I’ve spent more time in the Bible this past year than every previous year of my life combined. I’ve read scriptures that I’d never read before, and had questions that weren’t easily answered. I wrestled with the text, trying to reconcile my life with it, and understand it in earnest so that I could become the person God wanted me to be.
I’ve always believed in God. But this was the first time that I, as an adult with full agency, embraced full surrender.
I gave up drinking for 6 months with the goal of mastering moderation, I gave up some of my favorite clothes in pursuit of modesty, and I dramatically cut back on secular music, because I knew God deserved better from me. I knew His Word wasn’t customizable, and we couldn’t pick and choose which commands to follow.
If I wanted to spend eternity with Him, I had to make sacrifices that challenged me, my comfort and my very sense of self.
And for a while, I wondered if to truly please God, I should stop publicly talking about politics.
It’s not that I thought my worldview contradicted what was written. I wasn’t fazed by people with a cotton candy comprehension of Christianity, who cherrypicked scriptures about “not judging” and Jesus “hanging out with prostitutes” with no grasp of the broader context.
But I wondered if my passion for politics was distracting or detracting from the glory of God.
I wondered if I was too invested in the affairs of a world with an expiration date.
I wondered if unfiltered expression of my ideology could become my idol, or was interfering with what God put me here to do.
I read verses about our obligations to our brothers and sisters in Christ, and how we’re supposed to prioritize the salvation of others above our personal liberties or prerogatives.
I knew my Christian content had planted seeds with unbelievers. But if one blog post was about trusting God’s timing, and the next one was advocating for the end of birthright citizenship, was I jeopardizing someone’s renewal in Christ with my polarizing polemics?
If a liberal was moved by my religious reflections, but repulsed by my dogmatic diatribes, was I in rebellion by publishing the latter?
I contemplated it for weeks on end.
There were so many verses about turning the other cheek, and avoiding offense, and a meek and humble spirit.
To truly embody those virtues, did I have to sugarcoat what was going on in the world, or shut up forever about it?
But the more I thought about the passages that had given me pause in the first place, it was difficult for me to make sense of the idea that I was supposed to live in constant anxiety about what might upset another believer. The more time you spend among Christians, the less possible it seems.
Some Christians think communion should be taken more than once a week and some Christians think to truly preserve its meaning and sanctity, it should be observed once a month or once a quarter. Some believe you can’t be saved without baptism while others point to the criminal besides Jesus at His crucifixion and say you can. One denomination insists that formal dress codes show reverence while another argues relaxed clothing standards create a lower barrier to entry for those seeking Jesus. They have very strong opinions about these things, and I understand them all.
But just because we can’t agree on something doesn’t mean we aren’t supposed to talk about it.
I think dialogue is actually critical to the pursuit of truth.
And if one side isn’t talking, how can we actually find it?
I continued to sit with it, and considered the real world consequences of Christians who died on the hill of palatability.
When Christians become afraid of offending, we end up with progressive pride flags flying on churches, racial idolatry being rationalized from the pulpit, and pro-choice “pastors” doing PR campaigns for the abortion industry.
I’m offended by all of that, but those “Christians” don’t care.
They abandon timeless truths for the ever-changing tides of “tolerance,” but if you’re preaching falsehoods because you think it attracts a wider audience, what’s the point?
When the forthright are walking on eggshells, nothing good comes from it.
Faithful Christians can disagree on immigration, taxes, crime prevention and more.
While some might argue that “loving thy neighbor” means amnesty for millions of illegal immigrants from dangerous, impoverished countries, others might argue that “loving thy neighbor” means securing a border to stifle the drugs, violence and chaos that often flow through it.
But when one side assumes infallibility in their interpretation and the other side is self censoring, chaos and calamity have routinely followed.
When Christians are afraid to fight for the rule of law, Laken Rileys, Mollie Tibbetses, and Kate Steinles pay the price. When Christians are afraid to challenge bloated federal budgets, our government is empowered to exploit the people it’s supposed to serve, enriching themselves while funding drag shows in Uganda. When Christians are afraid to condemn soft on crime policies, innocent people are held hostage by rabid repeat offenders with no value for human life while the activist judges that let them back onto the streets live separated from them in gated communities.
In other words, when Christians refuse to engage with culture – not out of personal conviction, but because they think they alone must muzzle themselves to advance God’s Kingdom, no one is better off.
I fixated more on what it meant to be gentle in a Christian sense. Depending on what I’m talking about I can sound intense, harsh, or even militant. But I do believe my edges have softened, and I try to practice restraint. When people insult and degrade me, I try to criticize their arguments instead of going to hell after they go to the basement.
It’s not that I’m some angry ideologue constantly looking for an argument, incapable of reading a room or controlling myself. While I’m sure my online presence is abrasive to some, I’ve been described as quiet and reserved my entire life, and most would call me polite although my severe RBF can admittedly muddy the waters. I’ve sat through countless interactions without interjecting, not because I was afraid to, but because I didn’t see the point in it.
On the Fourth of July I was wearing a Trump shirt. I can’t remember exactly what this girl said to me; it was something about the Big Beautiful Bill he’d signed into law that day. I could have argued, I could have been combative, but was it a wise use of energy? Were either of our minds realistically going to change on the patio of Mandarin Hide? I smiled and told her I was sorry she felt that way and went on with my night.
There are situations where it may make more sense to hold your tongue.
But when something really matters to me, I feel a hardwired compulsion to express it, somehow, some way. I told myself I wouldn’t talk about dating but every time I really like someone I’m bursting at the seams. I can’t contain it. I can’t tell the guy that I’m enamored with that I want to crawl inside his skin so my poor friends are forced to listen.
I’ve never been one to mince words when it comes to what I care about, and I don’t know that I ever will be. Sometimes the depth of my convictions make it difficult to temper them. I think I’ve made a lot of progress, but I’m a work in progress myself, and I think I always will be.
Hard truths can be told in love, though it’s more easily said than done.
Sometimes my ego has me more focused on proving my point, defending myself, or getting the last word in than compassionate conversation, and I know that behavior is driven by the flesh and has to be forfeited.
The heart posture behind my position matters just as much as the delivery.
I welcome the Lord’s refinement, and if I ever feel the Holy Spirit tell me it’s time to stop posting about politics altogether, I’m confident that I’d obey with little to no resistance.
But for now, I’ll keep talking about what’s happening in the church and outside of it, because while my voice may need fine tuning, I don’t believe my silence serves my Savior.
what do you think?