How Jesus modeled loving confrontation — and why niceness was never the goal



Modern Christianity often treats “niceness” as its highest virtue and “offending” as its worst. The American church is far too often shaped by this creed.

Yet the Gospels paint a far different picture of Jesus. He was loving, compassionate, and merciful, yes — but He was also unapologetically offensive when truth required it. When we avoid speaking hard truths for the sake of being liked or preserving a shallow sense of “peace,” we slip into spiritual complacency, apathy, and lukewarmness — all things Jesus rebuked.

Jesus never softened the truth to keep crowds happy.

The American church has developed an aversion to tackling tough cultural issues that are, at their core, purely biblical. Pastors often retreat in fear of angry emails, pushback from congregants, or worse, the loss of Sunday pew-warmers.

Last year, in my home state of South Dakota, an amendment allowing abortion up to nine months was on the ballot. A pastor of one of the state’s largest churches refused to address it, worried about being labeled the “abortion church.” He chose the path of cowardice instead of defending the innocent unborn.

At its core, this kind of timidity is rooted in the fear of man, disguised as a desire to “attract” people to the gospel. Numbers are prioritized over hearts, popularity over true discipleship.

What most pastors try so hard to avoid today, Jesus hit head on. Jesus offended — and offended often. His offense was never petty but was always purposeful. He never once flinched from boldly proclaiming truth because it might “offend” someone or ruffle feathers. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Jesus set the example: Truth will offend

The Pharisees were Jewish religious leaders of Jesus’ day, esteemed by many and considered high-class elites.

But Jesus didn’t care how lofty and noble these men appeared to be — He saw straight through their transgressing hearts, calling them offensive names like “hypocrites,” “blind fools,” “brood of vipers,” “serpents,” “children of hell,” “whitewashed tombs,” and “greedy and self-indulgent.” Naturally they were offended.

In Matthew 15:1-12 and Matthew 23, the disciples pulled Jesus aside after He offended the Pharisees by exposing their spiritual corruption. Jesus told these perceived religious zealots they honor God with their lips, but their hearts are far from Him.

The disciples questioned, “Do you know that the Pharisees were offended when they heard this saying?” (Matthew 15:12). Jesus’ backbone, as stiff as steel, responded, “Let them alone; they are blind guides” (Matthew 15:14). He didn’t have any time for nonsense.

Jesus didn’t just offend the Pharisees with truth; He offended His disciples too.

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Christ driving money-changers from the Temple (Fine Art Images/Heritage Images via Getty Images)

In John 6, the disciples took offense at Jesus’ teaching on the bread of life. He challenged their religious assumptions and expectations about the Messiah as He proclaimed, “I am the living bread” (John 6:51), and symbolically called them to “eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood” (John 6:53).

Their offense shows their difficulty understanding the spiritual truths that transcended human understanding.

Jesus offends repeatedly all throughout the Gospel stories. When He claims He existed before Abraham as John 8:56-59 says, the Jewish leaders interpreted His teaching as blasphemy, which led them to try to stone Him. When one of the Pharisees invites Him to dinner in Luke 11:37-54, instead of a surface-level conversation about the weather, Jesus didn't waste time and immediately unmasked their hypocrisy, legalism, and spiritual emptiness. In response, they began plotting against Jesus — not repenting and humbling themselves.

Jesus never softened the truth to keep crowds happy. He offended religious leaders, political authorities, and even His own followers when they opposed the kingdom of God. His love was inseparable from honesty.

If we claim to follow Him, we cannot avoid offending people. Jesus reminds us in the Gospel of John that if the world hates us to remember it hated Him first. Faithful discipleship means being willing to confront lies, challenge sin, and speak truth, even when it divides, disrupts, or costs us something — or everything.

Courageous truth-telling is a biblical virtue

The modern church often elevates “niceness” above righteousness and holiness. But Jesus wasn’t crucified for being nice — He was crucified because He spoke truth that offended people even though a week before they spread cloaks and branches, shouting "Hosanna" as He entered Jerusalem.

I recently read through the Gospels, noticing the countless times Jesus “offended” but for good reason. He never offended for the sake of it — but always because it was the outcome of teaching truth with conviction.

In Jesus’ hometown, people were both astonished and “offended” when Jesus taught in their synagogue as Matthew 13:54-57 recounts. Their familiarity led to their unbelief, and Jesus exposed the depth of their spiritual blindness. The people of Nazareth then tried to throw Jesus off a cliff. They were first impressed but then violently offended (Luke 4:16-30).

'Modern religion focuses upon filling churches with people. The true gospel emphasizes filling people with God.'

Imagine congregants trying to throw a modern-day pastor off a cliff because he was too bold? Oh, to have more courageous pastors who righteously offend. Many would cower to the crowds or be taken to the side by their elder board demanding they tone it down, but not Jesus; He continued preaching truth at all costs.

