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If It’s a Stewardship Crisis… Then Let’s Start Acting Like Stewards

April 22, 2026 / / 0 Comments

The response to my last post has been a little loud.

Some people were grateful.
Some were uncomfortable.
Some were frustrated.
Some flat did not like what I had to say.

And frankly all of those answers are good.

Because if we’re honest, we don’t need more agreement. We need movement.

So let’s move the conversation forward.

If this really is a stewardship crisis… then what do we actually do about it?

Not in theory. Not some vague encouragement.

But in real, tangible, actionable ways that help churches take faithful next steps.

First. Let’s Be Clear About What This Is Not

This is not about:

  • Forcing churches to close
  • Strong-arming congregations into mergers
  • Shaming smaller churches
  • Or acting like bigger automatically means better

That’s not the goal. The goal is faithfulness.

And faithfulness requires intentional stewardship of people, pastors, buildings, and the mission.

The Shift We Need

We have to move from:

Reactive → Intentional
Isolated → Supported
Preservation → Mission

Right now, too many congregations are left to figure this out alone. So they stall. Or they avoid hard conversations. Or they default to “just keep going.”

Not because they don’t care, but because they don’t know what else to do.

That’s where we need to change (or modify) the system.

What If We Actually Supported Churches Through This?

Not just with funding. Not just with prayers. Although we definitely need to be continually praying! But with real, hands-on, structured support.

I’m the kind of person who doesn’t just say there’s a problem and not offer a potential solution. So here’s a crack at what this could look like:

1. Deploy Real Transition Teams

Imagine if congregations didn’t have to navigate this alone.

Instead, trained teams made up of experienced pastors, lay leaders, and district support staff could step in to help churches. They would

  • Assess current health and mission alignment
  • Facilitate honest conversations (the ones no one wants to lead)
  • Walk leadership through options: revitalization, partnership, merger, or even closure
  • Keep the focus on Gospel impact not just institutional survival

This is not about outsiders dictating decisions. This is about guides helping congregations discern faithfully.

2. Normalize and Resource Church-to-Church Partnerships

Not every church needs to close. Let me say that very clearly so the people in the back don’t get their undies in a bunch.

Not every church needs to close!

But many shouldn’t stay isolated.

We should be actively encouraging:

  • Shared staffing models (one pastor or commissioned worker serving multiple congregations)
  • Ministry partnerships between neighboring churches
  • Campus-style expansions where one healthy church adopts another location
  • Leadership pipelines shared across congregations

We don’t need fewer churches. We need more connected churches.

3. Create a “Best Practices” Playbook for Hard Conversations

Right now, every church facing decline feels like they’re the first ones to ever go through it. News flash friends! They’re not.

So why aren’t we equipping them better?

We need a clear, accessible resource that walks congregations through:

  • How to recognize when change is necessary
  • How to lead a healthy congregational conversation
  • What a faithful merger process actually looks like
  • How to navigate closure with dignity, care, and Gospel clarity
  • Legal, financial, and property considerations
  • How to care for members emotionally and spiritually through transition

Not more theory. Real steps. Real timelines. Real examples.

4. Activate Existing Synod and District Resources

We don’t necessarily need to build something new. We need to better deploy what we already have.

There are leaders at the district and synod levels with wisdom, experience, and capacity. But too often, their role is reactive instead of proactive. They are spending far too much time behind desks when they could be sitting with pastors and church leaders. They could be listening. Encouraging and connecting right there in the communities that are struggling.

What if:

  • Every struggling congregation had a clear, accessible pathway to support
  • District leaders regularly initiated conversations instead of waiting for crisis
  • Resources were streamlined and digitized instead of scattered and still in binders in some basement
  • Churches knew exactly who to call and what help would actually look like

Support shouldn’t feel distant or bureaucratic.

It should feel present, personal, and practical.

5. Fund Strategy, Not Just Survival

Money isn’t the primary issue, but how we use it matters.

