Tag: Serve

I’m Curious

In a Facebook post, one of my friends poised the following questions.

The questions peaked my curiosity.

Can we act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with our God while serving under the banner of the American government?

Can we claim to be a nation founded on freedom while ignoring the freedom, dignity, and humanity of our neighbors?

Can we call ourselves a Christian nation while forgetting that Jesus never told us to love only the people who look like us, vote like us, worship like us, or were born where we were born?

Is our country poised to encourage us to love our neighbors as ourselves?

I’m curious.

Because Micah 6:8 doesn’t say:

Act justly when it’s politically convenient.

Love mercy when the person deserves it.

Walk humbly when everyone agrees with you.

It simply says:

“Do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God.”

And Jesus didn’t give us a list of exceptions when He said:

“Love your neighbor as yourself.”

Our allegiance to Jesus must always be greater than our allegiance to a political party, a government, an ideology, or even our own comfort.

America has laws.

America has leaders.

America has political parties.

But Jesus has disciples.

And disciples are called to something higher.

We are called to feed the hungry.

Welcome the stranger.

Defend the vulnerable.

Care for the forgotten.

Stand with the oppressed.

Speak truth when truth costs us something.

Love our enemies.

And treat every human being as someone created in the image of God.

So maybe the question isn’t simply:

“Is America doing enough?”

Maybe the harder question is:

“Am I?”

Am I loving my neighbor?

Am I showing mercy?

Am I pursuing justice?

Am I walking humbly?

Am I willing to speak when silence would be easier?

Am I willing to stand with people Jesus would have stood beside—even when standing there costs me friends, followers, comfort, or approval?

Because before I am an American…

I am a follower of Jesus.

And when the values of my government, my political party, or my culture collide with the teachings of Christ, I don’t get to rewrite Jesus.

I have to follow Him.

That’s not anti-American.

That’s discipleship.

Jesus first.
Neighbor second.
Politics somewhere far behind.

So yes…

I’m curious.

What would America look like if Christians actually took Jesus seriously?

Not just on Sunday.

Not just in our churches.

Not just when it benefits us.

But everywhere.

Maybe that’s where the real change begins. ~OC

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Dear Christian, Please Stand Up

Dear Christian, please stand up.

I think it’s time for Good Trouble and to start flipping some tables.

For too long we’ve confused being nice with being faithful. We’ve stayed seated. Stayed quiet. Stayed polite while the temple filled with money changers.

Jesus wasn’t crucified for being nice. He was crucified for flipping tables.

He walked into the house of God, saw exploitation, saw corruption, saw people using the name of God for profit and power, and He didn’t write a polite letter. He made a whip. He turned over tables. He drove it out. John 2:15.

John Lewis called it Good Trouble. Necessary trouble. The kind of trouble that says love is not passive. Love protects. Love confronts. Love refuses to look away.

So I’m asking you, brother and sister in Christ:

Stand up when it’s easier to sit down.
Speak up when it’s safer to stay silent.
Flip the table of injustice in your part of the world.
Flip the table of corruption in your church, your neighborhood and politics.
Flip the table of lies in our political system. Regardless of party affiliation.

We were never called to fit in with this world. We were called to shake it.

My Friend, it’s time. ~OC

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Our Neighbors Face

I BELIEVE THAT IN THE FACE OF EVERY NEIGHBOR, WE CATCH A GLIMPSE OF THE FACE OF GOD.

Not just the neighbor who looks like us.

Not just the neighbor who agrees with us.

Not just the neighbor who votes like us, worships like us, speaks like us, or comes from the same place we do.

Every neighbor.

The hurting neighbor.
The lonely neighbor.
The immigrant neighbor.
The poor neighbor.
The forgotten neighbor.
The neighbor who is struggling.
The neighbor who doesn’t believe what we believe.

Jesus didn’t tell us to love only the people who were easy to love.

He said, “Love your neighbor as yourself.”
— Matthew 22:39

And when Jesus described the Good Samaritan, He shattered the walls people had built between “us” and “them.”

Maybe that’s the challenge for the Church today:

Stop looking for reasons to separate people and start looking for opportunities to love them.

Because every person we encounter is someone made in the image of God.