Even up to His crucifixion and death on the cross, Jesus didn’t try to appease or reason with the people. He didn’t apologize. He didn’t use caveats. He was mission-focused on preaching the gospel that saves and leads to repentance. Not once did He try to people-please at the price of watering down sound doctrine.

Niceness avoids conflict, clarity, and offense — but Jesus didn’t. He embodied compassion and mercy, yet He also spoke hard, confrontational truths when necessary.

True Christlikeness means loving people enough to tell them what they need to hear — not what keeps us comfortable or well-liked.

Jesus didn’t offend to be cruel or to win an argument; He offended to reveal truth, to expose bondage, to free hearts, and to reveal God’s kingdom. His offense was holy, rooted in love, and aimed at transforming hearts and minds.

Fear of offending has paralyzed the church

A.W. Tozer wisely said, "Modern religion focuses upon filling churches with people. The true gospel emphasizes filling people with God.”

Many American pastors avoid addressing culturally explosive but biblically clear issues because they don’t want to offend. This silence stems from the fear of man — fear of losing members, donations, reputation, and influence.

The result is lukewarm churches that prioritize optics over obedience. Nothing is “wrong” with the church, but nothing is “right” with it either. People aren’t leaving convicted or repentant. They’re leaving feeling pretty good about themselves as they wallow in complacency.

Why does the American church continue to sit on the truth? True disciples follow Jesus until death.

No boats have been rocked, no hearts have been transformed, and no one has been truly discipled.

But the apostle Paul in Galatians 1:10 makes clear: “If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ.” You can only serve one master: God or the world.

When leaders refuse to speak on matters like abortion, sexuality, or sin because they might upset people, they are choosing self-preservation over faithfulness.

“If there is a decay of conscience, the pulpit is responsible for it. If the church is degenerate and worldly, the pulpit is responsible for it,” declared Charles Finney, a minister and leader during the Second Great Awakening.

Speaking truth in love: The cost of radical discipleship

John the Baptist offended people when he called them to repentance, criticized Herod for committing adultery, and condemned religious hypocrisy. He lost his head as a result. Paul offended people by preaching the Christ crucified and calling out legalism and man-made traditions. He was decapitated because of it. Elijah offended King Ahab and the prophets of Baal by confronting idolatry. Jezebel threatened to kill him. Amos offended the Israelites in the Northern Kingdom when he spoke out against wealth, corruption, and injustice in Israel. He faced rejection and threats.

These were all offenses they were willing to make because they lived for an audience of one.

So why does the American church continue to sit on the truth? True disciples follow Jesus until death.

Christian Nigerians right now are being slaughtered for their faith by the thousands, yet they continue gathering in droves to worship their King. Meanwhile American churches are sitting on the sidelines too worried about offending people to speak truth, rather than taking up our cross and truly following Christ.

As believers, we must be strong and courageous, with a truth-telling edge. We should not be harsh or abrasive but rather love people enough to say what’s hard.

If Jesus’ ministry provoked offense for the sake of truth, perhaps ours should too.

Why the 'Christian' Democrat is more dangerous than the loud one



The Democratic Party has been wandering the wilderness for years, somehow discovering new ways to alienate large portions of the country. And it still isn't finished.

Rock bottom, it turns out, has a basement — and Texas has the keys.

Earlier this month, Rep. Jasmine Crockett (D), a congresswoman who treats every disagreement like a full-contact sport, announced her Senate bid. Waiting for her in March is state Rep. James Talarico (D), a former teacher and pastor-in-training with a very different style.

Neither is good news. But from a Christian perspective, one is far worse.

Crockett is impossible to miss. She’s volume without thought, performance without a functioning pause button. Trump derangement syndrome has long since replaced reason, and nuance never survived the encounter. She seems to measure success by how many people she can irritate before lunch. Her politics are blunt, her tone brittle, her intellectual range roughly comparable to a Roomba. You always know where she stands because she’s standing on the table, yelling.

Talarico, by contrast, operates on an entirely different frequency. He lowers his voice, quotes scripture, and speaks with the gentle cadence of a youth pastor wrapping up a weekend retreat just before the acoustic guitar comes out. He talks about compassion, dignity, and the moral duty to protect the vulnerable. He wants to heal divides, soothe tensions, and “bring people together.”

If Crockett feels like a bar fight, Talarico feels like "Kumbaya" by candlelight with everyone instructed to hold hands.

And that is precisely the problem.

Crockett’s politics are abrasive but obvious. She makes no effort to hide what she believes or where she wants to take the country. There is something almost refreshing about her lack of disguise. You may not like the message, but it’s unmistakable. She offends openly and moves on.

