Over the last few months, I’ve been sitting with a question that feels more urgent than ever: What kind of spaces are we, as Christians, creating? We are living in a moment that feels heavy. The world feels fractured. People feel isolated. Many are carrying quiet grief, private questions, or wounds inflicted by the very communities meant to reflect Christ. In the middle of that, I keep coming back to Jesus’ question in   Gospel of Matthew   16: “Who do you say that I am?” That question is deeply personal, but it is never merely private. The way we answer it shapes the kind of community we build. In that same chapter of Matthew, Jesus does something striking. Before He ever asks His disciples for their confession, He confronts the religious leaders. The Pharisees and Sadducees—experts in Scripture, guardians of tradition—demand yet another sign from Him. They had knowledge. They had structure. They had moral seriousness. But their hearts were hardened. And Jesus does not soften...

I just  returned from a vacation with friends I don’t just enjoy—but deeply cherish—as chosen family . Two years ago, our little family boarded the   Disney Fantasy. Over the course of the following 7 days (and past 2 years) our journey through life merged with  two other families who would become some of the safest, most life-giving people in our lives. Since that first trip, we’ve shared more vacations, long dinners full of laughter, late-night conversations about life and parenting and doubt, spontaneous adventures across several states, never-ending text threads at all hours of the day (and night), and quiet moments of simply sitting with each other when life felt heavy.  What started as a cruise friendship has grown into something sacred—deep trust, shared joy, and the kind of belonging that steadies you. We celebrate big, grieve honestly, disagree without walking away, and keep choosing each other over and over again. That doesn’t happen by accident. It happens...

In our current cultural and political climate, one truth has become increasingly clear: the greatest value in following Jesus is not about religious practice detached from a kingdom-shaped heart. It is not discovered through self-righteous effort, cultural power, or moral gatekeeping. Instead, the greatest value is found in hearts and lives fully submitted to Jesus—lives that seek justice for the marginalized, extend mercy to those pushed to the edges, and love neighbors who are too often treated as threats rather than image-bearers. Jesus’ vision of the kingdom consistently centers people who are our society overlooks or rejects. Immigrants, outsiders, and those whose identities do not fit dominant cultural expectations were never peripheral to His message—they were central. This remains true as we turn to the concluding verses of the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 7:13–29. Before stepping into these closing words, it helps to remember the foundation was already laid in the Beatitudes...

When the venerable monks participating in the Walk for Peace passed through my area—Columbia, South Carolina—my family and I chose to join them. Early that morning, we intentionally intersected their route so we could walk alongside them for a short distance. We wanted to experience, even briefly, the solidarity I had been hearing about—solidarity with those who long for peace in a world that often seems to thrive on division. Later that afternoon, we attended a rally so well attended that it virtually closed downtown Columbia. Thousands gathered as the monks walked to the Capitol, where they challenged us to pursue both personal and communal peace in our lives and in our world. As the walk has progressed, I have heard troubling stories. Stories of Christians standing in opposition to these monks and to those supporting them. I saw fellow believers—both in person and on social media—question or outright condemn those of us who chose to participate, including my own family. So let me be...

Over my last few blogs I have attempted to communicate that having it all together isn't a prerequisite of coming to Jesus. I have argued that we must sit at tables of KINDness while continually examining ourselves in light of the Gospel. This blog is a return to some of the same challenges with an emphasis on the importance of creating safe community. the following is shortened version of a chapter in a book I am working on putting together to challenge churches and individuals to engage and live in the Messy Middle. What does this look like when we build community together? Safe church spaces do not emerge accidentally. They are formed—slowly, intentionally, and with a biblical mandate—by communities that take Jesus at His word when He says that love will be the defining mark of His followers (John 13:34–35). For LGBTQ+ people, and for many others shaped by racial injustice, political marginalization, or spiritual trauma, “church” has often been experienced as a place where lived...

  In life, one comes to understand that we are on a journey shaped by incremental discoveries; small moments of learning that slowly form who we become for the people around us. Growth rarely arrives fully formed. Instead, it unfolds through missteps that teach us humility, core beliefs that are tested and refined, and muscles of compassion that must be intentionally strengthened over time. The journey itself matters, not just the destination. How a person engages these processes determines the kind of presence they become in the lives of others. Some choose to grow into safe spaces—people who can hold tension, listen without rushing to judgment, and extend love, compassion, and grace even when things are unresolved. Others, often without intending to choose a different path. That road can lead to harm: wounding others, marginalizing the vulnerable, or grasping for power at the expense of those with the least voice. The difference between these paths is not perfection, but posture....