eyes to see the fullness of what you have for me.

At the beginning of the year, as most people are busy with resolutions and desires for the new year, maybe wisdom is teaching us to stop and identify what is robbing us of a life fully devoted to Christ.

In The Tears of Things, Richard Rohr leads us forward by first leading us back—back to the Old Testament prophets who spoke truth in times of moral confusion and spiritual pretense. For those who feel anger, grief, or disillusionment with the current state of the church and our country, Rohr helps reframe what it means to be truly prophetic. Rather than fueling outrage, he calls us, and the church, back to the self-giving way of Jesus, reminding us that compassion, not contempt, is the faithful response to a broken world.

Before we turn the page on 2025, here’s a look back at a few of my favorites from 2025:

My Favorite Book of 2025:

• The Soul of Desire: Discovering the Neuroscience of Longing, Beauty, and Community by Curt Thompson.

• The Soul of Desire was powerful for me because it named something I’ve felt for a long time but didn’t quite have the language for: our desires are not problems to be managed, but signals to be listened to. Thompson beautifully weaves together neuroscience, theology, and spiritual formation to remind us that transformation begins when we seek healing within the context of the loving presence of others.

My Favorite Daily Practice of 2025:

• Over the past year, I’ve loved using the Lectio 365 App. It’s inspired by the ancient practice of lectio divina, and it provides daily rhythms (morning - midday - night) of praying the Scriptures, reflection, and prayer. The content is incredibly well done!

My Favorite Sermon of 2025:

• Series: The Person of the Spirit - Sermon: The Beauty of the Trinity

• We need more teaching in the church on the Trinity; not as a concept to master, but as a relationship to behold. At the center of the universe is not power or control, but the eternal, self-giving love of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Before creation, there was communion, and from that communion flows all life, beauty, and meaning.

• Favorite quote from this sermon: If someone were making up a god, they might invent a tyrant, a hero, or a distant judge, but never this: three co-equal persons, eternally delighting in one another and pouring out love and glory on the other. The beauty of the Trinity is so far beyond human imagination that it feels less like human invention and more like divine revelation.

Favorite Ministry Moment of 2025:

• What might have looked ordinary to most felt profoundly holy to me. After preaching on a typical Sunday and gathering at the table, as we do every week at City Church, I stood at the back and watched the beauty of the body of Christ unfold: women gently caring for a saint whose dementia has progressed, a Love Tulsa team member worshiping alongside a man with severe mental illness, and another quietly helping a homeless man charge his phone while offering him dignity and care. In that moment, I was overwhelmed with gratitude for the quiet, faithful beauty of the church being the church. I took this picture just to remember the beauty of that moment.

Favorite & Most Read Substack Article of 2025:

• The Lie That is Fracturing Our Nation: How a century of misplaced loyalties led the American church into a culture war — and how we can find our way back.

• In this post, I trace the past century and the key moments that led the American church to lose its story and drift into a culture-war mindset marked by us versus them.

Random Favorites from 2025:

My Favorite Service: Outdoor Good Friday Tenebrae Service at Camp Loughridge

My Favorite Moment: Baptizing my son Jude on Easter Sunday

Some of my favorite people: Saying goodby to the Moss family after 15 years of service to City Church.

Favorite Getaway: An incredible Hawaii vacation with the family

Favorite Week: Our first Doctoral Residency at the Spiritual Life Center in Wichita, KS with my doctoral cohort. An incredible week of learning with an incredible community of people.

Favorite Moment I: Opening Sabbath House (a 3-year project) with some of our favorite - City Church Staff

Favorite Moment II: Celebrating the grand opening of House of Resurrection with three men who have meant so much to me.

As the year comes to a close, many of us feel a strange mix of emotions.

• Gratitude and grief.

• Relief and exhaustion.

• Hope and hesitation.

The end of the year often arrives quietly, but our lives rarely slow down enough to notice it. We rush toward what’s next without taking time to name what’s been or to listen for what the Spirit might be whispering now.

Before we move forward, this moment invites us to pause.

• Not to plan.

• Not to optimize.

• But to pay attention.

Below are a few gentle invitations for reflection, discernment, and renewal as we look to the new year and what is next!

I encourage you to take at least an hour - find a quiet space - bring a notebook - walk through these four steps!

1. Looking Back: What Has This Year Held?

Before asking what’s next, it’s worth honoring what’s already been lived.

Find a quiet moment and ask yourself:

• Where did I experience life, joy, or gratitude this year?

• Where did I experience loss, disappointment, or fatigue?

• What surprised me — about God, about myself, about others?

• What felt heavy to carry?

• What felt like a gift?

Resist the urge to evaluate or explain. Simply name what was present. Gratitude and lament often belong together. Holding both is an act of spiritual maturity.

2. Noticing the Present: Where Am I Right Now?

It’s striking how seldom we pause long enough to truly notice where we are. And if we don’t know where we are, it’s nearly impossible to properly see where we need to go.

Ask gently:

• How would I honestly describe my soul right now? Tired? Hopeful? Numb? Curious? Wounded? Grateful?

• What am I most longing for in this season?

• Where do I sense resistance, restlessness, or invitation?

• What feels unfinished or unresolved?

This isn’t about fixing yourself. It’s about telling the truth—because transformation begins with awareness.

3. Looking Ahead: What Might the Spirit Be Inviting?

Rather than setting resolutions, consider practicing holy attentiveness.

Ask questions like:

• Is there a word, image, or theme that keeps surfacing?

• Where might God be inviting me to let go?

• Where might God be inviting me to pay closer attention?

• What would faithfulness look like in the coming year—not success, but faithfulness?

You don’t need a full plan. Often the Spirit gives us direction before detail.