But Talarico offends in a very different manner. He has mastered the art of wrapping progressive politics in pastoral language. What he offers is standard Democratic doctrine: sexual ideology backed by law, borders treated as optional, and a growing state taking over matters once settled by family, church, and conscience.

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Mark Felix/Bloomberg via Getty Images

Talarico insists that faith and today’s Democratic Party can walk hand in hand. Perhaps this was plausible once, back when Democrats still shared a basic moral grammar with the rest of the country. In the 1990s, disagreement existed, but reality was still shared. Marriage meant something fixed. Biological sex wasn’t up for debate. Free speech had limits, but truth still mattered. You could argue policy without arguing over whether biology or basic reality still mattered.

That world is gone.

The modern Democratic project is built on ideas fundamentally at odds with Christian teaching: the self treated as sovereign, identity treated as sacred, desire elevated to authority, and socialism presented as the only workable future.

Sin is renamed "harm." Redemption is replaced with affirmation. Judgment is reserved only for those who dissent. Christianity, meanwhile, insists on restraint, repentance, and allegiance to something beyond the individual.

Talarico tries to solve this puzzle by watering down Christianity until it feels more like a mood than a creed. He does this because he has no other choice. In today’s Democratic Party, a Christian who speaks plainly about restraint and repentance simply cannot survive. He is summoned, sidelined, and eventually expelled. To remain welcome, faith must be dumbed down and rendered harmless.

So Talarico treats Christianity like a buffet. He keeps the language of love and mercy, the parts that flatter modern sensibilities, and quietly discards the parts that demand obedience, self-denial, or radical honesty.

This is not faith guiding politics but politics reshaping faith.

And that is where the charge sticks. This is not a good-faith disagreement or a sincere wrestling with belief but a distortion carried out for political survival. If Talarico spoke the full truth of Christianity as it has been taught for centuries, he would be politically homeless by morning. Rather than risk that, he trims the gospel until it fits the party line.

This is where the real danger lies. He speaks like a shepherd but votes like an activist, borrowing Christianity’s authority to push policies that weaken what faith seeks to strengthen — specifically the nuclear family and ordered community.

Crockett does her damage loudly, like a bull in a china shop. Talarico, on the other hand, is more woodworm than wrecking ball, smiling as he eats through the beams.

There’s something faintly comic about watching Democrats embrace Talarico. This is a party that spent decades treating Christianity like a vestigial organ, now swooning over a Sunday-school version of Pete Buttigieg.

But there’s nothing funny about what the Texan stands for.

Talarico offers a faith that never says "no," never draws lines, and never makes anyone uncomfortable except those stubborn enough to insist that limits must be imposed. Love is endlessly elastic. Compassion is permanently undefined. Everything bends; nothing breaks — except, eventually, the foundation.

Crockett, for all her theatrics, doesn’t pretend to share a Christian worldview. Talarico does. He doesn’t attack Christian beliefs outright. Instead he sands them down, slowly, patiently, until they no longer support much of anything.

For Texans, come March, both options are bad. This isn’t a choice so much as a coordinated assault: one, a knee to the groin, the other, a roundhouse to the ribs. Crockett does her damage loudly, like a bull in a china shop. Talarico, on the other hand, is more woodworm than wrecking ball, smiling as he eats through the beams.

Neither deserves trust. But only one dresses his agenda in sacred language.

Texas Democrats may think they are choosing between bedlam and bland reassurance. Christians should recognize the choice for what it is: between open hostility and sneaky subversion, between a politics that attacks faith from the outside and one that reshapes it from within.

Both are bad. But only one pretends to be good. And that, from a Christian point of view, makes all the difference.

A caregiver’s Christmas



A Christmas or two ago, we arrived in Denver just after Thanksgiving for my wife’s long-awaited surgery — one of a series of complex procedures that could only be done at the teaching hospital there. The hospital was already dressed for the season, garlands hung and trees lit, but I barely noticed. All I could see was the next hurdle in a long medical journey.

After eight days in the ICU, Gracie was transferred to the neuro floor. I wanted her to feel something of Christmas, so I slipped out to a store and returned with a small tree, poinsettias, battery candles for the window, and stockings I hung by the nurses’ message board. A friend loaned me a keyboard, which I tucked into the corner. Music has steadied us through many storms, and I hoped it would do so again.

Christmas felt sharper there. Simpler. More honest. When life strips away what doesn’t matter, what does matter finally comes into view.

When the nurses wheeled her into that room, she entered a tiny Christmas world carved out of tile and fluorescent light. The cinnamon-scented broom was no match for the Montana pines behind our home, but it still brought a smile.

