Author: Derrick Hurst (Page 10 of 150)

I am husband to Carrie, dad to Matthew, Lucas, and Natalie. I have a desire to see people grow in their relationship with Jesus. My personal mission is to move people forward in their faith life.

Christian Generosity Needs a Reboot

August 6, 2025 / / 0 Comments

It’s no secret, giving can be hard.

Sometimes it feels like kale. We know it’s good for us, but we’re not exactly craving it.

And yet, generosity is central to what it means to follow Jesus.

The problem? Most American Christians give like they eat kale, occasionally, reluctantly, and only when someone guilts them into it. That’s what I’ve heard called 3S giving: sporadic, spontaneous, and sparing.

The 3S Giving Problem

The numbers don’t lie. According to a 2022 State of the Plate report:

  • Only 5% of American churchgoers give 10% or more of their income.
  • 50% of people who attend church give $0 in a year.
  • The average American Christian gives about 2.5% of their income.
  • And giving as a percentage of income was actually higher during the Great Depression than it is today.

We’re not talking about people in dire poverty here. We’re talking about suburban believers with gym memberships, Amazon Prime, Netflix, the latest iPhone and a side hustle to pay for their dog’s grain-free diet.

Giving isn’t broken because we’re broke. Giving is broken because our hearts are.

Jesus was clear:

“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Matthew 6:21, ESV)

He’s saying the way we give reflects what we treasure.

Enter the Rich Young Ruler

Remember that guy in Mark 10? This rich young ruler comes to Jesus, eager to inherit eternal life. Jesus lists off a few commandments. The man checks all the boxes. He’s nailed it. But then Jesus drops the mic:

“You lack one thing: go, sell all that you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.” (Mark 10:21, ESV)

And what does the man do?

“Disheartened by the saying, he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions.” (Mark 10:22, ESV)

He walked away!. Not because he didn’t love God, but because his stuff had a stronger grip on him than Jesus did.

Let’s not judge him too quickly. He’s us. He’s the modern Christian who tips God with a leftover $20 once in a while but wouldn’t dare rearrange their lifestyle to become truly generous.

There’s a Better Way: The 3P Giving Framework

If 3S giving is sporadic, spontaneous, and sparing, we need a shift. Let’s talk about 3P giving instead. This giving is:

  1. Priority-Based
    Give first. Before the bills, before the extras. It’s not about what’s left at the end of the month. It’s about putting God first.“Honor the Lord with your wealth and with the firstfruits of all your produce.” (Proverbs 3:9, ESV)
  2. Percentage-Based
    Choose a percentage of your income and commit to it. Start somewhere, anywhere! Maybe 5%, 10%, maybe even more. Percentage giving grows us in faith and reminds us that all we have is God’s anyway.
  3. Progressive
    As God blesses you, grow in generosity. The goal isn’t to check a box and stay there forever. It’s to stretch, to trust, and to keep growing. Could you imagine doing a reverse tithe? That’s living on 10% while giving away 90%! It can be done if we try hard enough.

Imagine if every Christian embraced 3P giving. Churches would have all the resources needed to expand ministry. Missionaries could be sent. Families in crisis could be helped. Needs in the community could be met with abundance instead of scarcity.

Let’s Laugh (and Then Get Serious)

Sure, giving hurts sometimes. You might hear your bank account groan a little. You might have to delay that 17th streaming service or put off the latest gadget. But you’re trading temporary comforts for eternal impact.

Generosity isn’t just a money thing. It’s a heart thing. It’s about becoming people who trust God more than stuff, who treasure heaven more than Amazon, and who know that we’ve been given everything in Christ, so we live open-handedly in response.

“Each one must give as he has decided in his heart, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver.” (2 Corinthians 9:7, ESV)

So here’s the challenge:
Audit your giving. Be honest. Are you living in the 3S world and giving sporadically, spontaneously, and sparingly? Or are you stepping toward 3P generosity that gives with priority, by percentage, and in a progressive way?

Let’s not be the rich young ruler who walks away. Let’s be the ones who follow and give with joy.