4. Using This Season for Renewal and Rest

The space between years is a gift if we’re willing to receive it.

Here are a few simple ways to use this slower season for renewal:

• Practice intentional rest: Not just sleep, but rest from striving. Limit noise. Create margin. Allow your nervous system to exhale.

• Reclaim silence: Even a few minutes a day of quiet can re-sensitize us to God’s presence.

• Engage in life-giving practices: Walks. Reading slowly. Prayer without an agenda. Being fully present with people you love.

• Release what you don’t need to carry forward: You don’t have to bring everything with you into the new year. Some things are meant to be laid down.

Don’t think of the turning of the year like a deadline, but an invitation. An invitation to remember where you’ve been, tell the truth about where you are, and make room for what God wants to do next!

Ask Him - Holy Spirit, as I hold all of these things before you, where are you speaking? Where are you moving? What are you inviting me into? What are you wanting to reveal to me?

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There’s a reason conversations about politics, power, and Christian identity feel so loaded right now. We are living in a moment where many believers have unknowingly merged the gospel with cultural narratives of winning, taking back ground, and “saving the nation” through political force or cultural dominance.

But Scripture gives us a radically different story—a story where power is not seized but surrendered, not enforced but embodied, not wielded but crucified. And that’s the place where the Christian worldview diverges most sharply from the worldview of our age.

The Bible’s Long Story of Power

From Genesis to Revelation, the question is never whether humans will use power. It’s what kind of power we will use.

Human kingdoms run on:

• domination,

• coercion,

• violence,

• and self-preservation.

But the Kingdom of God runs on:

• humility,

• sacrificial love,

• self-giving,

• and cruciform power (power expressed through weakness)

Jesus puts this contrast in front of His disciples again and again:

“The rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them…Not so with you.” (Matthew 20:25–26)

In other words: You cannot follow Jesus and chase the world’s form of power at the same time.

Jesus Doesn’t Take Power — He Redefines It

I recently finished teaching a Christian Worldview class at City Church where we emphasized a key contrast in the kingdom of God versus the kingdom of this world:

• The way of the world says: “Win.”

• The way of Jesus says: “Die—and in dying, you live.”

Every time Jesus is offered worldly power, He refuses it:

• Satan offers Him the kingdoms of the world.

• The crowds want to make Him king.

• Peter rebukes Him for talking about the cross.

• Pilate gives Him an out if He’ll defend Himself.

And every time the message is the same:

• Jesus does not come to take power from Caesar.

• He comes to expose Caesar’s power as a fraud.

His throne is a cross. His coronation is a crown of thorns. His victory march is a walk to Golgotha.

This is why the early Church was so powerful - and dangerous: They proclaimed Jesus, not Caesar as Lord. Not because He overpowered the empire, but because He out-loved it, outlasted it, and out-kingdomed it.

Revelation: The Beast vs. the Lamb

No matter what you might hear, the book of Revelation is not primarily about predicting world events—it is about unmasking the true nature of power.

It gives us two archetypes:

1. The Beast

The Beast represents all systems of power that demand allegiance through:

• fear

• coercion

• nationalism

• military might

• economic exploitation

• violent certainty

The Beast says: “The strong survive. The winners determine truth. Victory is all that matters.” This is the worldview many Christians have absorbed without noticing. It baptizes political power in religious language and calls it “faithfulness.” Revelation calls it the way of the Beast.

2. The Lamb

Then there is the Lamb—slaughtered yet standing. The Lamb wins not by killing His enemies, but by being killed and forgiving them. The Lamb’s power is not the ability to dominate but the ability to self-empty. It is the power of truth, love, endurance, holiness, and sacrificial obedience.

Revelation’s central claim is shocking: The Lamb conquers. The Beast imitates.

Which means:

• The world’s way of power is a counterfeit.

• Violence is weakness disguised as strength.

• Domination is insecurity masked as authority.

• Fear-based politics are a sign not of faithfulness but of idolatry.

• The cross, not the sword, is the measure of true authority.

This is why Revelation is not just anti-empire. It is anti-every form of power not shaped by the Lamb.

Why This Is So Hard for Us Today

In our current cultural moment, many Christians have adopted a political gospel or a culture-war gospel:

• “If we lose power, we lose everything.”

• “If our side doesn’t win, the church loses.”

• “Ends justify the means if the cause is right.”

But Jesus rejects this at every turn: “Get behind me, Satan. You do not have in mind the concerns of God, but merely human concerns.” (Matt. 16:23) Our problem is not that we are too political. Our problem is that we have let politics disciple us more than Jesus.

We have come to believe:

• fear is wisdom,

• outrage is courage,

• political dominance is faithfulness,

• and winning is salvation.

Revelation calls this what it is: The way of the Beast wearing a Christian costume.

The Way of the Lamb Is the Way Forward

The Christian worldview offers a clear alternative—a cruciform way of power:

• Power expressed through weakness

• Authority expressed through humility

• Influence expressed through love

• Courage expressed through non-retaliation

• Witness expressed through suffering

Or as we described in our Christian worldview class: “We are not first called to legislate the Kingdom of God but to embody it.”

When the church chases power the way the world chases power, we lose our witness. But when the church embodies the Lamb— self-giving love, cruciform humility, enemy-love, and sacrificial presence— we become a prophetic minority who refuses to be discipled by the empire.

In Revelation 5:5, Jesus is described as a Lion. But in a dramatic reversal, when John turns to see the Lion in Revelation 5:6, what he sees is a Lamb. The Lion is announced but the Lamb is revealed.

Here is the part that still offends many Christians today: Jesus conquers as a Lion by becoming the Lamb. Or in other words, the power of Christ is in His sacrifice, not His domination.