Gracie sometimes sang from her hospital bed as I played familiar carols. You’ll be relieved to know that when a staffer requested Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas,” I politely declined and stayed with the classics. Her song gets ample airplay as it is.

Learning the language of hospital life

I have been a caregiver for a long time. We have spent nearly every major holiday in a hospital, along with most minor ones — birthdays, anniversaries, and the days in between.

Hospitals, however harsh, have become familiar enough that they no longer disorient me. In the last three years alone, we spent nearly 11 months in that same Denver hospital over three difficult stretches. Over the decades, Gracie has been inpatient in 13 different hospitals. After that many years, you learn the rhythms, the noises, the hush, and the hidden grief of those hallways.

At night, before crossing the street to the extended-stay hotel where I lived during that long stretch, I often stopped at the grand piano in the massive lobby and played Christmas hymns. Patients and their families drifted nearby or stood quietly along the balcony with IV poles and wheelchairs. Their faces carried the loneliness, fear, and disbelief that appear when life tilts without warning. When I played “Silent Night,” you could see the change. Shoulders dropped. Eyes softened. A few wiped away tears.

We lived in Nashville for 35 years before moving to Montana, and the only time I felt a lump in my throat at that piano was when I played “Tennessee Christmas.” When I reached the line about Denver snow falling, it hit me harder than I expected. Being far from home — and yet exactly where we needed to be — settled heavily on me in that moment.

Spending Christmas Eve in a hospital is unlike any other day. For a few minutes that night, the music gave all of us a place to breathe. While I’ve grown somewhat used to that world, I could tell my impromptu audience had not. So I played for them.

Not home, but holy

Our youngest son flew in, and a close friend joined us for Christmas Eve. In that small room upstairs, we shared meals, prayed, and laughed through the kind of tears that form when joy and exhaustion sit side by side. It was not home, but it was holy.

On Christmas morning, we filled stockings, opened gifts, and played more music. To our surprise, that hospital Christmas became one of the most meaningful we’ve ever known. We have enjoyed plenty of postcard holidays in the Montana Rockies, with snowy woods and trees cut from behind our cabin. Yet none of those scenes compared to the quiet radiance of that hospital room.

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nathamag11 via iStock/Getty Images

Christmas felt sharper there. Simpler. More honest. When life strips away what doesn’t matter, what does matter finally comes into view.

God stepped into a harsh world, not a perfect one. The first Christmas came in conditions far cruder than ours, yet Heaven filled that stable. That is the story we remember every year: Emmanuel — God with us.

I thought of that as I looked up from the piano in the lobby, seeing the sadness on the faces around me and those watching from above. It brought to mind the crowds Jesus saw when Scripture says He was “moved with compassion” for the afflicted. Unlike me, He did not merely observe sorrow. He stepped into it. He came to bear it, redeem it, and ultimately remove it.

The light that still shines

That night reminded me that the holiness of Christmas is not found in perfect scenes but in God drawing near to people who are hurting. Being in a hospital on Christmas Eve was a fitting picture of how needy we truly are — and how miraculous it is that Christ entered our sorrow, suffering, and loneliness. Emmanuel means God with us, not in theory, but in the raw places where we feel most alone.

I left Denver with a truth I needed to keep close: Joy does not depend on scenery. Any place can become a sanctuary when Christ is worshipped — even a hospital room where monitors beep and nurses whisper through the night.

If you’re facing a season you never would have chosen, may this Christmas meet you with that same comfort. The promise of Emmanuel — God with us — has not changed.

“Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light; the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight,” Phillips Brooks wrote in 1868, steadying his people with the truth that Christ walks into dark streets as readily as bright ones.

Christian woman charged for thought crimes after investigation into silent prayers



A woman in the United Kingdom is in trouble with law enforcement yet again for daring to engage in silent prayers.

Isabel Vaughan-Spruce learned in March that she had been under investigation by Midlands Police in the U.K. since January. She has now been criminally charged for praying in her head.

'You've said you're engaging in prayer, which is the offense.'

More specifically, Vaughan-Spruce was allegedly charged because she "stood outside" an abortion facility in Birmingham, England, to conduct her silent prayers and, therefore, tried to "influence" visitors, which is prohibited.

According to the Alliance Defending Freedom, the charge against Vaughan-Spruce is under Section 9 of the U.K.'s Public Order Act 2023, which outlines "Safe Access Zones" around abortion clinics in England and Wales.

Discretion under the act is left to each individual officer, but all decisions must be made "on a case-by-case basis and must be balanced and proportionate to the circumstances," the document says.

The law states it is an offense to recklessly or intentionally "do an act" that:

  • Influences "any person's decision to access, provide, or facilitate the provision of abortion services at an abortion clinic";
  • Obstructs or impedes any person "accessing, providing, or facilitating the provision of abortion services at an abortion clinic"; or
  • Causes "harassment, alarm, or distress to any person in connection with a decision to access, provide, or facilitate the provision of abortion services at an abortion clinic."