So before you judge them, see them.

Before you condemn them, listen to them.

Before you walk past them, love them.

Before you ask, “What do they deserve?”
ask, “What would Jesus do?”

Because sometimes the person standing in front of us isn’t an interruption to our ministry.

They ARE the ministry.

Jesus said, “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.”
— Matthew 25:40

So today, look a little closer.

You may discover that in the face of your neighbor…

you are seeing a glimpse of the face of God.

Love your neighbor.
See the person.
Serve the hurting.
Welcome the stranger.
Feed the hungry.
Lift the broken.
And let the world see Jesus through the way we love.

Because the Gospel isn’t just something we preach.

It’s something we live. ~OC

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Would Jesus Do This?

STOP SCROLLING.

I have some questions for the Church and the Christian Community.

Would Jesus separate families from each other?

Would Jesus force children off food assistance or healthcare while they are already struggling to survive?

Would Jesus disrespect people, call them names, demean them, and then claim it was all being done in His name?

Would Jesus terrorize an immigrant who is working hard to provide for their family?

Would Jesus use Scripture as a weapon to justify hatred?

Would Jesus turn His back on His neighbor because they were different, poor, undocumented, politically opposed, addicted, broken, or simply didn’t look like us?

When I read Scripture, study the life of Jesus, and look at the way He treated people, I keep coming back to the same answer:

NO.

No.

No.

No.

Jesus touched the untouchable.

Jesus welcomed the rejected.

Jesus fed the hungry.

Jesus defended the vulnerable.

Jesus showed compassion to the hurting.

Jesus loved His enemies.

Jesus commanded us to love our neighbors.

Jesus didn’t tell us to find reasons to hate people.

He told us to love God and love our neighbor.

And here’s the uncomfortable part:

We don’t get to put Jesus’ name on something simply because we believe we’re right.

If our politics make us cruel, something is wrong.

If our theology makes us hateful, something is wrong.

If our Christianity makes us dehumanize people, something is wrong.

If we’re screaming about protecting Christianity while refusing to show the love, mercy, compassion, grace, and truth of Christ…

we may be defending a religion while completely missing Jesus.

I’m not asking you to agree with me politically.

I’m asking something much more important:

Does the way we treat people look like Jesus?

Because one day, we’re not going to stand before Jesus and explain what our political party believed.

We’re not going to stand before Him and defend our favorite politician.

We’re going to stand before HIM.

So before we say, “I’m doing this in Jesus’ name,” maybe we should stop and ask:

“Jesus, would You do this?”

Because if the answer is no…

then don’t put His name on it.

BE THE HANDS.
BE THE FEET.
BE THE LOVE.
BE THE TRUTH.
BE THE LIGHT.

And above everything else—

BE LIKE JESUS.

That’s the Christianity this world desperately needs. ~OC

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The Day Before

SEPTEMBER 10, 2001.

Twenty-five years ago today, America went to bed believing tomorrow would look pretty much like today.

People went to work.

Parents kissed their children goodbye.

Kids went to school.

Planes crossed the skies.

People walked through airports without knowing that the world they knew was about to change forever.

Businesses opened.

Restaurants served dinner.

Families laughed around kitchen tables.

Friends talked about ordinary things.

Sports were played.

Life happened.

And nobody knew.

Nobody woke up that morning thinking, “This is the last normal day America will ever have.”

Nobody went to sleep thinking, “Tomorrow, thousands of families will receive the worst phone call of their lives.”

Nobody knew that the next morning would bring images that would forever be burned into our memories.

Nobody knew that the words September 11th would become more than a date on a calendar.

It would become a scar.

A memorial.

A reminder.

A day we would never forget.

That is what makes September 10th so haunting.

It was ordinary.

And sometimes we don’t realize how precious ordinary is until ordinary is gone.

So today, September 10, 2026, let’s remember something:

Don’t take today for granted.

Call the person you’ve been meaning to call.

Hug your spouse.

Tell your children you love them.

Forgive somebody.

Put down the phone and look someone in the eyes.

Thank God for another morning.

Because none of us are promised tomorrow.

Tomorrow, we will remember September 11th.

But today, let’s remember September 10th.

The last ordinary day.

The day America didn’t know.