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One of the beautiful things about following Jesus is that He doesn’t just command - He invites. The whole story of the gospel is God moving toward us, drawing us and inviting us into a life in the kingdom of God.

Across the Gospels, Jesus offers a series of invitations that meet us at every stage of life - faith - pain - longing - and growth. They’re not linear steps or spiritual achievements, but relational invitations to experience life with Him.

Here are seven invitations Jesus offers every one of us:

1. Come and See

Before Jesus asks us to do anything, He invites us to look. To pay attention. To examine Him for ourselves. This is the invitation for the curious, the skeptical, the searching. It’s Jesus saying: “You don’t have to have it figured out. Just come and see.”

2. Come and Follow

At some point, curiosity turns into commitment. This is the invitation to orient your life around Jesus — to trust Him enough to let Him lead. Following means movement. It means letting go. It means allowing Jesus to shape the direction of your life.

3. Come and Rest

In a culture addicted to hurry, success, noise, and performance, Jesus offers a different way: “Come to me… and I will give you rest.” This is not passive escape; it’s the deep soul-rest that comes from being held, known, and loved.

4. Come and Learn

Jesus doesn’t just save us—He forms us. He invites us to learn His rhythms, His heart, His kingdom. To let Him teach us how to live, how to forgive, how to love our enemies, how to walk with God. This is apprenticeship, not academics. Formation, not information.

5. Come and Live

Jesus says, “I have come that you may have life, and have it abundantly.”

Not the life we manufacture. Not the life the world promises. The life that flows from Him— a life marked by joy, meaning, purpose, and wholeness.

6. Come and Die

This is the invitation we resist most. Jesus calls us to die to our old selves— to our pride, our ego, our idols, our need for control. It’s not morbid; it’s liberating. There is no resurrection without a crucifixion. All new life begins with surrender.

7. Come and Live Forever

The final invitation is the promise that all of this— every act of trust, every step of faith, every moment of surrender— is leading us toward eternal life with Him. A world made new. A future without death, sin, sorrow, or separation. This is the hope that steadies us in a world of uncertainty.

What invitation do you need today? Which invitation do you sense the Spirit inviting you into?

• Are you curious? Come and see.

• Are you weary? Come and rest.

• Are you searching for direction? Come and follow.

• Are you overwhelmed? Come and learn.

• Are you hungry for something more? Come and live.

• Are you holding on too tightly? Come and die.

• Are you losing hope? Come and live forever.

I’ve been reading a book on the life and legacy of Phoebe Palmer, an often overlooked figure of the 19th century who became a leading teacher, evangelist, and advocate of Christian holiness. She challenged the religious norms of her by time by opening leadership spaces for women, emphasizing the assurance of a heart wholly consecrated to God, and linking spiritual renewal to social activism among the poor and marginalized. Her impact helped shape the Holiness movement and influenced the mission efforts and revivalism of later generations.

In the days following the assassination of Charlie Kirk, I sat back and watched.

I didn’t rush to post or react. I waited. I grieved. I lamented the murder of a man — a husband and a father.

As I learned more about Charlie’s life, I found things to admire and things that troubled me. I appreciated his willingness to engage in debate and dialogue, but I struggled with the posture that often defined it; a sharpness that lacked humility, a conviction that often overpowered compassion. I believe Charlie loved Jesus, but I also believe his approach to the poor, the marginalized, and the oppressed often stood in tension with the heart of Christ.

Charlie, like many in the modern church, often used apologetics not as an invitation but as a weapon.

And somewhere along the way, Charlie became more than a man — he became a symbol. For some, he represented courage and conviction. For others, he embodied everything wrong with a Christianity obsessed with winning rather than loving. But for both, he became something larger than himself: a figurehead in a cultural and spiritual war that has consumed the American church.

Because when you’re engaged in a culture war, you don’t want a person of gentleness — you want a fighter. You want a winner. Someone who can “destroy the other side.” Charlie became that person for many.

But let me say this clearly: he is not my symbol of Christianity, because I am not at war with other image-bearers of God.

The Confusion of Kingdom and Country

Politics and power have crept into the church, disguising themselves as control and influence. And though Jesus spent His entire life revealing a kingdom not of this world, we keep trying to squeeze our earthly agendas into His name.

When we conflate the kingdom of God with our politics, we start putting words in Jesus’ mouth that He would never say. We take His name in vain, not through profanity, but through presumption. We assign divine authority to political ideologies that often run completely contrary to His character.

And the result? A church filled with people who claim to follow the Prince of Peace but have become known for their hostility and division.

Here’s a simple rubric for your faith: If it’s not leading you to greater love, mercy, and compassion, it’s probably not from the Spirit of God.

How Did We Get Here?

A Timeline of the American Church’s Descent into the Culture War

1920s–1940s: The Fundamentalist–Modernist Divide

In the early 20th century, Protestantism split over how to respond to modernity: evolution, higher criticism, secularism. Fundamentalists saw themselves as defenders of “true Christianity” against liberal theology.

Faith became defensive instead of missional. We became critics of culture instead of creators of beauty. The mission of God was reduced to protecting the truth rather than embodying it.

Anxiety about modern life led Christians to view the surrounding world as the enemy. The church began to see itself as a fortress, a place to retreat from culture, not redeem it.

1940s–1960s: The Rise of Christian Nationalism

After World War II, America emerged as a global power, and faith was welded to patriotism. “In God We Trust” appeared on money. “One Nation Under God” was added to the pledge. To be American was to be Christian.

Christianity became a cultural identity rather than a cruciform way of life.

Evangelicals began to see America as a chosen nation; a new Israel.

This blurred the line between discipleship to Jesus and loyalty to the nation.

Instead of the church being a contrast community, it became the chaplain of the state.