Violators are subject to a fine.

RELATED: 'Your arrest is necessary': Woman arrested for silent prayer, 'anti-social behavior' outside abortion clinic

Photo by JUSTIN TALLIS/AFP via Getty Images

In 2022, Vaughan-Spruce made headlines for admitting to possibly engaging in silent prayer near an abortion clinic. She was asked by an officer to voluntarily go to a police station, and, upon declining, was informed that she was under arrest for failing to comply and would be charged with "anti-social behavior."

According to a city of Birmingham website, anti-social behavior "includes behavior which has caused or is likely to cause you harassment, alarm, or distress."

Vaughan-Spruce was later charged with "protesting and engaging in an act that is intimidating to service users" but was reportedly acquitted because the facility was actually closed at the time she was there.

She was arrested again in 2023 for praying in an excluded zone, this time on the corner of a road.

"You've said you're engaging in prayer, which is the offense," an officer told her.

Vaughan-Spruce claimed at the time that she assumed her acquittal meant she could now pray outside of the facility without causing offense.

RELATED: Real-life dystopia: Police arrest woman AGAIN after she silently prayed near abortion facility in UK

Similar charges were recently brought upon a retired pastor in Northern Ireland for preaching inside one of the protected zones.

According to the New York Post, the 76-year-old faces two charges and has pleaded not guilty to seeking to "influence" people accessing abortion services and for not immediately vacating the area when asked by police.

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Chaplains Punished For Mentioning Jesus Cheer Hegseth’s Return To God-Focused Ministry

The chaplain brings God to the fight, offering something bigger for the soldier to hold on to. It is something an atheist can't offer.

New York Archbishop Timothy Dolan resigns; pope appoints his replacement



Per the resignation norms revised by the late Pope Francis in 2014, Cardinal Timothy Dolan was obligated to present his letter of resignation from the pastoral governance of the Archdiocese of New York upon reaching the age of 75.

Cardinal Christophe Pierre, apostolic nuncio to the U.S., confirmed on Thursday that Pope Leo XIV has accepted Dolan's resignation and appointed fellow Illinoisan Bishop Ronald Hicks of the Diocese of Joliet to take over the 4,683 square-mile archdiocese that serves over 1.5 million Catholics.

Cardinal Dolan — who has served as archbishop of New York since his appointment by the late Pope Benedict XVI in February 2009 — will continue to serve as the apostolic administrator until the installation of his 58-year-old replacement at Saint Patrick's Cathedral on Feb. 6, 2026.

'Running the New York archdiocese is a daunting task.'

Archbishop-designate Hicks, a native of Harvey, Illinois, will be the 14th bishop and 11th archbishop of the See of New York.

In addition to his time as bishop of Joliet, Hicks previously served in El Salvador as the regional director of Nuestros Pequeños Hermanos, a home dedicated to caring for thousands of orphaned and abandoned children in various Latin American and Caribbean countries; dean of formation at Mundelein Seminary; vicar general of the Archdiocese of Chicago; and auxiliary bishop of Chicago.

Hicks is no stranger to the pope, having spoken with him at length just last year.

After Pope Leo's election, Hicks sung the Chicago native's praises and told WGN-TV, "I recognize a lot of similarities between him and me. So we grew up literally in the same radius, in the same neighborhood together."

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Photo by Masrio Tomassetti - Vatican Media via Vatican Pool/Getty Images

Rev. David Boettner, one of Hicks' former classmates at Mundelein Seminary, told Faith magazine in 2020, "As a seminarian and as a priest, he has always had a deep love of people and a generosity of his time to serve the needs of others."

"He has always lived his promise of obedience to the Church, and his first answer when asked to serve is almost always yes," added Boettner.

Rev. James Presta, a priest who worked with Hicks at Mundelein and at St. Joseph College Seminary, said, "He has been a mentor to young priests. He offers them fraternal support and sound, practical wisdom as a brother priest."

Bill Donohue, president of the Catholic League, stressed that Cardinal Dolan will be missed.

"He is a very special man. He always fought for justice, and his amiable character won the applause of Catholics and non-Catholics alike. He was certainly very kind to me," Donohue said in a statement. "His fairness never stood in the way of being outspoken about contemporary issues. He was not tied to the politics of the left or the right."

While tethered neither to the left nor the right, Dolan called on Catholics to "be very active, very informed, and very involved in politics"; criticized the perverse secular culture that "seems to discover new rights every day"; championed religious liberty; and defended Christian morality, especially as it pertains to marriage and the rights of the unborn.