The day thousands of people went about their lives completely unaware that history was waiting just beyond midnight.

Cherish today.

Love deeply.

Forgive quickly.

Live purposefully.

And never forget how quickly an ordinary day can become a moment that changes everything.

🇺🇸 God bless America.

🇺🇸 Never forget.

9/10/2001 — The day before. ~OC

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When The Argument Runs Out…

Today’s a new day!

Watch what happens when a political party has nothing left to stand on.

The conversation changes.

Facts become insults.
Debate becomes name-calling.
Ideas are replaced with attacks.
Leadership becomes fear.
And when persuasion isn’t enough, suddenly there are promises, favors, and bribes designed to buy your loyalty instead of earning your trust.

That’s not leadership.

And here’s the uncomfortable truth:

If your position is strong, you don’t need to destroy the person who disagrees with you.

You should be able to defend your ideas without calling someone stupid.

You should be able to debate without demonizing.

You should be able to disagree without treating your neighbor like an enemy.

And you should never have to buy someone’s vote to convince them your ideas are worth believing in.

I don’t care what letter is beside your name—D, R, or anything else.

Hold them ALL accountable.

Don’t worship a party.
Don’t surrender your conscience to a politician.
Don’t let fear manipulate you.
Don’t let anger become your identity.

Think. Question. Research. Listen. Then decide.

Because America doesn’t need more political tribalism.

We need people willing to stand on truth, integrity, character, and principle—even when doing so costs them something.

And as a Christian, my ultimate allegiance isn’t to a political party, politician, ideology, or government.

My allegiance belongs to Jesus Christ.

So I’m going to love my neighbor—even when we disagree.

I’m going to speak truth—even when it’s uncomfortable.

And I’m going to refuse to be manipulated by insults, fear, division, or political bribery.

Don’t let a political party tell you who to hate.
Don’t let a politician buy your loyalty.
And don’t surrender your God-given ability to think for yourself.

Stand on truth.
Stand on principle.
Stand on Christ.

Everything else is temporary. ~OC

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Be The Calm

Today’s a new day!

There is enough chaos in this world without us adding to it.

Enough anger.
Enough outrage.
Enough arguing.
Enough division.
Enough people reacting before they ever stop to think.

And sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do isn’t to speak louder.

It’s to stay calm.

When everyone else is losing their minds, be the person who brings peace.

When everyone else is reacting, be the person who pauses.

When everyone else is throwing gasoline on the fire, be the person who refuses to pick up the match.

When everyone else is looking for someone to blame, be the person willing to extend grace.

Because as followers of Jesus, we were never called to mirror the chaos around us.

We were called to carry something different.

Jesus didn’t promise us a life without storms.

He promised us His presence in the middle of them.

Think about Jesus asleep in the boat while the disciples were terrified by the storm. The waves were crashing. Fear had taken over. Everyone was panicking.

And Jesus got up and spoke to the storm:

“Peace! Be still!”

Maybe sometimes the miracle God wants to work through us isn’t calming the storm around us.

Maybe it’s teaching us how to remain calm while we’re standing in it.

You don’t have to answer every accusation.

You don’t have to win every argument.

You don’t have to respond to every criticism.

You don’t have to match someone else’s anger.

You don’t have to become bitter because someone else is bitter.

And you certainly don’t have to join the storm just because everyone else is standing in the rain.

Be different.

Be the calm.

Be the peace.

Be the person who walks into a chaotic room and changes the atmosphere—not because you have all the answers, but because you know the One who does.

The world doesn’t need more people adding to the noise.

It needs people who carry peace.

People who know when to speak and when to remain silent.

People who choose grace when anger would be easier.

People who choose forgiveness when bitterness feels justified.

People who refuse to let the storm outside determine the condition of their heart inside.

So today, before you react, pause.

Before you respond, pray.

Before you speak, ask yourself whether your words will bring healing or simply add to the storm.

You may not be able to control the storm.

But with God’s help, you can control whether you become part of it.

Don’t join the storm.

Be the calm in the middle of it.

And maybe, just maybe, someone who is drowning in the storm will find their way to Jesus because they saw His peace living inside of you. ~OC

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The Mountain

Is God is calling you to climb a mountain?