1970s–1990s: The Birth of the Moral Majority and the Culture War

In response to the sexual revolution, the legalization of abortion, and the removal of prayer from schools, conservative Christian leaders launched movements like the Moral Majority and Christian Coalition.

Faith became politicized. Moral reform was sought through political power rather than spiritual renewal. Evangelicalism shifted from being a theological identity to a political brand.

Christians were told their most faithful act was to vote the right way. Leaders framed Christianity as being under siege by secular liberalism.

A culture war was born; one that replaced the way of Jesus with the pursuit of control.

Defending “Christian America” became more important than embodying Christlike humility.

1980s–2000s: The Megachurch Movement and Consumer Christianity

As the suburban megachurch exploded, the values of comfort, charisma, and choice replaced covenant, suffering, and community.

The gospel was subtly reshaped by the American Dream. Faith became individualized and moralistic — private spirituality and personal success.

With formation gone missing, politics became the only public expression of belief. As one theologian put it, “Christians were being discipled more by Fox News and Facebook than by the Sermon on the Mount.”

Churches learned to attract crowds but not necessarily to make disciples. Theological depth was replaced by production. Formation was replaced by influence. We lost the slow, cruciform way of Jesus.

2000s–Present: The Age of Outrage

The rise of talk radio, cable news, and later social media created an economy of outrage. Fear, anger, and division became profitable. Algorithms reward outrage, not empathy. The more you hate, the more clicks you get.

Miroslav Volf observed this shift in culture when he said, “We are more defined by our enemies than by our Savior.”

Meanwhile, the church, largely unformed in contemplative life, prayer, and spiritual discipline, lacked the interior depth to resist the pull of power and fear.

Dallas Willard warned: “The church is filled with undiscipled disciples… Those who have never learned to live in the Kingdom are driven by the world’s systems of fear and desire.”

With the decline of Christendom, many Christians now feel like exiles in their own land. But instead of embracing exile as a return to our true posture, humility, love, and mission, we’ve fought to regain control. When power becomes confused with faithfulness, the gospel becomes a weapon instead of a witness.

The Lie Beneath It All

The culture war is built on a simple but devastating lie: that the way to save the world is to win it.

Jesus never said that.

He didn’t come to win. He came to love, to serve, to die, and to rise. He didn’t seize power; He laid it down.

We’ve traded the cross for a crown, the towel for a sword. And in doing so, we’ve forgotten that the Kingdom of God advances through love, not dominance.

The cultural captivity of the church didn’t happen overnight. It’s the fruit of a century of misplaced loves:

1. A Defensive Posture – protecting truth rather than embodying it.

2. Nationalism – confusing patriotism with discipleship.

3. Political Idolatry – seeking transformation through power instead of presence.

4. Consumer Christianity – replacing formation with production and consumption.

5. Fear of Loss – seeing cultural change as a threat rather than a mission field.

So, What’s the Way Forward…

1. Recover a Cruciform Gospel - The gospel is not a strategy for control but a story of self-giving love. When the church embraces the way of the cross it becomes beautiful.

2. Reclaim Formation - We must become a deeply formed people who are transformed on the inside to resist the noise of fear and outrage.

3. Recenter the Kingdom - Our primarily allegiance is to a King who rides a donkey. Our mission is not to win America back but to bear witness to the rule and reign of Christ in the world.

4. Reimagine Mission - The world doesn’t need more culture warriors, it needs culture creators and healers who are called to wash feet, not win debates. To love our enemies not to create more enemies.

Dallas Willard once said that modern culture has “lost the soul.” We are often taught, implicitly, that human beings are reducible to their brains, nothing more than gray matter firing off ideas and opinions. But when we no longer see people as embodied souls made in the image of God, something devastating happens: we stop loving them.

In America today, we are quick to label, dismiss, and cancel. We collapse the glory of a human life into a single position they hold, a vote they cast, or a mistake they have made.

People cease to be complex and magnificent creatures, to borrow Willard’s language, and instead become simple and sinful caricatures. This is dehumanization. It strips away the beauty, mystery, and sacredness of a person until all that is left is an opinion to fight against.

The Christian vision is profoundly different. Augustine once wrote, “The human being is a vast abyss.” C.S. Lewis echoed this in The Weight of Glory, reminding us that there are no ordinary people and that every person you meet is an immortal being, a soul of immeasurable worth. When we lose sight of this, when people become problems to fix or enemies to defeat, we exchange the kingdom vision of Christ for the reductionism of our age.

The irony is that reducing people to “just ideas” not only diminishes them, it diminishes us.

We become less human ourselves when we no longer treat others as whole, embodied souls. If the soul is what integrates mind, body, will, and relationships, as Willard describes, then seeing others only in fragments will always lead us to love in fragments.

The call, then, is to recover vision. To look again at the people in front of us—neighbors, spouses, coworkers, even opponents—and remember: this is a person made in the image of God, an eternal soul destined for glory. As long as we insist on treating them as ideas or categories, we will fail to love as Jesus loved. When we recover the depth and complexity of each human soul, we open ourselves to the possibility of real love, real relationship, and real transformation.

Dehumanization is the curse of our age. Seeing the soul is the beginning of love.

This sermon had been burning in my heart! As we navigate a divisive and complex time, how do we maintain the unity of the Spirit?

Dr. Swoboda is head over my doctoral program and anything he writes I’m going to read. He’s a brilliant thinker and teacher. In a world that is moving faster and faster, how do we practice the slow and intentional way of following Jesus. Amazon Link

Unity within the body of Christ is a testimony to the power of the gospel. It is our way of showing the world around us that the work of Jesus is greater than every other difference that may seek to divide us.