Grace Is the Antidote

August 4, 2025 / / 0 Comments

(Part 4 of 4 in the “Performing or Belonging?” series)

Here’s the truth we keep forgetting: Grace breaks the performance cycle.
Not self-help. Not good vibes. Not “trying harder.”
Grace.

You can’t earn it. You don’t deserve it. And you can’t fake your way into it.

That’s why it changes everything.

Because for all our pretending, performing, curating, and impressing we’re still empty. Approval from others can’t fill the ache inside. Belonging built on performance is not real. You know it. I know it. We’ve lived it.

We’ve dressed up our shame in Sunday clothes. We’ve spiritualized burnout. We’ve convinced ourselves that if we do just a little more, serve a little harder, believe a little stronger, maybe then we’ll be enough.

But grace doesn’t play that game.

Grace doesn’t need your résumé.
Grace doesn’t require a filter.
Grace doesn’t say, “Clean yourself up first.”

Grace walks into the mess, locks eyes with you, and says, “You’re loved. Right now. As is.”

If that doesn’t make you uncomfortable, you’re not hearing it right.

Because deep down, we think we have to earn it. We want to earn it. It would feel safer, more predictable. But grace doesn’t reward the impressive, it rescues the desperate.

Jesus didn’t die for your performance. He died for you.

Not the cleaned-up version. Not the leader you pretend to be. Not the parent you wish you were. You. The real you. The you as you are. Warts and all.

The cross is proof that God knows the real you and still chooses you. The resurrection is proof that He didn’t just forgive your past. He’s giving you a whole new way to live.

So breathe.

You don’t have to perform anymore.
You don’t have to hustle for love.
You don’t have to keep pretending that everything’s fine.

Grace means you can finally be honest.
Grace means you can finally rest.
Grace means you can finally belong.

And now? Now we build from that place.

Not out of fear but freedom.
Not to earn love but because we already have it.
Not to impress but to invite others into this same grace-drenched reality.

This is the final part of our Performing or Belonging? series.

We’ve called out the exhaustion of faking it.
We’ve faced our addiction to approval.
We’ve named our deep hunger to truly belong.
And now we end where real life begins: grace.

Not cheap grace. Not watered-down theology.
But the gritty, costly, cross-shaped grace that dismantles our illusions and sets us free.

So here’s your call:
Take off the mask.
Kill the performance.
Step into the grace that says, “You are mine.”

It’s time to stop striving.
It’s time to belong.

We’re Starving for Something Real

July 28, 2025 / / 0 Comments

(Part 3 of 4 in the “Performing or Belonging?” series)

We were made for connection.
Not Wi-Fi. Not group texts. Not “likes.”
Real connection. The kind where someone sees you, hears you, and stays.

But let’s be honest: that’s rare. And that rarity is saddening.

Most of us walk through life surrounded by people but are suffocating from loneliness. We go to parties, small groups, even worship services and still feel like nobody really knows us. We crack a joke, scroll some memes, post a photo, and call it “community.” But deep down, we know we’re starving.

Starving for real conversations.
Starving for safe places.
Starving for the kind of love that doesn’t flinch when we get honest.

Why? Because we’re wired for belonging. It’s not a wish or a pipe dream. It’s built into our soul.

God said, “It is not good for man to be alone.” And He wasn’t just talking about marriage. He was naming a core human need: to be seen and embraced in the context of relationship. Being alone was the first not good thing mentioned in the Bible.

But somewhere along the way, we stopped believing that was possible. So we settled.

We settled for surface-level friendships.
We settled for performative “community” where image matters more than honesty.
We settled for churches where connection ends at the door and vulnerability never makes it past the welcome team.

And that’s not just sad. It’s dangerous.

Because when we don’t belong, we break. Not all at once. Slowly, over time.
We isolate. We numb. We drift. We start thinking something’s wrong with us when really, the problem is we’ve been faking intimacy in systems built for applause, not authenticity.

And the church has sometimes made it worse.

We’ve taught people how to serve before teaching them how to connect.
We’ve emphasized theology without embodying hospitality.
We’ve built programs but neglected people.

But there’s good news: belonging is still possible.
Because Jesus didn’t just save souls. He built a family.
He took tax collectors and zealots, doubters and sinners, introverts and loudmouths, and said, “You’re mine. You belong.”

