The People’s Revival

I became a believer in 1990.
The day after I converted, I walked into the streets and never really left them.

From 1990 to 2017 I stood on the margins, calling the church to repent.
I yelled for reformation and revival in tin shacks with a single bulb swinging overhead.
I screamed the same message in mega-churches that paid me $5k to $15k a night to say it.
I did Christian TV until they banned me for saying too much truth out loud.

I’m used to the margins.
I’m used to controversy.
I’m used to doors closing.
I’m used to being the “problem” in every room.

Because if ministry ever starts feeling comfortable, popular, or profitable — it has already betrayed its assignment.

I don’t do this for applause.
I don’t do this for platforms.
I don’t do this for offerings, invitations, follows, or approval.

I do this for an audience of One.

And the wild thing is — now I don’t even fit where the preacher is supposed to fit.

The right calls me a traitor.
The left hears “preacher” and braces for manipulation.
I don’t blame them. I’d feel the same way.

My followers aren’t church people.
My audience isn’t religious at all.

In fact, the moment I realized my Christian audience was drifting toward nationalism, fascism, and cruelty — I let them go.
I cleaned house.
And I slept well that night.

Because Christ never called me to collect the convinced.
He called me to stand with the crushed.

Some preachers want crowds.
Some want influence.
Some want revival that doesn’t cost anything.

Not me.

Put me with the doubters.
Put me with the disillusioned.
Put me with the ones who got burned by pastors and politics alike.
Put me with the people who don’t trust God… and have every human reason not to.

Because that is holy ground.

This is where a preacher is supposed to be —
not inside the empire of religion,
not kneeling at the throne of nationalism,
not selling spirituality like a product.

But standing between the hurt and the hope,
between the lied-to and the truth,
between betrayal and belief…
saying:

I know why you left.
I left too.
But Christ was never the problem.
He’s the One they tried to hide from you.

So I’m not here to rebuild the church you escaped.
I’m not here to defend the religion that wounded you.
I’m not here to make Christianity powerful again.

I’m here to tear the mask off the hijackers,
to open the doors they welded shut,
and to tell every exile, heretic, and heartbroken believer:

The Kingdom is not behind you.
The Kingdom is ahead of you.
And it never belonged to them in the first place.

They can keep the pulpits.
They can keep the politics.
They can keep the brand.

I’ll take the road.
I’ll take the outcasts.
I’ll take the truth.
I’ll take Christ.
And we’ll build something real in the ruins.