"Running the New York archdiocese is a daunting task, but it is one that suits the new archbishop," noted Donohue. "Archbishop Ronald Hicks is young and vibrant and will be able to put his considerable administrative experience to good use. We look forward to working with him."

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Growing up in the Hebrew Roots movement — and why I eventually had to leave



Several years before my husband and I met, one of his friends told him, “Modern youth are hungry for truth, and they are looking to the oldest forms of traditional orthodoxy to find it. This leaves them with two main choices: Catholicism or Hebrew Roots.”

My husband hadn’t heard of Messianics before this, or he had heard just enough to scoff at the idea of marrying someone who “pretended to be a Jew.” Nevertheless, his friend’s statement stuck with him. Who were these Protestants LARPing as Jews that they could draw intelligent youth in search of truth away from Catholicism?

We were all encouraged to study our Bibles for ourselves and to test one another. When the family home-churched together, it was always lively.

Relishing the chaos

Some would call us Judaizers.

We are certainly not ordinary Protestants. In fact, my family and most Messianics I grew up with believed that the Catholic Church is the whore of Babylon and the Protestant churches are her daughters. Most Christians were “too Catholic” in our opinion because they went to church on Sunday and celebrated Christmas, two practices instituted by Catholicism.

Despite how odd Messianics might be, they are too disorganized to be classified as a cult. There are somewhere around 200,000-300,000 Hebrew Roots people with no central figure, and there are countless groups within the movement. Some of them are self-identifying Torah followers who may lead isolated lives or fellowship at home with a few like-minded people. Others are members of organized Messianic denominations.

The movement has very few real Jews in it, and for the most part Messianic believers reject modern-day Jewish practices. Instead we endeavor to interpret the Old Testament as literally as possible. This, of course, is nearly an impossible feat and the main cause for disunity in the Hebrew Roots movement.

Perhaps what makes this expression of group interesting is the fact that it is a movement that can’t really be defined as a whole, and yet all the members of it believe that the truth they have is absolute, even though all their like-minded compatriots disagree with them on how to execute this truth. To those raised in the movement, the disorder and chaos are natural and even relished. To those watching from the outside, I can only imagine how bizarre we appear.

Family tradition

My mom chose my name because it was old-fashioned. Most of the rest of the family didn’t like it and tried to give me various nicknames. But my parents named me perfectly.

Keturah — meaning a sacrificial aroma/incense — may be strange-sounding, but it also uniquely fits in all the worlds I’m most interested in. It is both a Jewish and an Amish name and, oddly, has a deep Catholic meaning. It has served me well in the secular world, too, with its unique sound. My name has made it possible for me to blend in among both Christian hippies and woke misfits.

I never considered how odd it was that my great-grandfather basically invented the religion I grew up with (with heavy modifications made by my grandfather). What should have been a red flag — why did nobody figure this out before my great-grandfather? — was instead championed as proof of our righteousness.

My great-grandfather had been a Pentecostal pastor. But he started reading his Bible one day. This led him to preaching on things that his congregation was not ready for, because “the ways of the world were too comfortable.” He left his church, took another wife (his first wife left him with their three children because his beliefs were getting strange), and began a road ministry that my grandfather eventually took over.

I was often told the story of the Rechabites, a family who were saved from being utterly wiped out because they obeyed the words of their great-grandfather. My great-grandfather, too, had left us an inheritance, and if we cherished it, we would be saved from the horrors of the world. I believed this.

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Photo by Heritage Images/Getty Images

Lively debate

I was neither brainwashed nor raised in a cult. There is nothing more American than leaving the beaten path to make your own way, especially when it comes to religion.

The women in my family are too mouthy and bratty, myself included, for the family to ever have fallen into true patriarchal suppression. We were all encouraged to study our Bibles for ourselves and to test one another. When the family home-churched together, it was always lively.

Even I, at the ages of 10 through 14, would get pulled into the heated dialogue with religious opinions of my own, carefully researched and passionately presented. I was obsessed with writing theological essays during those years.

We were not cosplaying as Jews any more than Amish are LARPing as peasants. We were more interested in what the Bible had to say than the traditions of modern-day Jews. In fact, anything that was “traditional” must be too much like Catholicism. We didn’t want to follow customs, but the law of Yahweh.

Although my great-grandfather and grandfather invented our faith, there was room for fluidity. It has changed much over the years. My great-grandfather kept the Saturday Sabbath and refused welfare for his family although they were poor and had 13 children. They did not eat pork, but ate according to Leviticus 11. We call this eating kosher, but it’s more accurately referred to as eating “clean.”

My grandfather started using the “Sacred Names” to refer to God when my father was young and warned against “calling upon the name of Jesus” because Jesus, he argued, was another form of Zeus. We argued over whether to spell the Messiah’s name Yahshua or Yeshua. We never referred to God as “God” or “the Lord” because those, too, were pagan names. It was always “Father” or “Yahweh.”