And if there’s one place in the world where masks should come off and stories should get told, it should be the church.

Not a church full of shiny people pretending everything’s fine.
A church full of real people with real baggage and real grace.
A church where someone says, “I’ve been through hell,” and the reply isn’t silence, it’s “You’re not alone.”

That’s the kind of community the world is longing for.
Not another event. Not another doctrinally packed sermon.
A place to belong before you believe, behave, or have it all figured out.

So here’s the question: Are we brave enough to build it?

Not perfectly. Not instantly. But intentionally.
With small steps, awkward moments, honest stories, and persistent love.

This post is Part 3 of 4 in the Performing or Belonging? series.
Next week we’ll dive into: “Grace Is the Antidote” discovering how Jesus dismantles our need to perform and gives us a better way to live, love, and build something real.

You don’t have to settle for shallow.
You were made for more.
Let’s stop pretending. Let’s build belonging.

Enduring with the Grief

July 24, 2025 / / 1 Comment

I stand behind pulpits and podiums,
smile through scripture, break bread with the broken,
but behind the suit and dress shirt
my heart is cracked glass.

See, they say, “Pastor, it’s part of the job,”
like grief is a line in my call papers.
Like funerals come with the welcome packet.
Like burying saints is just part of the benefits package.
But they don’t see what I see.
They don’t feel what I feel.

Every casket is a chapter closed too soon.
Every grave is another goodbye
I never wanted to say.
They say “time heals all wounds,”
but ministry just keeps opening new ones.

See, I don’t count members. I carry them.
Not in spreadsheets, but in stories.
Not in numbers, but in names.
Their faces flicker through my prayers
the baby I baptized now gone in her sleep,
the widow who sat in row four, seat one,
always humming harmony when no one else would sing.
The man who fought the bottle,
then cancer, then finally gave in
not because he lost,
but because heaven finally whispered, “Come home.”

I feel their absence like silence in a sanctuary.
Loud. Echoing. Unshakeable.
They were more than attenders.
They were family.
And every loss
feels like I’m losing blood, kin.

They ask, “How do you keep going?”
How do I stand again on Sunday?
How do I preach hope when my own heart’s
buried six feet under with someone I loved?

Because Hebrews 12.
Because Jesus.
Because “for the joy set before Him,
He endured the cross…”

Joy wasn’t comfort.
It wasn’t ease.
It was resurrection on the other side of grief.
It was reunion beyond the tomb.
It was us, you and me,
being with Him forever.
That was His joy.
And now, that’s mine too.

So I preach through the pain.
I worship through the weeping.
Because there’s joy at the end of this night.
Because the tomb still stands empty.
Because Jesus still calls them by name
and one day, I’ll hear those names again.

They’ll rise.
We’ll laugh.
No more sermons, no more tears.
Just the great reunion,
and the final amen.

Until then,
I endure.

A Seat at the Table

July 22, 2025 / / 1 Comment

While at the gathering we’ve been treated to original poems by Tanner Olson. Here’s my crack at a written to speak style poem summarizing last night’s event. Remember it’s written to speak which means you kind of need to read it aloud to get the rhythm to it.

I didn’t earn this place.
Didn’t climb enough ladders
or check the right boxes.
Didn’t bring a spotless résumé
or a perfect past,
just a mess of mistakes
and a hunger that wouldn’t quit.

But the table was set.
Candles flickered with welcome.
Chairs pulled out like open arms.
And there, at the head
was Jesus.
Not a scowling judge,
but a smiling Host,
nails in His hands,
grace in His eyes.

He didn’t ask what I brought.
Didn’t weigh my worth
on scales of effort or achievement.
He just said,
“Come. Sit. Eat.
You belong here, not because of you,
but because of Me.”

See, this table isn’t for the perfect.
It’s for the hungry.
The weary.
The wanderers and wrecked.
It’s not about merit,
it’s about mercy.
Not performance,
but promise.

The Host broke the bread, His body.
Poured the wine, His blood.
And every bite, every sip,
tastes like grace
so rich
it ruins every lie
that said I wasn’t enough.

So here I sit,
shoulder to shoulder with saints and sinners,
all the same in His eyes
not because we climbed our way in,
but because He came down
and opened the door.