You’ve been staring at this mountain long enough.

The diagnosis.
The disappointment.
The betrayal.
The loss.
The fear.
The rejection.
The impossible situation.

And somewhere along the way, you started believing that because the mountain is BIG, your God must be small.

NO.

Caleb stood at 85 years old and looked at a mountain filled with giants and said:

“GIVE ME THIS MOUNTAIN.”

Not give me an easier assignment.
Not give me a different battle.
Not wait until the circumstances improve.

Give me this mountain.

That’s the kind of faith I want.

Faith that doesn’t collapse when circumstances change.

Faith that doesn’t disappear when the answer doesn’t come quickly.

Faith that doesn’t need everything to make sense before it takes another step.

I will walk in the confidence of God- regardless of the mountain standing in front of me.

Because my confidence isn’t in my circumstances.

My confidence is in Jesus.

The mountain doesn’t determine whether God is faithful.

The diagnosis doesn’t determine whether God is faithful.

The storm doesn’t determine whether God is faithful.

The enemy doesn’t determine whether God is faithful.

God is always faithful. Period.

So bring me the mountain.

Bring me the thing that scares me.

Bring me the thing that makes me realize I can’t do this in my own strength.

Because when I reach the place where I can’t, I discover the place where He can.

I don’t need to understand the entire journey.

I just need enough faith to take the next step.

One More Step.

When I’m tired—one more step.
When I’m afraid—one more step.
When I’m hurting—one more step.
When I can’t see the way forward—one more step.

Not because I’m strong enough.

Because Jesus is.

And hear me clearly:

I am not backing down.

I am not bowing to fear.
I am not surrendering to circumstances.
I am not allowing yesterday to dictate tomorrow.

God, give me this mountain.

Because I know who walks with me.

His name is Jesus.

The One who walked out of the grave.
The One who conquered death.
The One who holds my future.
The One who has never abandoned me.
The One who is still Lord when everything around me is falling apart.

I don’t need the mountain to be smaller.
I need my faith to become bigger.

So, Jesus…

Give me this mountain.

Give me the courage to climb it.
Give me the faith to face it.
Give me the strength to endure it.
Give me the perseverance to finish it.

And when I reach the top, I won’t take the credit.

I will point everyone to you.

Because I didn’t overcome because I was strong.

I overcame because Jesus was with me every step of the way.

The mountain may be big.
The battle may be real.
The circumstances may be brutal.

But Jesus is still Lord.

And if Jesus is with me—

I will keep on climbing.

Give me the mountain.
Give me Jesus.
and let’s go.

“Now therefore, give me this mountain…” — Joshua 14:12

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Church, We Need To Talk About Suicide

September is Suicide Awareness Month.

But here’s the problem:

We don’t need another month of pretty graphics, statistics, and Christian clichés.

We need to start saving lives.

Because there are people sitting in our churches every Sunday who are dying on the inside while everyone around them keeps saying, “You look great!”

There are people worshiping with tears in their eyes who don’t know if they can make it through Monday.

There are men who have been taught their entire lives to “man up” who are terrified to admit they’re drowning.

There are women who are exhausted from pretending everything is okay.

There are teenagers terrified to tell anyone what is happening inside their heads.

And there are people who desperately need help who are afraid that if they tell the Church the truth, we’ll judge them instead of loving them.

CHURCH, THAT HAS TO CHANGE.

We cannot preach about grace on Sunday and shame broken people on Monday.

We cannot tell people that Jesus loves them and then make them feel like they have to hide their depression, anxiety, trauma, grief, addiction, or suicidal thoughts because they might be labeled as weak Christians.

Mental and emotional suffering does not make someone a bad Christian.

And getting professional help does not mean someone doesn’t trust God.

Sometimes faith looks like praying.

Sometimes faith looks like calling a counselor.

Sometimes faith looks like telling your pastor, “Brother, I am not okay.”

Sometimes faith looks like saying, “I need help.”

And sometimes God answers that prayer by sending another person to sit beside you in the darkness.

So Church…

STOP TRYING TO FIX EVERYBODY.

Start listening.

Stop throwing Bible verses at wounds you haven’t taken time to understand.