Instead of defaulting to, “Let’s help them stay open a little longer…”

What if we prioritized:

  • Funding for transition teams
  • Grants for merger or relaunch processes
  • Support for leadership coaching during major change
  • Investment in church plants or revitalization efforts tied to legacy churches

Not bailout money. Mission-focused investment.

6. Tell Better Stories

Right now, closures and mergers feel like failure. So churches avoid them.

But what if we told different stories? Stories of:

  • Two churches coming together and reaching more people than either could alone
  • A legacy congregation blessing a new church plant in their community
  • A faithful closure that led to Kingdom impact beyond what anyone expected

We need to redefine what success looks like. Because the Gospel isn’t measured in how long something stays open.

It’s measured in lives reached.

This Is About Courage Together

No single church should have to carry this weight alone. And no congregation should feel like their only options are: “Stay the same” or “shut down.”

There is a better way. But this better way requires:

  • Courage from congregational leaders
  • Initiative from district leadership
  • Collaboration across local congregations
  • And a shared commitment to the mission over the model

Final Thought

If we really believe the Church exists to reach people with the Gospel, then we have to be willing to structure ourselves around that mission.

Not around comfort.
Not around history.
Not around buildings.

Around people who don’t yet know Jesus.

We don’t need to panic.

We don’t need to force outcomes.

But we do need to act like stewards.

Because the mission is too important not to.

Next week, I want to take a deeper dive into a few of these pathways. We’ll look at what they actually look like on the ground, and how churches can begin taking first steps.

The Right Side of the Boat

April 20, 2026 / / 0 Comments

There’s a moment most people hit eventually.

You’ve been grinding. Showing up. Doing what you know how to do.

And it’s not working.

Not a little slow. Nothing. No traction. No payoff. Just effort disappearing into the dark.

That’s where this story starts.

A group of guys go out to fish, something they’ve done their whole lives. This isn’t new territory. This is their lane. And still… all night, nothing.

Empty.

If you’ve ever worked hard at something and watched it go nowhere, you already understand the scene.

Then morning comes. And from the shoreline, someone calls out:

“Catch anything?”

Nope.

“Try the right side of the boat.”

That’s it. No explanation. No credentials. Just a voice suggesting a small adjustment.

And somehow they listen.

That’s the part that should catch you. These aren’t amateurs. They know what they’re doing. But after a long night of getting nowhere, they still have enough humility left to try something different.

So they move the nets. And everything changes.

Suddenly more fish than they can handle. The kind of result that makes you stop and realize this is not luck.

Here’s the tension we need to feel. Most people don’t get stuck because they’re lazy.

They get stuck because they’re locked in.

Same habits. Same patterns. Same approach. Over and over again.

We call it consistency. Sometimes it’s just resistance to change.

Because these kind of adjustments feel small. It feels almost too simple to matter.

But that’s usually where the shift happens.

Not in some massive overhaul, but in a decision to listen when something, or someone, cuts through the noise and says, “Try it this way.”

The story turns when one of them realizes who’s on the shore. It’s Jesus.

And one of the guys, Peter, doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t even think. He jumps straight into the water and heads to shore.

Because when something real shows up, you stop analyzing and start moving.

And when they get to shore, it’s not chaos. It’s calm. A fire’s already going. Food’s already cooking.

Here’s the twist: Jesus already has fish. He didn’t need theirs.

But he still tells them, “Bring some of what you caught.” That changes the whole angle.

This wasn’t about filling a gap. It wasn’t about proving themselves. It was an invitation.

Join me.

Be part of something.

That’s a different way to think about life. The pressure to perform, to produce, to make something happen. That’s heavy. But what if the point isn’t proving your worth?

What if it’s paying attention… and then responding?

So if you’ve been pushing hard and getting nowhere, maybe the answer isn’t more effort.

Maybe it’s a shift.

Listen again.

Try the other side.

It might not be about doing more.

It might be about doing something different and finally getting unstuck.

We Don’t Have a Pastor Shortage. We Have a Stewardship Crisis.

April 15, 2026 / / 3 Comments

I’m kind of tired of hearing the same messed up verbiage all over the place. So let’s reframe the story a little.