We get a seat at the table
not because we’re worthy,
but because He is.
And He says,
“This chair has your name on it.”
That’s grace.
And it’s dinner time.

When Approval Becomes a Drug

July 21, 2025 / / 0 Comments

(Part 2 of 4 in the “Performing or Belonging?” series)

Let’s be honest, most of us are addicted to approval.

We don’t call it that. We call it being “driven,” “motivated,” “on our game.” But underneath the hustle is a hunger: Please notice me. Please like me. Please tell me I’m enough.

And if you think that’s not you, ask yourself this:

  • Why did you rewrite that text three times before sending it?
  • Why did you say yes when everything in you wanted to say no?
  • Why did that one piece of criticism stick in your head for a week straight?

We perform because we’re afraid.
Afraid of not measuring up. Afraid of being forgotten. Afraid that if we stop doing, we’ll stop mattering.

This world teaches us that worth is earned. That people only love winners. That image is everything. And that grind? It sneaks into every part of life including the church.

Somewhere along the line, we confused Christian faith with Christian performance. “Be a better spouse. Be a better parent. Read more Bible. Serve more. Smile while you do it.” It starts to feel less like grace and more like a spiritual rat race.

And people are tired of it? They are leaving the church over it. Not because they’re rejecting Jesus, but because they’re drowning in pressure they think He put on them.

But He didn’t.

Jesus didn’t say, “Come to me, all you who are killing it and crushing your goals.”
He said, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28, ESV)

Rest. Not reward for achievement. Not applause. Not another list of tasks. Rest. The kind that sinks deep into your bones and tells your soul, “You can stop performing. You’re already loved.”

That’s the gospel. And it is absolutely scandalous.

Because it means that the addict doesn’t have to hide.
The burned-out mom doesn’t have to fake it.
The guy battling depression doesn’t need to pretend he’s fine.
The believer with questions doesn’t need to perform certainty.

God doesn’t love the cleaned-up version of you. He loves the real you. The messy, insecure, unfinished, struggling version.

When we chase approval, we end up exhausted and empty. But when we root ourselves in grace, something radical happens. We start living from love, not for it.

And that changes everything.

You don’t have to prove your value. You don’t have to earn your belonging. You don’t have to perform your way into community. Not here. Not with Jesus.

Let’s call it what it is: performing is easier than being real, but it’s a prison.
It gives quick hits of affirmation and long stretches of isolation.

But belonging? That’s the long road to freedom. It’s messy, vulnerable, and sacred. And it’s worth every ounce of the effort.

This is Part 2 of 4 in our series on Performing or Belonging?
Next up: “The Longing to Belong” because every one of us is wired to be fully known and fully loved. And it’s time to stop settling for shallow substitutes.

I Am That Joy

July 21, 2025 / / 1 Comment

Inspired by Night 2 of the LCMS Youth Gathering & Hebrews 12:1–3

Some moments stay with you.

For many who gathered on Night 2 of the LCMS Youth Gathering, there was a phrase that echoed through the arena and hit deep into the soul:

“I am that joy.”

“Looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.”  Hebrews 12:2 (ESV)

What was the joy set before Jesus?
You were.

That truth landed like a wave. Jesus endured the mockery, the nails, the weight of sin not out of obligation or guilt but with joy. And that joy was you. It was your restoration. It was your freedom. It was your life made new in Him.

You are the joy that kept Him on the cross.

That realization changes everything, especially in the moments we feel too broken, too stuck, or too far gone to endure in Jesus.

Because if we’re honest, sometimes we don’t.
We give in to old habits.
We isolate in shame.
We spiral into addiction, self-harm, porn, or self-loathing, wondering if there’s any way back.

But Night 2 didn’t stop at the hard truth. It pointed us to hope real, honest, Spirit-filled hope.

Jesus endured the cross not just to rescue us but to recreate us. When we surrender the broken pieces to Him, the Holy Spirit goes to work not simply to polish us up, but to make us new.

“If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.”  2 Corinthians 5:17 (ESV)

So if you’re feeling like you’ve failed to endure, hear this:

There is no shame in coming back.
There is no darkness too deep.
There is no mistake too final.

