The People’s Revival

Dear America,

I am sorry for how the church has been presented. I’m sorry for the hatred, the bigotry, the racism, and the hypocrisy.

I’m sorry that preachers have ignored Christ’s warnings about wealth while baptizing greed. That they speak of heaven but cling to power. That they preach family values while protecting abusers. That they quote verses about submission but skip the ones about mercy.

I’m sorry that while following a Messiah who had no place to lay His head, they built empires.
While following a refugee child, they hardened their hearts against immigrants.
While following a man who flipped tables, they became comfortable with the money changers.

And I’m sorry for the quieter violence.

The shunning.
The whispered prayer requests.
The cold shoulders when your marriage fell apart.
The distance when your kid came out.
The silence when your depression didn’t get healed on schedule.
The way they disappear when you relapse.
The way you become a “project” instead of a person.

I’m sorry that when you proved to be human — faulty, struggling, complicated — they withdrew fellowship like it was a reward for performance.

Jesus ate with sinners.

We hold meetings about them.

Jesus touched lepers.

We move away from reputational risk.

Jesus restored Peter after public failure.

We screenshot and circulate.

I’m sorry that grace has been preached but rarely practiced.
That belonging has been conditional.
That love has felt like probation.

And yes — while Jesus washed feet, some bought jets.
While He multiplied loaves, some multiplied revenue streams.
While He walked dusty roads, some insulated themselves in luxury and called it “favor.”

That is not the Kingdom of God.

Christ did not change.
His words did not soften.
His mercy did not come with an expiration date.

If you walked away because what you saw didn’t look like Him — I understand.

My heart breaks too.

There are still some of us who refuse the empire.
Who refuse the culture war.
Who refuse to weaponize Scripture.
Who will not shun you when you bleed.
Who will not disappear when you fail.
Who will sit in the dark with you until morning.

If tables need flipping, it won’t be to defend religion —
it will be to defend the people religion crushed.

To the one who was told, “Get right, then come back.”
To the one who was loved until they were inconvenient.
To the one who was faithful until they were human.

I’m sorry.

But don’t confuse the system for the Savior.

There is another way.

We are still here.

Let’s build something better.