We don’t have a pastor shortage. We have a stewardship problem.

I recently sat in a room where we heard the numbers, nearly 13% of our LCMS churches here in Ohio are currently calling pastors. And that doesn’t even include the number of congregations without pastors who aren’t calling at all.

That should stop us in our tracks.

But not for the reason you might think.

The Easy Explanation (That Isn’t Actually True)

It’s easy to say, “We just need more pastors.”

And sure, raising up more pastors matters. We should absolutely be investing in young men, encouraging theological education, and calling people into church work.

But let’s be honest: even if we magically added 50 new pastors tomorrow… would that actually solve the problem?

Or would we just spread them thinner across a system that’s already struggling?

The Harder Truth

Here’s the uncomfortable reality: We have too many churches trying to survive instead of too many churches trying to reach people.

We’ve confused preservation with mission.

We’ve convinced ourselves that maintaining a building, a name, and a location is somehow the same thing as advancing the Gospel.

It’s not.

And deep down, we know it.

The Quiet Drift Into Ineffectiveness

It rarely happens overnight.

A church that was once vibrant slowly declines. Attendance shrinks. Energy fades. The surrounding community changes, but the church doesn’t.

And instead of asking, “How do we reach people now?” the question becomes “How do we keep this going just a little longer?”

So we keep the doors open. We keep the lights on.

We call a full-time pastor… to shepherd six, ten, maybe twenty people who are no longer reaching anyone beyond themselves.

And we call that faithfulness. Faithful to what?

When Care Becomes Coddling

Pastoral care matters. Deeply.

But there’s a difference between shepherding a flock and propping up a system that has lost its mission.

When we assign a full-time, seminary-trained pastor to a congregation that is no longer engaged in reaching its community, we’re not just caring for people we’re misallocating Kingdom resources.

That same pastor could be:

  • Leading a growing church
  • Planting something new
  • Revitalizing a community with real potential
  • Multiplying leaders and disciples

Instead, he’s often asked to maintain what is already fading.

Not because it’s fruitful. But because it’s familiar.

Buildings Aren’t the Mission

Hard truth for today: The Church is not the building.

It never has been.

And yet, we act like closing a location is equivalent to abandoning the Gospel.

But that’s simply not true.

Sometimes the most Gospel-centered thing a congregation can do is say: “We’ve done our part here. Now it’s time to release these resources for the sake of something new.”

That’s not failure. That’s faithfulness.

Actual Reality

We don’t just need more pastors. We need better questions.

  • Why are we holding onto churches that are no longer reaching people?
  • Why are we reluctant to merge, partner, or reimagine ministry?
  • Why do we treat decline as something to manage instead of something to confront?
  • Why do we assume every church deserves a full-time pastor, regardless of mission impact?

These aren’t easy questions. But they are necessary ones. And I’m not at all saying to close every church that’s struggling. But if the local church values its name, building or brand more than the Kingdom impact it once had we have a HUGE problem!

A Call to Courage

Friends this isn’t about numbers. It’s about faithfulness.

Faithfulness to the mission Jesus actually gave us. You know the whole while you are going to make disciples, to reach people who don’t yet know Him.

If we’re honest, some of our structures are getting in the way of that mission.

And it’s going to take courage to change. It takes courage for:

  • District leaders to say hard things and force hard conversations.
  • Congregations to let go of what once was
  • Pastors to lead through uncomfortable transitions
  • Churches to prioritize mission over memory, maintenance or building

What if instead of asking, “How do we keep every church open?” we asked: “How do we reach every community?”

What if instead of distributing pastors evenly, we deployed them strategically?

What if we saw closing, merging, or relaunching not as defeat but as multiplication?

What if we actually believed that the Gospel is bigger than any one building?

My Heart

This isn’t about blame. It’s about honesty.

We don’t have a pastor shortage.

We have churches holding onto yesterday at the expense of tomorrow.

And if we don’t address that, no number of new pastors will fix what’s really broken.

It’s time to stop managing decline.

And start stewarding the mission.

Into the Locked Room

April 13, 2026 / / 0 Comments

Easter night.