Because Jesus saw all of it and still, you were the joy set before Him.
He didn’t quit on you then.
He won’t quit on you now.

Hold This Close:

  • Remind yourself of this throughout this week: “I am that joy.”
  • When shame creeps in, remind yourself: Jesus endured for me.
  • Pray: “Holy Spirit, take the broken places in me and make me new. I want to endure in Jesus.”

Let’s walk in that joy. Let’s endure not alone, not by our own strength but in Jesus.

Endure

July 20, 2025 / / 0 Comments

There’s a reason the theme of this year’s Youth Gathering echoes loud and clear: Endure.

We live in a world where it’s easy to quit. Quit trying. Quit believing. Quit showing up. Life throws curveballs, culture applies pressure, and sometimes it feels like we’re barely holding on. But Hebrews gives us a different word. One that doesn’t ignore the struggle, but gives us power to walk through it:

“Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.” – Hebrews 12:1–2 (ESV)

Jesus endured.
Not just pain. Not just betrayal. Not just death. He endured the cross. The most brutal, shameful, and unjust suffering imaginable for you. For the joy of your salvation, your freedom, your future. And now, we don’t run alone. We run with Him the One who already won.

The LCMS Youth Gathering theme isn’t about mustering up fake strength or pretending everything’s fine. It’s about looking to Jesus and realizing we can endure because He already has. His victory isn’t just history. It’s your hope today.

Whether you’re facing a hard school year, a friendship that’s falling apart, mental health battles, or questions about your worth and future you need to hear this: Jesus sees you. He hasn’t left you. And He isn’t asking you to sprint through life alone.

Instead, He says: “I’ve walked this road. I know how it ends. Keep going. Keep trusting. I’m with you.”

Endurance doesn’t mean you won’t get tired. It means you keep going anyway step by step, day by day, with your eyes on the cross and your heart fixed on grace. The cloud of witnesses surrounds you (Hebrews 12:1). You are not alone. The #lcmsyg community across the country is running this race too and together, we hold on to the One who holds us.

So when life feels heavy, don’t quit. Look to Jesus. Remember the cross. He endured it for the joy of seeing you free. And because He endured, so can you.

Quick Encouragement

  • Write this verse somewhere visible to you this week: Hebrews 12:2
  • Pray something like this: “Jesus, help me to keep going. Fix my eyes on You when I feel like giving up. Remind me I’m not alone. You endured the cross for me help me endure through You.”

You’re not just surviving. You’re enduring with Jesus. And that changes everything.

The Cost of Distraction

July 16, 2025 / / 2 Comments

Ever feel like you’re drowning in noise.

Not just the sound of traffic or your neighbor’s dog or the 37th autoplay video on Instagram. I’m talking about the kind of noise that sits in your brain even when it’s quiet. The constant scroll, the endless to-do list, the pressure to keep up, to stay informed, to respond right now. We live in a world addicted to input. Every second of silence feels like wasted time, and every unoccupied moment screams to be filled with something, anything, just so we don’t have to sit still.

And if you’ve ever wondered, “Why does God feel so distant?”
Maybe it’s not that He’s silent.
Maybe it’s that we’ve forgotten how to listen.

Distracted Doesn’t Mean Disconnected, But It’s Dangerously Close

We don’t need a theological degree to know that something’s off.

You open your phone to check the weather and somehow 22 minutes later you’re watching a video about penguins ice-skating in slow motion. Or you sit down to breathe, maybe even pray, and your brain jumps straight to that email you forgot to send or the headline that just pinged your smartwatch.

We say we don’t have time for soul care, for reflection, for deeper things. But the truth is that we’re giving our attention to things that don’t even remember our names. And the tradeoff is killing us.

Peace? Gone.
Clarity? Unclear at best.
Spiritual depth? Drowned in noise.

There’s a cost to all this distraction. And it’s not just that we’re tired. It’s that we’re starving. Relationally. Emotionally. Spiritually. Starving!

Stillness Feels Like Rebellion

It almost seems like stillness is weird now. It feels unnatural. Like we’re doing something wrong if we’re not multitasking. But in a world that equates noise with importance and busyness with value, stillness is straight-up rebellious.

