Being a pastor today is not for the faint of heart. The role feels more treacherous than it once did. Every decision carries weight, and each sermon risks being heard less as a gospel message and more as political commentary. Many pastors find themselves caught in a painful tension: do they tell the truth as they understand the gospel, risking their jobs and relationships, or do they remain silent out of fear of backlash?
Too often, the pressure is to play it safe—to become cheerleaders for prevailing opinions, offering what congregants expect rather than challenging assumptions. But silence or appeasement comes at a cost: the heart of the gospel is muted, and the prophetic edge of pastoral leadership is blunted. The way of silence also quietly does something to erode the heart and soul of the pastor.
The challenge has intensified in today’s climate. Many Christians no longer interpret the world—or even the gospel—through a biblical or theological lens. Instead, they filter everything through partisan politics. My friend and pastor, Dr. Keith Langner, put it well: “When we allow disputable matters to define us, we fall into the trap of identity politics instead of gospel identity.”
He said, “We are good at drawing lines and terrible at building bridges. Tribalism is killing the church in America.” I believe he is right. Tribalism has fractured our common life, not only in America but within the body of Christ. When loyalty to a political tribe outweighs loyalty to the kingdom of God, we forget the very center of Jesus’ message.
The gospels show us that Jesus was relentlessly committed to the kingdom of God. His parables, teachings, and actions were less about propping up existing power structures and more about embodying a new way—a way of justice, mercy, and truth. That way unsettled the comfortable, challenged the religious establishment, and exposed the politics of oppression. To follow him was, and still is, to risk misunderstanding and rejection.
This leaves pastors—and all who seek to lead in faith—with a dilemma. Should they stay quiet about issues that matter, hoping to avoid conflict? Or should they dare to speak truth in love, even when that truth cuts across partisan loyalties? Speaking out is risky. Congregations may nod in agreement one week, only to feel betrayed the next if a sermon seems to tilt against their political leanings. A single misstep can be magnified into a reputation of bias.
Yet silence carries its own danger. When we avoid naming the truth, we abandon the very work we are called to do. The church was never meant to play it safe and remain silent. Instead, it was meant to be salt and light, a community shaped by the radical love of Christ.
As I reflect on this, I return to Jesus of Nazareth. He is our model for living and leading in such times. He never confused the kingdom of God with the kingdoms of this world. He was willing to confront hypocrisy, call out injustice, and still extend mercy to those most in need of it. He spoke the truth, but always with love.
That is our calling too. To resist the temptation of tribalism. To remember that our identity is not Republican or Democrat, left or right, but beloved children of God. To risk speaking hard truths not for the sake of scoring points, but for the sake of love.
Walking the way of Christ in this cultural moment is not easy. It requires courage, humility, and wisdom. It may cost us something. But it is the only way to be faithful.
So I keep asking myself, and I invite you to ask: How can we speak the truth in love, in a way that builds bridges instead of walls? How can we embody the kingdom of God in a time when so many are content to settle for the kingdoms of this world?
The answers are not simple. But the call is clear: keep walking the way, even when the path is hard.
The following points are reminders of what it means today to try and Walk the Way of Jesus.
The Cost of Staying Silent
It’s tempting for pastors—and Christians in general—to step back, stay quiet, and avoid saying anything that might rock the boat. Silence feels safe. It shields us from criticism, conflict, and the painful reality of division.
But the silence is not neutral. It sends a message all its own. When the church does not name injustice, it silently condones it. When we avoid speaking about love across boundaries, we reinforce the very lines Jesus came to erase. Silence protects us, but it rarely protects the vulnerable.
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The Hard Work of Bridge-Building
If tribalism is killing the church, then bridge-building must be its cure. But bridges take time, sweat, and courage to build. They require listening more than speaking, humility more than certainty, and a willingness to step into uncomfortable spaces.
Bridge-building doesn’t mean we surrender truth. It means we learn to hold truth and love together—speaking with conviction, but also with compassion. It means we risk being misunderstood for the sake of reconciliation. And it means we value people more than our positions, relationships more than being right.
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A Kingdom That Cannot Be Shaken
The good news is that the kingdom of God does not rise and fall with our political tribes. It is not shaken by election cycles, cultural battles, or shifting loyalties. The kingdom is rooted in the love of Christ, a love that builds bridges where none existed, a love that casts out fear and refuses to let hatred have the last word.
When we remember this, we find courage. Courage to speak the truth, even when it is costly. Courage to love across boundaries, even when it is misunderstood. Courage to embody the kingdom in a world still clinging to its tribes.
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Reflection Prompt
Where are you being called to be a bridge-builder right now?
EnSpirit 