The tomb is empty.
The women have seen it.
The word is spreading.

And the disciples?

Nope. They’re not celebrating.

They’re not organizing a movement.
They’re not drafting a mission statement.
They’re not running into the streets shouting, “He’s alive!”

They are behind locked doors.

That detail matters more than we usually let it.

Because these aren’t strangers to Jesus. These are the closest ones. The ones who witnessed the blind see, the dead raised, the storm calmed with a word. They’ve been in the room for all of it.

And now, after all of it, they’re scared enough to bolt the door shut.

If you’ve ever wondered what fear looks like in real life, it looks like that.
People who know the truth… yet still living like death won.

Jesus doesn’t wait for brave people

John tells us that while the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them.

No knock.
No warning.
No “get your act together first.”

He just shows up in the middle of the room.

And the first words out of his mouth are not what you’d expect.

Not:

  • “Where’s your faith?”
  • “I told you so.”
  • “Why are you hiding?”

He says:

“Peace be with you.”

Not polite peace. Not surface-level calm.

This is shalom.

A word big enough to mean:

  • everything is held together
  • nothing is falling apart even when it looks like it is
  • your life is anchored deeper than your circumstances

This is peace that doesn’t depend on the room being safe.

This is peace that enters the unsafe room and refuses to leave things the same.

Then he shows them the scars

This is where it gets even more striking. Jesus doesn’t show up untouched. He doesn’t erase the story of the cross.

He shows them his hands.
He shows them his side.

Why?

Not to prove he’s real.
Not to win an argument.

But because the scars are the source of the peace.

The suffering is not erased. It is redeemed. The wounds are not hidden. They’re now the evidence that death didn’t win.

This is the great reversal of Easter. What was meant to destroy him becomes the very proof that you are forgiven. The cross didn’t cancel the mission. It completed it. The scars are the warranty of your peace.

Then he breathes on them

He breathes.

John uses a word that should make us pause. This is intentional. He’s pulling us all the way back to Genesis.

Back to dirt.
Back to dust.
Back to the first man.

God formed Adam and then breathed life into him.

Same idea here.

Jesus breathes on frightened disciples and says, in essence:

New creation is happening right now.

This is not just encouragement.
This is not just emotional comfort.

This is resurrection life entering locked rooms full of locked hearts.

The same Spirit that hovered over chaos in Genesis is now hovering over fear in a living room in Jerusalem. Dead things are being made alive again.

We still live in locked rooms

This is not just their story. It’s our story too. We still lock doors. Not always with deadbolts and iron hinges, but real doors just the same. Doors that look like:

  • fear of the future
  • anxiety about health
  • strain in relationships
  • shame from the past
  • uncertainty about what God is doing next

We say we believe “He is risen.” But we still sit behind locked doors acting as if resurrection is just a theory.

And here is the scandal of Easter. Jesus still walks into locked rooms. Not because the room is open. But because he is Lord of every locked place.

A moment at the font

We saw it this weekend. A child at the baptismal font. No theology degrees. No long explanations. No ability to articulate what’s happening.

Just water.
Just words.
Just promise.

And God does what God has always done. He breathes.

Because baptism is not about human understanding first. It’s about divine action.

Before we ever name him, he names us.
Before we ever reach for him, he reaches for us.
Before we ever unlock the door, he walks through it.

New life doesn’t start with human courage. It starts with divine presence.

So what do we do with locked rooms?

Maybe the better question is this: What do locked rooms do when Jesus enters them? They don’t stay locked.

Fear doesn’t get the final word.
Shame doesn’t get the final word.
Death doesn’t get the final word.

Jesus does. And his word is still the same:

Peace be with you.

Not because everything outside is fixed yet.
But because everything inside has already been secured.

So wherever you are today. Whatever room you’ve shut yourself into. Whatever fear has made you pull back and isolate. Whatever regret has convinced you to stay hidden. Hear this clearly:

Jesus doesn’t stand outside waiting for you to unlock the door.

He walks through walls. And when he gets there, he doesn’t bring judgment.