As this article is being published, I'm out at Sabbath House with about 10 other local pastors in Tulsa for our Unity My City Pastor's Retreat. We're spending two days together with no agenda other than to rest, have fun, and connect. These pastors all represent different denominations, different church models, and different points of view on cultural and political issues. And yet, here we are, together. Committed to creating space for one another, encouraging one another, and bringing unity in our city.

I truly believe the spiritual climate of a city begins to shift when the pastors in the city are unified in a vision to lift up the name of Jesus and to bring the kingdom of God to reality. It's also amazing how the power of friendship and connection can override the major differences we may have.

Years ago, we launched Unite My City in Tulsa and began putting on corporate worship nights and serve days. They were well attended and had great impact but we realized the relationships among pastors was still thin. Covid regulations, racial tensions, and political polarization in America revealed to us that the relationships we had fostered among pastors in our city wasn't strong enough to overcome many of these difficult issues. So, what did we do? We started planning fewer events and we started creating more tables for pastors to sit around to develop genuine friendships.

It's amazing how friendships create the level of trust needed to overcome the most challenging obstacles. It's amazing the organic kingdom collaboration that naturally occurs when pastors stop seeing each other as threats and start to see each other as kingdom partners.

While I am believing this unity will move us to begin strategizing around the major issues our city is facing (homelessness, public education, foster care, etc.), I am also blown away by the kingdom collaboration among pastors. Pastors preaching for one another. Pastors pastoring one another. Pastors being invested in each other's marriage - families - struggles. What a beautiful picture of the kingdom!

It seemed like every year the number of Christians in America was getting smaller and less connected to the church. And all of a sudden, after decades of declining numbers, Millennials and Gen Z are leading a renewal movement within the church. You can read more about it here. Also, when the average churchgoer attends around 1.5 times per month (and is not connected to the church in any other way) it answers the question about so many problems the church is facing.

Sawyer contends that Trinitarian belief, once foundational to shaping all Christian thought and practice, has now faded into the theological background. He helps readers rediscover the Trinity not as a dry abstraction but the source of gospel wonder, worship, theology, and everyday devotion.

Satan, our Enemy, specializes in deception and counterfeits. These are lies designed to look so close to the truth that you must know the original intimately to tell the difference. It would be easier if he showed up in a red suit with a pitchfork, but instead, he quietly dresses up lies to look like truth. And lies always lead to bondage.

In a time of misinformation, over-information, and a culture where “everyone is an authority,” discernment within the church is waning. As Jesus warns us in John 10, “The thief comes only to steal, kill, and destroy.” These thieves slip in unnoticed, using fine-sounding arguments and appealing to our deepest desires, subtly leading the sheep away from the Good Shepherd.

Let me give you a prime example of the subtle strategy of Satan:

• Satan wants you to become so focused on your personal safety and self-preservation that fear begins to rule your heart.

• When fear takes root, love withers. We stop living with compassion, empathy, and self-sacrifice.

• We begin to see those who are different from us not as neighbors to love but as threats to avoid.

• Racism, prejudice, and systemic injustice are lies disguised as truth - powerful tools the Enemy uses to divide, deceive, and destroy.

The church is often guilty of the following…

• Allowing fear to dictate their decisions.

• Putting their personal rights over the good of others.

• Confusing power and the way of the kingdom of God.

• Elevating a brand more than making disciples.

In our noisy, distracted world, many in the church are losing the ability to distinguish His voice from all the others. The result? A discernment crisis. Christians are drifting, chasing half-truths and confusing cultural narratives for the gospel.

If Satan’s greatest weapon is a counterfeit lie, then our greatest defense is intimacy with the Good Shepherd. As we immerse ourselves in the heart of the Father and the life of the Son we find ourselves tuning into the voice of the Spirit.

I taught on this subject Sunday at City Church…

Another mass shooting. Nowadays, they come so often we almost don’t have space to process the event or mourn the reality before the next one breaks the headlines. Rich Villodas, Pastor at New Life Church in Queens, wrote an article worth reading: Not all Thoughts and Prayers are Created Equal

A Dallas Willard classic that answers the question: Why do so many Christians struggle with sin and fail to put on the character of Christ? Willard argues that true discipleship is not about external behavior modification but about renewal of the heart, an inner transformation of the mind, will, emotions, and character through the work of the Holy Spirit.

Do I need a Spiritual Director? Lately, I’ve had a lot of people ask me how to find a Spiritual Director. It’s a great question, but here’s what I’ve noticed: most of us aren’t ready for one. What we actually need first is a spiritual mentor — someone to walk with us as we grow in Christ. So, how do you know which one you need?

• A spiritual mentor helps you grow in knowledge, habits, and maturity as a disciple of Jesus.

• A Spiritual Director helps you become more aware of God’s presence and discern His activity in your life.

• A mentor teaches, models, equips, and offers accountability.

• A director listens, asks questions, and helps you respond to God’s invitations.

Think of it like music: a music teacher (mentor) shows you how to read the notes, practice scales, and play your instrument. A conductor (Spiritual Director) helps you listen beneath the notes, tuning your ear to harmonies, movements, and the Composer’s intent.

Whether you need a mentor or a director depends on where you are in your journey. If you’re still learning the rhythms of following Jesus, start with a mentor who can guide and walk with you. But if you’re longing to deepen your awareness of God’s presence and better discern His leading, a director can help tune your heart to the Spirit’s movements. Either way, the goal is the same: to become more like Christ.

My good friend and City Church Overseer, Blaine Bartel, sat down with Carl Lentz last week for an incredibly raw and open conversation. It's worth a listen! Youtube Interview

• I’ve been watching Season 2 of Happy, Shiny People: A Teenage Holy War, which tells the story of Ron Luce, Acquire the Fire, and the millennial evangelical teenagers swept up in that movement. While I have a lot of thoughts, two stand out:

  • These documentaries often struggle to hold multiple truths in tension. Yes, many young people were caught up in the emotionalism and indoctrination of the events. And yes, there was also a genuine movement of teenagers who were deeply hungry and desperate for God.