Stop telling hurting people to “just have more faith.”

Stop confusing spiritual encouragement with dismissing someone’s pain.

Jesus never asked us to pretend we aren’t hurting.

He asked us to love one another.

To carry one another’s burdens.

To weep with those who weep.

To bear one another’s burdens.

To be His hands and feet.

So what if this month we stopped asking:

“How are you?”

And started asking:

“How are you REALLY doing?”

And then—this is important—we actually stayed long enough to hear the answer.

Church, let’s become a safe place for hurting people.

A place where somebody can walk through the doors carrying their darkest thoughts and not be afraid that they’ll be judged.

A place where men can cry.

Where women can admit they’re exhausted.

Where teenagers can speak honestly.

Where broken people don’t have to clean themselves up before coming inside.

Where people can say:

“I’m struggling.”

And the response isn’t condemnation.

It’s:

“Then you don’t have to walk through this alone.”

Because here’s the truth:

You might be sitting next to someone this Sunday who is considering suicide.

You might be the last person who has a chance to notice.

That conversation you’ve been putting off?

Make the call.

Send the text.

Sit down.

Listen.

Ask the hard question.

And if someone tells you they’re thinking about suicide, take them seriously and help connect them with immediate, qualified support.

Don’t assume they’ll “get over it.”

Don’t leave them alone in an immediate crisis.

Don’t make promises you can’t keep.

Stay with them and get help.

And to the person reading this who is secretly fighting for your life:

PLEASE DON’T LEAVE YET.

You don’t have to solve tomorrow tonight.

You don’t have to pretend you’re okay.

You don’t have to carry this by yourself.

Tell somebody.

Call somebody.

Get help.

Let somebody into the battle.

Your life is worth fighting for—even if you can’t feel that right now.

And Church…

Maybe our greatest revival won’t begin with a louder worship service.

Maybe it will begin when we become the kind of Church where hurting people finally feel safe enough to tell the truth.

Let’s stop being impressed by how good people look on the outside.

Let’s become people who are willing to walk into the mess.

Let’s stop preaching about Jesus and start showing people Jesus.

Because sometimes the most powerful sermon you’ll ever preach…

is simply refusing to walk away from someone who is hurting.

If you or someone you know is struggling with thoughts of suicide or feels in immediate danger in the United States, call or text 988 for the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. If there is immediate danger, call 911 or go to the nearest emergency department.

Church, let’s be the reason somebody chooses to stay. ~OC

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Love Your Neighbor

Today’s a new day!

Maybe the hardest question we can ask ourselves as Christians isn’t, “Do I love Jesus?”

Maybe it’s this:

“Has following Jesus actually made me love my neighbor more?”

That question has been sitting heavy on my heart.

Because I’ve spent a lot of years learning about Jesus.

I’ve read the Bible. I’ve listened to sermons. I’ve sat in Bible studies. I’ve prayed. I’ve worshiped. I’ve written about faith, grace, suffering, forgiveness, hope and the goodness of God.

I’ve talked about discipleship.

I’ve talked about what it means to follow Jesus.

But lately, I’ve found myself asking a much more uncomfortable question:

Am I actually becoming more like Him?

Because there is a difference between knowing Jesus and becoming like Jesus.

And sometimes I wonder if we’ve become really good at the first one while completely missing the second.

We know the verses.

We know the doctrine.

We know what we believe.

We know what we think is right and what we think is wrong.

We know what other people should be doing.

But do we love them?

Really love them?

Not just the people who agree with us.

Not just the people sitting beside us in church.

Not just the people who vote like us, think like us, worship like us or live their lives the way we believe they should.

I’m talking about the difficult people.

The angry people.

The broken people.

The addicted people.

The people who have made terrible mistakes.

The people who don’t believe what we believe.

The people who have hurt us.

The people who have hurt themselves.

The people who don’t look like us.

The people who don’t smell like us.

The people society has decided aren’t worth much.

The people who make us uncomfortable.

Those people.

Jesus called them our neighbors too.

And that’s where this gets painfully personal for me.

Because it’s easy to love people when loving them costs us nothing.

It’s easy to talk about loving our neighbor when our neighbor looks, thinks and lives like we do.