He brings peace. And life. And breath.

She Came for a Dead Man

April 6, 2026 / / 0 Comments

It was still dark when Mary got there.

She wasn’t coming to celebrate. She wasn’t coming to see an empty tomb or meet a risen Savior. She was coming with spices and oils to do the final, heartbreaking work of honoring a dead body. She loved Jesus enough to show up in the dark to care for a corpse.

That’s where Easter actually begins.

Not with trumpets. Not with certainty. Not with bold faith.

With grief. With confusion. With someone just trying to do the next right thing in the dark.

When she found the stone rolled away, she didn’t think resurrection. She thought theft. That’s how shattered her expectations were. No category for hope. No framework for “He’s alive.” Just panic and pain.

And when she finally turned around and saw Jesus standing in the garden, she thought he was the gardener.

Let that sit for a second.

The same Jesus she followed. The same Jesus she listened to. The same Jesus she watched die.

Standing right in front of her… and she couldn’t see Him.

Because grief has a way of blinding you to what’s right in front of you.
Because sometimes what God is doing doesn’t fit what you expected Him to do.
Because resurrection rarely looks like what we thought it would.

And then he said her name.

“Mary.”

Just her name. The same voice. The same tone. The same way he’d always said it.

And everything broke open.

Not because she figured it out.
Not because she pieced the clues together.
Not because her faith was finally strong enough.

But because Jesus made it personal.

That’s the Easter story that doesn’t get preached enough.

We love the big moment. The victory. The empty tomb. The global impact. And all of that matters. But before any of that unfolds… there’s a quiet garden, a grieving woman, and a Savior who refuses to stay distant.

Before He appears to the eleven.
Before He sends the church.
Before the world changes…

He calls one person by name.

Because salvation isn’t just global.

It’s personal.

It always starts personal.

That’s why, in baptism, we don’t just say, “This one.” We ask for a name.

“How is this child to be named?”

Because this isn’t generic grace. This isn’t abstract forgiveness. This isn’t a vague promise floating out there for whoever might grab it.

This is Jesus, crucified and risen, looking at a specific person and saying: You.

“You are mine.”
“You are forgiven.”
“You are raised with me.”

That’s what He was doing in the garden.

And that’s what He’s still doing.

A lot of us are still standing in that same place Mary was.

Still carrying grief.
Still assuming the worst.
Still trying to make sense of a God who didn’t do what we thought He would do.
Still looking right at Him… and missing Him.

We come expecting silence.
We come expecting absence.
We come expecting a dead end.

But Easter says otherwise.

The stone is already rolled away.
The grave is already empty.
And the Savior you think is missing is closer than you realize.

You might not recognize Him right away.

You might still be stuck in the fog.

But don’t miss this:

He knows your name.

Not the version of you that you project.
Not the cleaned-up version you bring to church.
Not the highlight reel.

He knows you.

And He calls your name.

Through His Word.
Through the water.
Through the promise that hasn’t changed.

And when it finally clicks, when you hear Him, when it lands, when the fog lifts it’s not just a theological realization.

It’s a moment.

Everything breaks open.

Hope returns.
Grief loosens its grip.
And what felt like the end starts to look like the beginning.

Mary came looking for a dead man.

She got a living Savior who knew her name.

He knows yours too.

And He’s still calling it.

3 Words That Changed Everything

April 5, 2026 / / 1 Comment

WE GOT HIM.
Three words that cut through chaos.

Somewhere deep in hostile territory, everything changed in a moment.
A downed pilot. Isolated. Vulnerable. Waiting. Hoping. Praying someone was coming.

Then the call came back over the radio:

We got him.

Mission accomplished.
Target secured.
Life saved.

Those three words ripple outward.
They hit a man first—you’re not alone anymore.
Then a family—he’s coming home.
Then an entire military machine—everything we did mattered.

We got him means the story isn’t over.
It means rescue beat ruin.
It means someone went in when it was dangerous, costly, and uncertain—and didn’t come back empty.

But this morning… there’s another three-word phrase.