  • It’s a sobering reminder of how far the evangelical movement in America has drifted. We’ve forgotten that the methods we use to attract people inevitably shape the disciples we make. What we draw people with is ultimately what we draw them to—and that’s what forms them.

In this book, Mark Noll argues that modern American evangelicalism has largely abandoned deep intellectual engagement, and instead, prioritized emotional experience, activism, and cultural influence. As a result, it has led to a shallow faith that is easily swayed by trends and politics. It’s a call for evangelicals to recover a thoughtful faith!

One of the most important aspects of spiritual formation is learning to discern both the source and the purpose of our struggles. This is rarely a simple task, but it plays a vital role in how we are shaped and formed. Rightly determining the source of our struggle will change our approach and response to the struggle.

While this is not an exhaustive list, let me give you some categories for our struggles. (It should also be noted that sometimes there can be more than one factor at play in a single struggle).

A Spiritual Attack:

• This is where the enemy seeks to discourage, deceive, tempt, or derail us from following Christ and the ways of the Spirit by targeting weak points or strategic opportunities in our lives. (Eph 6:11-12)

• The source of a spiritual attack is the Enemy, Satan, whose primary purpose is to steal, kill, and destroy. (John 10:10)

• In Christ, we are given the authority to stand firm and resist his schemes (1 Peter 5:8-9)

Discipline:

• Sometimes we face the natural consequences of our own sin and rebellion and at other times God actively disciplines us as His children.

• The source of this discipline is God and He uses it to lead us to an understanding of our sin, repentance, and restoration (Heb 12:5-11)

• The goal of God's discipline is never for destruction but always for our redemption. As a loving Father would discipline his children, so does our loving Father discipline us.

Testing:

• Sometimes the Spirit leads us into a time or season of refinement or testing, not to break us, but in order to prune us so that we can bear more fruit. (John 15:2, 1 Pet 1:6-7)

• The source of this testing is the Holy Spirit who uses trials to purify our faith and shape our character (James 1:2-4)

Self-Inflicted Struggles:

• These struggles are caused by poor or unwise decisions that aren't necessarily sinful but show a lack of wisdom in certain matters. (Prov 19:3, Gal 6:7)

• The source of these struggles is ourselves because of our failure to walk in wisdom.

• These struggles remind us of the need for godly counsel, prayerful decision-making, and reliance on God's wisdom.

Weakness or Thorns:

• Sometimes God allows us to carry an ongoing weakness or "thorn in the flesh" to guard us from pride, grow humility, and teach us complete dependence on Christ's strength (2 Cor 12:7-10).

• The source of this struggle can be both God and our Enemy. While the thorn was a “messenger of Satan” meant to torment Paul, God in His sovereignty allowed it for a higher purpose; to guard Paul from pride and deepen his dependence on grace. What the enemy intends for harm, God can redeem for our good.

Brokenness of this World:

• These are the struggles we face because we live in a broken, sinful world that is "groaning" and awaiting its full redemption in Christ (Rom 8:18-25).

• The source of this brokenness is humanity's fall into sin (Gen 3), which unleashed death, decay, and injustice into God's good creation.

• Illness, natural disasters, disease, and injustice remind us that creation is awaiting its full restoration in Christ's return.

So, how do I properly discern the source and purpose of my struggle?

There is a reason why it takes "discernment" in order to understand the source and purpose of our struggles. In the moment, it is not always obvious what is the source of our struggle. Discernment takes time, humility, and a willingness to let God reveal what we cannot see on our own.

• From personal experience, I've often found it difficult to discern the struggle in the moment. As I continue to persevere and hold this struggle before the Lord, He provides further discernment and clarity regarding the source and purpose of the struggle.

• Begin with prayer and surrender. Invite the Holy Spirit to search your heart and reveal what you need to see. Discernment always flows best from a posture of surrender and humility to God's leading.

• Examine your life in the light of Scripture. God's Word is alive and active and is the standard by which we measure our experiences. Does my struggle or hardship mirror a biblical pattern found in Scripture?

• Seek godly wisdom and open yourself to the community of faith. God often brings clarity through wise, Spirit-filled believers who may be able to see or reveal something you are unable to discern.

• Always look for what God is producing in you. Regardless of the source, God is always working and desiring to use whatever we are facing for our maturity and for His glory. What is God forming in me through this?

Three years ago, my parents (Gary & Diana Nelson) decided to build a legacy property at Grand Lake. This property would be something the family could enjoy for generations to come, while also serving as a retreat/getaway for pastors, missionaries, and those in ministry. For the past three years, Lindsay and I have overseen the design and construction of this project (Sabbath House: a place to reconnect with God and one another). Just a few weeks ago we were able to open Sabbath House to our very first group, the City Church staff. It’s our prayer that this place serves as a holy and sacred space for people to find rest and renewal!

Every time I read a Brian Zahnd book I’m reminded of what a gifted writer he is. He has an incredible ability to weave together history, stories, and spiritual ideas into captivating and challenging truths. For the disillusioned Christian who is in danger of deconstructing until there is nothing left, Zahnd brings the reader back to the beauty of Christ and the eternal hope of this beauty.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the difference between being a leader who reacts to the moment and one who is formed for it. The reactive leader is always scanning the headlines, reading the latest trends, and adjusting course in the name of "relevance." The formed leader, on the other hand, has been shaped slowly over time through rhythms and practices of transformation. They have learned to "sit" or "abide" long enough with Jesus that they aren't swayed by the latest or newest trends.