Which Sabbath?

When I was 9 years old, my grandfather realized that Saturday was not the true Sabbath. He had discovered an idea called the Lunar Sabbath.

The Sabbath is determined by the phases of the moon. At the end of the month when the moon goes dark, the Sabbath is two or three days long until the new moon appears and resets the Sabbath. And so Sabbath might be on a Tuesday one month and then Wednesday or Thursday the next month. If it were cloudy, it might be difficult to see the moon, and sometimes we would be keeping Sabbath wrong for a week or so until we were able to clearly see what the sky said. It was also difficult for making plans and having social relationships.

When I was 14, I sat down and did a long study on the Sabbath using encyclopedias, various Bibles, and concordances. After three months I presented my research to my family. I explained the pros and cons for the Lunar Sabbath, Saturday Sabbath, and Sunday Sabbath. I had become convinced that Sunday was still not the true Sabbath and that we should stop doing the Lunar Sabbath and revert to Saturday. My parents and siblings could not argue with my evidence. We voted. After five years of living by the moon, we unanimously agreed to revert back to Saturday Sabbath.

This situation taught me several things: We were not a cult, but most of my family was intellectually incapable of interpreting scripture for themselves. It was cool that my family changed after my research. But also why hadn’t they studied this properly at the start? I was 14 years old, and yet I had convinced my parents to make a major theological change. This both inflated my ego and left me feeling insecure and unstable because I was truly alone and could not go to my parents for answers about God.

This is part one of a two-part essay. Part 2 will appear next week. It was adapted and edited for length from an essay that first appeared on the Substack Polite Company.

The Dark Sickness at Elite Universities Fueling Antisemitism | Rabbi Wolpe
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The Dark Sickness at Elite Universities Fueling Antisemitism | Rabbi Wolpe

44-year-old Catholic father of 10 throws touchdown in NFL return: 'Whatever God's will, I'm happy with'



Philip Rivers knew the playbook going in.

When the 44-year-old quarterback got the call from the injury-plagued Indianapolis Colts, he already had a relationship with coach Shane Steichen. Almost a peer of his at 40 years old, Steichen was the offensive coordinator for the Los Angeles Chargers when Rivers last played in 2020.

'These kind of things don't come up.'

With Steichen using the same playbook with the Colts as he did when he was arm-in-arm with Rivers, the 44-year-old quarterback came out of retirement to plug the hole for the Colts as their promising season was falling apart.

On Sunday, the father of 10 stepped in the game and threw a touchdown in a hard-fought battle against the Seattle Seahawks, one of the best teams in the NFL this season. That single TD pass was one more than his opponent, and despite the Colts taking the lead with a late field goal, the Seahawks followed suit and kicked a field goal of their own with 22 seconds left to win 18-16.

At the postgame press conference, Rivers was asked why he wanted to come back after nearly five years away from the game, especially with a strong possibility of failure looming.

"I think about my own boys, you know, my own two sons, but certainly [the] high school team I'm coaching, but this isn't why I'm doing it," Rivers replied.

"These kind of things don't come up. But obviously, this doesn't come up every day. But I think, maybe it will inspire or teach [them] to not to run or be scared of what may or may not happen."

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According to Catholic Vote, since retiring Rivers has been coaching the football team at St. Michael Catholic High School in Fairhope, Alabama, where his son also played quarterback.

It was when talking about his high school team that Rivers began getting emotional in front of the NFL press.

"Certainly I think of my sons and those ball players that I'm in charge of at the school. They'll say, like, 'Crap! Coach wasn't scared!' You know what I mean. Shoot, sometimes there is doubt, and it's real, and ... the guaranteed safe bet is to go home or to not go for it. And the other one is, 'Shoot, let's see what happens,'" he said.

It was in that moment that Rivers' faith shined through.

"I hope that in that sense that it can be a positive to some young boys or young people. ... Whatever God's will, I'm happy with," he added.

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Photo by Steph Chambers/Getty Images

Rivers also answered questions about self doubt in his abilities after being away from the professional game so long. He admitted that he initially felt some doubt last week, but he was "thankful to God" those doubts quickly dissipated.

"I've been very much at peace and just at peace with everything about it," he revealed.

The Colts play the San Francisco 49ers next Monday in a game that will likely be a must-win if the Colts want to make the playoffs.

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Why the world hates strong men — but it's exactly what God wants



Something has gone wrong.

After years of being told they are toxic and problematic, many men have simply cowed in deference to the spirit of our age. They imbibed the poisonous slogans and succumbed to what the world says about them.

Those who live day after day in a state of passivity give themselves over to a lie.