Stronger.
Deeper.
More final.

HE IS RISEN.

Not “we found him.”
Not “we recovered him.”
Not “we got there just in time.”

No—this is different.

This wasn’t a rescue from danger.
This was victory over death itself.

Jesus wasn’t waiting to be saved.
He walked straight into the grave—and then walked out.

He is risen doesn’t just change one man.
It doesn’t just ripple through one family.
It doesn’t just impact one nation.

It changes everything.
For everyone.

Because if death doesn’t win…
then fear doesn’t win.
sin doesn’t win.
your past doesn’t win.

You want to know what Easter really is?

It’s God saying:

We got you.

You were down.
Lost.
Cut off.
Behind enemy lines called sin, shame, and death.

And instead of writing you off…
He came for you.

Not from a distance.
Not with words alone.

He stepped into your territory.
Took your place.
Fought your battle.

And when the stone rolled away, heaven declared:

He is risen.

Which means the mission worked.
It means the rescue is real.
It means you’re not stuck where you are.

So wherever you are this morning—
in a church seat,
on your couch,
in the middle of doubt,
or buried under the weight of your own story—

Hear this:

You can come home.

Because He is risen means the door is open.
The price is paid.
The path is clear.

And God is still in the business of saying:

We got him.
We got her.
We got you.

This isn’t just a holiday.

This is your rescue story.

He is risen.
And because of that…

You’re coming home.

You Came for This… But What If There’s More?

March 30, 2026 / / 0 Comments

You ever go somewhere expecting one thing… and walk out with way more than you planned?

You run into a store for “just one thing”… and somehow leave with a full cart.
You order something simple… and they upgrade you for free.
You show up for a quick conversation… and it turns into something that actually changes you.

It’s unexpected.
Unplanned.
Better than what you came for.

But here’s the twist—most of us don’t actually like that feeling when it comes to life.

Because we want control.

We Like Clear Expectations

Most of us approach life—and even God—like a transaction.

“I’ll show up… if You do this.”
“I’ll believe… if this works out.”
“I’ll trust You… as long as it goes my way.”

We come in with a plan:

  • Fix this problem
  • Smooth out this relationship
  • Make life a little easier

And if we’re honest, we don’t want more…

We want specific.

That’s Exactly What Happened on Palm Sunday

When Jesus rode into Jerusalem, the crowd thought they knew what was happening.

This was their moment.

They waved palm branches like victory flags.
They shouted for rescue.
They believed Jesus was about to flip the system and make their lives better—fast.

They weren’t looking for a Savior.

They were looking for a solution.

Jesus Doesn’t Do “Just Enough”

Here’s where everything flips.

Jesus didn’t come to meet their expectations.

He came to exceed them—on a completely different level.

They wanted a leader to fix their situation.
He came to fix the root of everything broken.

They wanted freedom from Rome.
He came to bring freedom from sin, shame, and death itself.

They wanted a win they could see.

He brought a victory that would last forever.

The Problem? It Didn’t Look Like “More”

Because “more” didn’t feel better in the moment.

It looked like tension.
It looked like confusion.
It looked like a cross.

And that’s where this gets uncomfortably real.

Because we do the same thing.

When Life Doesn’t Go As Planned

You pray for clarity… and get silence.
You ask for relief… and things get harder.
You want a quick fix… and instead you’re in a process.

It’s easy to assume: This isn’t working.

But what if…

What if you didn’t get less?

What if you actually got more—just not in the way you expected?

The Kind of Faith That Changes You

Real faith isn’t about getting what you asked for.

It’s about trusting that what God is doing is bigger than what you asked for.

Even when:

  • It takes longer
  • It feels harder
  • It doesn’t make sense yet

Because sometimes the thing you wanted fixed…
is actually connected to something deeper that needs healed.

And Jesus doesn’t do surface-level.

So Here’s the Question

Are you open to more…

Or are you stuck on what you expected?

Because you can hold tightly to your version of how life should go…

Or you can trust that Jesus might be doing something better than you can currently see.

You might have come looking for a quick answer.