One of my doctoral professors, Dr. AJ Swoboda, recently gave a lecture on “Slow Theology” and its relevance to the world we live in today. In the early church, it could take anywhere from six months to several years for a congregation to receive a reply from the Apostle Paul concerning their questions. In that long stretch of waiting, they had no choice but to sit with the questions, wrestle through differing perspectives, and discern a way forward with only limited information. By contrast, we now receive information instantly and often feel the pressure to respond just as quickly.

Am I reactive leader or a contemplative leader? In my desire to be "relevant" do I have a tendency to jump to conclusions?

“Speed gets attention, but it does not build depth. God walks slowly because He is love. If He is not love He would have gone much faster.” - from Three Mile an Hour God by Kosuke Koyama

I was recently approached about being an advocate for The Dignity Act, which was recently composed by lawmakers in Florida and Texas. Although the Dignity Act is not without flaws, it does seek to provide a temporary (and humanitarian) solution to our asylum issue, while also providing dignity to undocumented migrants living in the U.S. There is a group of individuals in Oklahoma who are currently presenting this to Representative Kevin Hern. Check out more about The Dignity Act.

Fujimura invites every person - each artist - to understand the role of beauty and to be a part of a culture that recognizes and commits themselves to the creation of beauty.

• Destruction and dissolution are far easier than creation and connection. We need vision, courage, and perseverance. This is why the care and cultivation of culture begins with the care and cultivation of the soul. (43)

• Appreciation of the depths of beauty is a condition of our physical, mental, and spiritual health - and of our physical, mental, emotional, relational, and spiritual maturity. (47)

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It was the fall of 2019, and life was - wait for it - busy. How often do we try to convince ourselves that if we can just make it through this next stretch, things will finally slow down. But this time was different.

Everything I had been building—ministry, projects, dreams—seemed to crescendo all at once, colliding with several moments of deep difficulty and brokenness. Ironically, I was speaking at a pastors’ sabbath retreat when the symptoms began: a tightness in my chest that wouldn’t go away, a heavy pressure sitting in my stomach, nights of insomnia, and frequent moments of rapid pulse.

After opening up to a few close friends and undergoing a series of medical tests, the diagnosis was clear - I was having panic attacks. It was my body's way of telling me what my mind was unable to process:You simply can't carry all of this!

Around that same time, I found myself rereading the story of Peter in Matthew 14, the one where he steps out of the boat and walks on water. We often turn Peter into a punchline for his lack of faith, but I saw something deeper this time. His initial step of faith is stunningly courageous. How many of us would see Jesus walking and water and immediately think to ourselves, "If Jesus can do that then I might as well give it a try?"

Peter asks Jesus to command him out onto the water and Peter begins walking on water. In the middle of this amazing, miraculous moment of faith, Peter looks over and catches a brief glimpse of the waves and the wind. Immediately, he begins to sink.

Given my own circumstances, the story struck me differently this time around.

From the outside, my life looked like a series of bold faith steps. I wasn’t playing it safe. During this time, our church planting network was about to launch five new churches. We were preparing to open a new campus in a widely neglected and overlooked part of our city. We were negotiating a new building that would strategically position us to reach more people in our city, including one of the most marginalized and oppressed neighborhoods in our city. I had just published my first book, a step of obedience that took years to complete.

I truly believed God was able to do the impossible. I trusted Him. But I kept doing what Peter did, taking a bold step of faith, only to immediately look over at the wind and waves.

After my panic attack, my therapist and I began peeling back the layers. What was underneath the fear? What was at the core of my panic and anxiety? One answer kept surfacing: control. I wasn’t necessarily afraid to take risks. I was afraid of what would happen once I did and things didn’t go as planned.

In the months leading up to the panic attack, everything I tried to control began to unravel. My mother-in-law, who had moved in with us due to illness, was quickly nearing the end of her life. The new church building we hoped for was getting tangled in complex legal complications. The sell of our house didn't go through - requiring more repairs, more money, and lengthy delays. One by one, the plates I thought I had kept spinning began to crash. And with them, the illusion that I was ever truly in control.

Here's the thing: I really did believe in God’s power, but I was living as if everything depended on me - my work ethic, my strategy, my ability to hold it all together. I was taking steps of faith, while anxiously monitoring the wind and waves. And a result, I was sinking.

In hindsight, I realized that a lack of faith doesn’t always look like refusing to get out of the boat. Sometimes it looks like walking on water while still trying to manage the storm. It's taking your eyes off Jesus and thinking that we can control outcomes and situations we were never meant to carry.

I can't tell you how often I have to remind myself of this truth: Matt, get your eyes off the wind - off the things you can't control - and fix your eyes on Jesus.

Here's a great question for reflection: Are there areas of your life you are trying to control or manage and the Holy Spirit is calling you to a place of complete trust and surrender?

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I was recently invited to pray at a National Day of Prayer event here in Tulsa. As someone who longs to see the Church united in Jesus, I eagerly accepted, excited to gather with other pastors and believers to lift up the name of Christ across our city. But instead of walking away encouraged, I left that chapel deeply grieved.

To be clear, some of the pastors who were invited did focus their prayers on Jesus and the kingdom of God—calling on the Spirit to bring renewal in every sphere of life. But the tone and agenda set by the event organizers told a different story. It reminded me of what happens when you’ve been drifting slowly and subtly for so long that you no longer realize how far you’ve veered from your intended destination.

The first thing that caught me off guard was how often people, microphone in hand, began referencing our “battle” against them—a vague but charged opposition. At first, I assumed they were referring to what Paul names in Ephesians 6:12: “the rulers, authorities, the powers of this dark world, and the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” But no—theyweren’t demonic powers. They were liberals. Democrats. Anyone seen as threatening a particular version of America that, somewhere along the way, had been fused with the kingdom of God.