Some men attempt to punch back either by embracing their “toxicity” or ideologies that are slapped onto them.

The temptation in such an age is for men to become passive. This passivity is not a new temptation for men. It is the same temptation that Adam failed to defeat in the garden. Passivity is that peculiar behavior that gives into evil, often standing back and doing nothing. It is the soul bowed in deference.

The passive man does not resist the evil doer, he gives in, and doesn’t stand firm in the faith.

Even in reacting against the spirit of the age, men can become passive and allow the enemy to set the terms of the engagement. The more common expression of passivity is the man who becomes “nice” in order to placate like a dog who cowers and tucks its tail hoping to stave off any harm. The passive man is an agreeable man. He wants to keep his head down. He would rather be dead than ever appear intimidating to anyone or anything.

The man who rejects passivity, on the other hand, is often perceived to be arrogant. He is something who can be accused of “thinking too highly” of himself.

But the opposite of passivity is not arrogance but agency.

We need men of agency. Men who act, initiate, and change what is within their power to change. Agency is taking responsibility and pushing forward in the face of opposition and obstacles. It is faith in motion. As James 2:17 says, “Faith without works is dead.”

There are two main contentions that keep Christian men particularly from taking agency.

First, they are told that control is a dangerous idol. Christians, men included, are often taught that if they try to exercise control, then they are not trusting God. This is reflected in surveys of pastors who claim that control is a top idol among their churches. Pastor Eric Geiger, for example, identifies “control” as a “root idol.” For Geiger, control is “a longing to have everything go according to my plan.” Heaven forbid that people want things to go according to plan.

Second, they are told that power is inherently bad. Therefore any accumulation of or dispensing of power is considered dangerous and harmful to others. Geiger also frames power itself as a number one root idol that he defines as "a longing for influence or recognition." He encourages Christians to repent of their longing for power and control.

Both of these spurious notions are not rooted in scripture but in the upside-down world of the enemy who desires that Christians control nothing and have no power.

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RomoloTavani/iStock/Getty Images Plus

Can a Christian idolize power? Sure. Can a Christian idolize control? Yep. But there is very little nuance when these pastors and Christian leaders speak. They simply wish to denounce power and control, both key ingredients in exercising agency.

People who excel at agency — let's call it "high agency" — know what is within their power and control and how to maximize it for good. People with passivity or low agency instead fall back and behave as if nothing is within their control and that they cannot change anything.

Sadly it seems that low agency is what is required in some churches today. It is often reframed as a virtue where one is fully trusting God when, in reality, they have relinquished control.

Much of the depression, anxiety, and despondency we witness in our world is better understood as passivity and low agency. It is the posture of the soul that just gives itself over to obstacles. Rather than exhibiting resiliency and exertion when in duress, the passive person simply gives up. Consumerism only enables this type of low-exertion lifestyle where people become habituated to quick fixes and easy solutions.

Those who live day after day in a state of passivity give themselves over to a lie: They cannot change, nothing will change, they are helpless.

When believed en masse, this kind of population is easy to control because they have forsaken control themselves. They are always looking for a strong person, ideology, or drink to fix their problems.

This is particularly problematic in Christianity. We believe in providence and human responsibility. We are to love the Lord Jesus Christ by obedience, walking in righteousness and putting to death the deeds of the flesh. Our faith in God should always move us to act in courage as we do not doubt the goodness of God.

Agency works along the path of God’s providence and faith. It is the car on the road — and we are called to accelerate.

God may give you more than you can handle. He is generous in this way. In our feelings of being overwhelmed or swamped, God invites us to take action and trust in Him. If things do not go as planned, we trust the God who is in total control.

We need men today who gain power and control. They must first master themselves to worship the master, Jesus Christ. By the Spirit, we are able to exercise discipline and control over our bodies and put them to good use for God’s glory.

One of the quickest ways to slip into passivity is to wait to act until everything is easy. This day is probably not coming for you. Let’s say you want to get married. The man of agency will take the first step he can in finding a bride instead of just waiting around until she appears.

Passivity often leads to thinking like a victim. It invites jealousy and contempt for others because others seem to be in control and have power. It creates anxiety because it is always worried about failing or things not working out. Instead the agentic man trusts God’s providence, looks at what he has been given, and works out the problem.

In our age of anxiety, agency is the answer.

Agency works along the path of God’s providence and faith. It is the car on the road — and we are called to accelerate (and brake when necessary).

Men who exude agency will be misperceived today. They will be called prideful, toxic, power-hungry, and controlling. But none of these descriptions are necessarily true. They are simply the reaction strong men receive in an age of passivity.

The strong men that are needed in our hard times are ones who take the initiative, assume responsibility, and never give into evil. They are men of high agency.