But what if He’s offering something deeper?
Something lasting?
Something that actually changes you?

Not less.

More.

Just not what you planned.

No Moderate Importance

March 23, 2026 / / 0 Comments

There’s a line from C. S. Lewis that doesn’t leave you much room to hide:

“Christianity, if false, is of no importance, and if true, is of infinite importance. The only thing it cannot be is of moderate importance.”

Here’s the problem: Most people don’t reject Jesus. They just reduce Him.

We Don’t Deny Jesus. We Shelf Him

Nobody wakes up and says, “I’m going to walk away from Jesus today.”

Instead, we slowly rearrange things.

We give Him a place… just not the place.

He gets:

  • an hour on Sunday
  • a quick prayer when things feel shaky
  • a passing thought when life gets heavy

But when it comes to real life? We’re still in charge.

We make the calls.
We set the direction.
We control the outcomes.

Jesus is included…
but He’s not leading.

That’s what “moderate importance” actually looks like.

And unfortunately, it’s way more common than we want to admit.

The Tension We Try to Avoid

Here’s what we don’t like. If Jesus is who He says He is, then He doesn’t fit into your life. He takes it over.

That’s the part we resist.

Because we want Jesus to help our life work better not redefine it completely.

We want peace… without surrender.
Purpose… without disruption.
Grace… without change.

But that version of Jesus doesn’t exist.

You don’t need more information about Jesus.

You’ve got enough.

You’ve heard it.
You’ve read it.
You’ve sat in rooms where it’s been explained.

That’s not the issue. The issue is what you’ve done with it. Because at some point, more input isn’t growth. It’s avoidance.

You Already Know Where This Hits

You don’t need a list from me. You already know the places in your life Jesus has been kept at a distance.

It’s that area where you say:

  • “I’ll figure this out”
  • “I know what’s best here”
  • “This isn’t a big deal”

It’s your:

  • money
  • habits
  • relationships
  • private thoughts
  • hidden struggles

It’s the places where you want Jesus to be present but not in control. That’s the place we call the shelf.

The Real Issue Isn’t Doubt

We like to make this about questions.

“I’m just not sure…”
“I’m still figuring things out…”
“I need more clarity…”

Sometimes that’s real. But a lot of the time? It’s cover. Because the deeper issue isn’t “Is Jesus real?” It’s:

“Do I actually want Him to lead?”

That’s a much harder question. Because if the answer is yes then things have to change.

Control Is the Real Competition

Let’s just call it what it is. The biggest competitor for Jesus in your life isn’t atheism.

It’s control.

We want to run things the way we want them run. We don’t feel like we’re in control at work or at home or on the ball field so we’ll control the things we think we can control.

We want to decide what matters.
We want to define what’s right.
We want to protect what’s ours.

And Jesus steps into that and says:

“That’s not how this works friend.”

Not harshly.
But clearly.

You don’t get partial authority with Jesus.

At some point, everyone runs into the same moment: You either keep Jesus in a manageable space, or you let Him take over the parts you’ve been protecting.

There isn’t a middle ground that actually works. You can pretend there is for a while. A long while, even.

But eventually it shows up:

  • in your anxiety
  • in your relationships
  • in your restlessness
  • in that constant feeling that something’s off

Because you weren’t designed to be your own authority.

So What Do You Do With This?

This isn’t about “trying harder.”

Not about “being better.”

That’s not the move that works here. The move is honesty. Brutal, uncomfortable honesty. Where has Jesus been moderately important? Where have you kept control? Where have you said, “You can have this but not that”?

This is a great place to start. Because following Jesus doesn’t begin with perfection. It begins with surrender.

Off the Shelf

If Christianity is false, then none of this matters. Walk away. Do something else.

But if it’s true. If Jesus really is who He says He is, then He doesn’t belong on a shelf.

He belongs at the center.

Not part of your life.
All of it.

Not occasionally.
Constantly.

Not when it’s easy.
Even when it costs you.

No moderate importance.

He’s either everything. Or He’s nothing. He won’t ever be just something.