When someone prayed for God’s kingdom to come or for the Spirit of Christ to move across our nation, the response was mild—an “Amen” here or there. But when certain political candidates were named, the room lit up with applause, cheers, and even standing ovations. I grew up in the Pentecostal/Charismatic Church—but I don’t recall ever feeling more uncomfortable in a sanctuary than I did that day.

Halfway through, we paused to watch a 4–5 minute video that praised the current political administration. It didn’t just highlight policy—it blurred the line between political allegiance and spiritual devotion, portraying their agenda as if it were synonymous with the kingdom of God. I was just minutes from stepping up to pray, and my palms started sweating. I scanned the room, wondering, Is anyone else feeling this?

When my time came, I delivered my three-minute prayer—doing my best to stay on the topic I was assigned, while still weaving in a few subtle lines that challenged the conflation of God’s kingdom with our political kingdoms. As the closing “Amen” was said, I made my way to my car as fast as I could.

Let me be clear: I’m not writing this to disrespect anyone, slap labels on people, or lump every participant into one category. But I walked out of that chapel grieved in my soul. I came for the National Day of Prayer, and I ended up at what felt like the National Day of Power.

This is how spiritual drift works. It’s often subtle. Undetectable at first. But when power and fear become our primary motivators, we slowly lose sight of Jesus. And when you’ve been drifting for years, it’s hard to even remember where the current started pulling you off course.

On the drive home, I couldn’t stop thinking about what happens when we, as followers of Jesus, lose our foundational story. When the gospel is no longer the good news that we’ve been rescued, redeemed, and sent to sacrificially love others—but instead becomes something that must be protected, legislated, and defended through force. That’s not the way of the Lamb. That’s what the Book of Revelation calls the way of the beast.

What Happens When We Trade the Cross for Power and Control?

1. We lose the heart and beauty of the gospel.

Instead of inviting people into a life of transformation through Jesus, we enforce cultural norms under the banner of faith. While the gospel certainly has political implications, Jesus never sought political power to change hearts. He embodied the kingdom—and invited others to follow Him.

2. We become selective in our ethics.

Christian politicians and leaders may champion religious liberty or traditional values, while remaining silent about poverty, racism, or the plight of immigrants. This creates a distorted gospel—one that can alienate people from the Jesus who consistently stood with the marginalized.

3. We compromise our prophetic voice.

Throughout history, the Church loses credibility when it becomes entangled with political power. Whenever the kingdom of God is fully aligned with a political ideology, the result isn’t deeper discipleship—it’s diluted Christianity. Or worse: just politics dressed up in religious language.

4. We confuse influence with control.

The early Church didn’t grow through dominance. It thrived under persecution—marked by radical love, generosity, and sacrifice. Christianity is always most powerful when it is lived, not legislated.

5. We forget our primary calling is to serve, not rule.

The allure of power has hijacked the imagination of too many Christians. Rather than living as ambassadors of a crucified King, some now grasp for influence, demanding cultural supremacy. But Jesus never told us to take control—He told us to take up our cross.

If we want revival, a great awakening, we must return.

Not to a political ideology. Not to a cultural myth.

But to Jesus—crucified, risen, and reigning.

The one who washes feet.

The one who heals enemies.

The one who says, “My kingdom is not of this world.”

“The evangelical brand has become so distorted that in many places it is now a political, cultural, and racial identity rather than a theological one.”

—Mark Labberton, Still Evangelical?

For many, the word “church” no longer evokes grace, healing, or deep community—but performance. A brand. A stage.

Pastors feel more like celebrities than shepherds. Worship resembles a concert more than communion. And if you’ve found yourself asking, “Is this really what Jesus had in mind?”—you’re not alone.

A growing number of believers are quietly facing what some call faith deconstruction—the unraveling of a version of Christianity that felt shallow, distorted, or built more on culture than Christ.

But here’s the good news: Disillusionment doesn’t have to be the end. It can be the beginning of a deeper, truer faith.

A Better Way Forward

In Matthew 5–7, Jesus gives us the Sermon on the Mount—a vision of life so radically different that it cuts through both religious legalism and cultural conformity.

He says again and again: “You have heard it said… but I say to you…”

Not to tear down the Law, but to call us deeper. Past appearances. Past performance. Into the heart of what it means to walk with God.

Jesus doesn’t bless the powerful or polished.

He blesses the poor in spirit, the meek, the grieving, the hungry.

The Beatitudes are not sentimental slogans—they’re a radical reversal of who we think is “blessed” and what it means to flourish.

What if Jesus wasn’t calling us to strive harder, but to come home to the kind of life we were made for?

What the Church Needs Now

If the church is going to find its soul again, it must return to what made it compelling in the first place:

Jesus.

That means:

• A high Christology — recentering on the love of the Triune God, not religious performance

• A culture of humility and mercy — not celebrity and image

• Walking with the disillusioned — not fixing them, but listening to them

• Reconstructing a faith that’s not just “correct,” but beautiful, embodied, and alive

This isn’t about abandoning the church—it’s about returning to Jesus’ radical, kingdom-centered vision for it. As Karl Barth has famously said, “The Church must always be reformed.”

A Word for the Disillusioned

If you’re reading this and feeling the ache of spiritual fatigue or disappointment, I want you to hear this clearly:

You’re not crazy. You’re not faithless. And you’re not alone.

You may not be losing your faith—you might be finding it again, under the rubble of what was never meant to last.

Jesus is still here.

Still blessing the brokenhearted.

Still calling you to something more.

And it’s more beautiful than what you’re leaving behind.