It’s easy to say, “Jesus loves you,” from a safe distance.

But what happens when Jesus asks us to get close?

What happens when loving our neighbor means listening instead of lecturing?

Forgiving instead of keeping score?

Serving instead of being served?

Showing grace instead of passing judgment?

Sitting with someone in their pain instead of trying to explain it away?

What happens when loving our neighbor requires us to put our pride down?

That’s where discipleship gets real.

Because Jesus didn’t simply tell us to love people.

He showed us what love looks like.

He touched people everyone else avoided.

He ate with people religious society had rejected.

He stopped for people everyone else walked past.

He noticed people everyone else ignored.

He loved people who couldn’t give Him anything in return.

And then He stretched His arms across a wooden cross and showed us that real love is sacrificial.

So I’ve been asking myself:

What if discipleship isn’t measured by how much Bible I know, but by how much love I give?

What if spiritual maturity isn’t about how many arguments I can win, but how much grace I can extend?

What if becoming more like Jesus means becoming slower to judge, quicker to forgive, more willing to listen and more willing to love people who don’t deserve it?

Because here’s the truth I’ve had to confront:

I can be right and still be unChristlike.

I can know Scripture and still have a hard heart.

I can defend the truth and still fail to show grace.

I can go to church every Sunday and still walk past my neighbor without ever noticing that they’re hurting.

I can call myself a disciple while becoming increasingly comfortable with people I don’t like being treated as though they don’t matter.

And that realization hurts.

Because I don’t want to simply talk about Jesus.

I want my life to look like Him.

I want people to experience something different when they encounter me.

I want the lonely to feel seen.

I want the hurting to feel safe.

I want the broken to know they aren’t beyond redemption.

I want the person who disagrees with me to know I can disagree without hating them.

I want the person who has fallen to know there is still grace.

I want the person who feels forgotten to know that somebody cares.

I want my neighbor to encounter Jesus—not because I preached a sermon at them, but because I loved them.

Maybe that’s the discipleship journey we’re missing.

Maybe following Jesus isn’t about becoming more religious.

Maybe it’s about becoming more human—the kind of human God created us to be before sin taught us to divide, judge, hate and exclude.

So I’m asking myself today:

Has following Jesus made me love my neighbor more?

Has it changed the way I speak to people?

Has it changed the way I treat people who disagree with me?

Has it changed the way I respond to the broken?

Has it made me more compassionate?

More patient?

More forgiving?

More generous?

More willing to serve?

More willing to listen?

More willing to love without expecting anything in return?

And perhaps most importantly:

Would my neighbor say that following Jesus has made me a more loving person?

That’s the question that scares me.

Because it’s one thing for me to say I’m becoming like Jesus.

It’s another thing for the people around me to actually see it.

Maybe it’s time we stopped measuring our discipleship by how many Christian things we do and started measuring it by how much love is actually coming out of our lives.

Because Jesus didn’t say the world would recognize His disciples by their political opinions.

He didn’t say they would know us by our church attendance.

He didn’t say they would know us by how loudly we defended our beliefs.

He said they would know us by our love.

So before I point another finger…

Before I criticize another person…

Before I decide who is worthy of my compassion…

Before I tell someone else what they need to change…

Maybe I need to get on my knees and ask God:

“Lord, change me first.”

Make my heart softer.

Make my hands willing to serve.

Make my ears willing to listen.

Make my eyes willing to see the people everyone else overlooks.

Make me love the people I don’t understand.

Make me forgive the people who hurt me.

Make me compassionate toward people whose stories I don’t know.

And when I encounter someone who is hurting, broken, angry, lost or far away from You…

Don’t let me walk past them.

Let me stop.

Let me see them.

Let me love them.

Let me become Your hands and feet.

Because maybe the greatest testimony we will ever give isn’t something we say.

Maybe it’s the way we love someone who thought Christians would hate them.

And tonight, I hope we all sit with this question for a while:

If the only Bible my neighbor ever read was the life I lived, would they see Jesus?

Not perfection.

Not religion.

Not condemnation.

Jesus.

Because if my discipleship hasn’t made me love my neighbor more…

Maybe the problem isn’t that my neighbor needs to come closer to Jesus.

Maybe I do. ~OC

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