Don’t Quit Yet

March 20, 2026 / / 0 Comments

You’re exhausted. Everything hurts. Life feels like it’s crushing you from the inside out. Work, relationships, your dreams, maybe even your faith, everything seems to be failing at once. You’ve begged for relief, shouted for it, prayed for it, but nothing changes. And now… now you just want out.

You want it to stop. You want the pain gone. You want the struggle erased. You want someone, anyone, to make it all easier.

But here’s the thing: sometimes life doesn’t give you a way out. Sometimes the valley isn’t an accident. Sometimes the darkness isn’t a punishment. It’s where something real happens.

It’s here, in the dark, when you’re exhausted, lonely, scared, and desperate, that your soul stretches. That raw, unfiltered part of you, the part you try to hide from yourself is exposed. And in that exposure, something shifts. Maybe slowly. Maybe imperceptibly at first. But it shifts.

God’s presence doesn’t always come wrapped in light or clarity. Sometimes it comes in the quiet whisper that you almost miss. Sometimes it’s in the hand that feels invisible, guiding you step by step through the muck. Sometimes it’s in the stubborn spark that refuses to die even when you feel completely defeated.

Friend, the valley is brutal. It’s raw. It’s messy. It hurts like hell. And yet… it is exactly where resilience, courage, and clarity are born. Every tear, every sleepless night, every moment you feel like giving up is shaping something in you. Something stronger, something deeper, something unshakable.

So stay. Stay even when you’re ready to run. Stay even when it hurts. Don’t try to skip the pain or speed through it. Let it stretch you, refine you, strip you down, and show you what you’re made of.

You may come out bruised, shaken, heck maybe even broken, but you will come out changed. And when you do… you’ll finally see that even in the valley, you were never truly alone.

The Day It All Got Real

March 19, 2026 / / 1 Comment

There are moments in life that don’t ask for your attention. They take it.

Last week was one of those moments.

Everything slowed down and sped up at the exact same time. The kind of moment where the noise of life fades, but the weight of it presses harder than ever. Sitting in a hospital, staring at monitors, listening to words you never want to hear. It does something to you. It strips everything down.

And what’s left… is clarity.

Not the kind you chase in a podcast or a productivity hack. The kind you don’t want, but can’t ignore.

It became painfully obvious how much of life I spend holding onto things that don’t actually matter. Not bad things. Just… lesser things. Things that feel important until they’re standing next to something that actually is.

Because in those moments, you don’t think about what you own.
You don’t think about what you’ve built.
You don’t think about your plans, your goals, or even your next move.

You think about people.

You think about the ones you love.
The conversations you had.
The ones you didn’t.
The time you assumed you had left.

And for a second, maybe longer, you realize how upside down it all is.

We’ve built lives around accumulation. More success. More security. More comfort. More control. And none of those things are wrong… until they quietly take first place.

Because when life gets heavy, and I mean really heavy, those things don’t hold you up.

They don’t sit next to you in a hospital room.
They don’t speak peace into fear.
They don’t remind you what actually matters.

People do.

Love does.

Presence does.

And maybe the hardest truth in all of this is how often it takes a moment like that to wake us up. Not a gentle nudge. Not a sermon. Not a quote we scroll past.

It takes the floor dropping out.

It takes the realization that everything you have can be gone. And one day it will be. Not to create fear, but to tell the truth we spend most of our lives avoiding.

We are not as in control as we think we are.

And the things we’ve placed at the center of our lives? A lot of them won’t be there when it actually counts.

So what do you do with that?

You don’t wait for the next scare.
You don’t wait for the next moment that forces clarity on you.
You choose it now.
You reorder things now.

You put people first on purpose.
You say what needs to be said – now because later might not be here.
You show up when it’s inconvenient – now because you can’t take tomorrow for granted any longer.
You hold a little less tightly to the things that won’t last, and a little more intentionally to the things that will.
You reorder everything just to be a little more present.

Because life is heavy sometimes.

And it has a way of reminding you without asking that you don’t get to keep everything.

But you do get to choose what matters while you have it.

Don’t waste that.

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