And yet, it’s exactly where God works best.

There’s a line from the Bible that says, “And behold, the Lord was not in the wind… not in the earthquake… not in the fire… but in the sound of a low whisper.” (1 Kings 19:11–12)

A whisper. Not a podcast. Not a push notification. Not a viral reel. Not a packed schedule. He was in the whisper.

God doesn’t compete for our attention like everything else. He’s not going to shout over the chaos. He waits until we’re ready to actually listen. And that’s the scary part. It’s scary because most of us never slow down long enough to be still.

The Fix?

It’s not going to be easy. But it will be worth it.

You won’t stumble into stillness accidentally. You have to fight for it. You have to get uncomfortable. You have to turn things off and shut things out and be okay with the fact that it might feel awkward and even a little boring at first. But you also have to believe this:

Stillness isn’t the absence of something. It’s the presence of Someone.

And maybe, just maybe, when the noise dies down and the distractions fade, we’ll find that God’s been whispering all along. Not with judgment. Not with pressure. But with love, grace, clarity, and peace.

You’re not crazy for feeling overwhelmed. You’re not broken for struggling to hear. But don’t ignore the ache inside you that knows something deeper is calling.

This is Part 1 of our series “Is It Me, or Is the World Just Louder Than God?”
Up next: Digital Detox and Soul Repair.

Because let’s be honest, your soul wasn’t made for 24/7 notifications.
And it’s time to get it back.

Why Everyone’s Tired of Faking It

July 14, 2025 / / 0 Comments

(Part 1 of 4 in the “Performing or Belonging?” series)

It often goes without saying – we’re exhausted.

Not from work. Not from parenting. Not from the latest crisis-of-the-week. So many people exhausted from pretending.

Smiling when we’re breaking. Posting like we’re thriving. Walking into rooms, churches included, wondering if we’re being judged for not having it all together.

We’ve been trained to perform. Perform at school. Perform at work. Perform in our friendships. Even perform at church. And somewhere along the way, we got the twisted idea that love, acceptance, and community were things we earn by being impressive.

But here’s the truth: Performance-based belonging is killing us. Slowly, quietly, spiritually.

You feel it, don’t you?

That subtle anxiety before walking into a room, wondering if you’ll be enough. That instinct to sanitize your story before telling it. That inner voice whispering, “Don’t let them see the real you. They couldn’t handle it.”

And the wild part? We’ve made this normal! We celebrate “being polished.” We admire the curated feed. We’ve confused authenticity with oversharing and vulnerability with weakness. But deep down, we all want the same thing: to be known and still loved. No mask. No pretense.

But we’ve bought into the lie that if we’re real, we’ll be rejected. So we keep performing. Keep managing our image. Keep walking into spaces like churches, friendships, even family dinners and thinking, “Don’t screw this up. Be who they want you to be.”

Let’s call it what it is: fake community. It’s shallow, it’s exhausting, and it’s not what God designed us for.

Want to know the truth? You were never meant to perform for love. You were made to belong in it. Real belonging doesn’t ask you to audition. It doesn’t hand you a mask. Real belonging walks into your mess and says, “Yeah, I see it. I still choose you.”

That’s what Jesus does.

No pretense. No filter. He doesn’t wait for you to clean yourself up. He doesn’t bless the fake version of you. He meets the real you tired, broken, guarded and offers something this world can’t: grace.

And if grace is real, then performance can die.

It’s time to stop faking it. It’s time to stop trying to impress people we don’t trust to love us. It’s time to build something better. It’s time for real relationships, real community, where masks aren’t needed and performance isn’t currency.

That kind of community doesn’t happen by accident. It takes guts. It takes honesty. And even a little faith. But I believe it’s possible. And if I’m being honest, I believe the church should lead the way.

Not with cheesy slogans. Not with religious guilt trips. But with raw stories, open doors, and the kind of love that says, “You don’t have to pretend here.”

If you’re tired of performing – then good. That’s the first step to finding something real.

This is Part 1 of 4 in a series exploring the tension between performing and belonging. Next up: The Pressure to Perform and why we chase approval like our lives depend on it (because for many of us, it feels like they do).

Let’s stop performing. Let’s start belonging.

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