Micah speaks into a world shaped by fear, money, and control, where faith has become transactional and harm is treated as the price of order. By placing injustice before the witnesses of creation itself, Micah exposes how deeply damage runs when worship is disconnected from justice, kindness, and humility—and why this ancient confrontation sounds uncomfortably current.

Angie McCarty doesn’t chase balance. She knows it’s unattainable. Instead, she looks for rhythm.
In the middle of a full life shaped by ministry, caregiving, and constant demands, Angie reflects on Jesus’ invitation to something deeper than rest as escape. Drawing on Matthew 11, she names a promise many tired people long to believe: that even in chaos, grace can be unforced, and rest can be real. Sometimes that rest is a pause. Sometimes it is nothing more than a deep breath. But it is a gift offered to everyone learning to live faithfully in a demanding world.

What does it mean to pray, “Thou art mine, and I am thine”? This reflection explores God’s vast mystery and intimate nearness through the Wesley Covenant Prayer and the image of the ocean.

The story of Jesus’ family fleeing to Egypt is likely not preserved for historical accuracy, but for theological truth. The Gospel writer tells this story to show where God is present in a dangerous world: among the displaced, the threatened, and those forced to flee. Christmas was never safe, and that matters for how we live our faith now.

Joseph never speaks in Matthew’s Christmas story. Yet his silent faith reveals a love that stays present in fear, chooses faithfulness, and shows us what Emmanuel truly means.

“Mary does not stop being afraid in order to say yes to God. She says yes, while her voice trembles.”

“It’s not the absence of faith. It’s bruised faith — the ache of someone searching for a bit of hope, some peace of mind.”

Advent begins not with candlelight or carols, but with the world as it really is. In the time of Herod, fear and longing lived side by side. They still do. This reflection explores what happens when we name our fears honestly and discover that God is already listening in the places where longing aches the most.

In this continuation of my reflection on faith and democracy, I explore what happens when belief bows to the flag. Drawing on Dr. Brian Kaylor’s work, Baptizing America, and my own study of democracy and discipleship, I consider how Christian nationalism takes something good — our love of country — and turns it into a false god. Faith was never meant to serve power. When “God and Country” become the same thing, God gets smaller.

We all give our allegiance somewhere — to a nation, a party, a cause, or a way of life. But what happens when loyalty demands more than it should? In this reflection, Rachel Fetters explores how faith, democracy, and shared humanity invite us to pledge allegiance not to empire, but to love, justice, and the Kin(g)dom of God.

At this year’s Great Plains Orders & Fellowship gathering, we’re talking about Christian nationalism — how love of country can so easily be mistaken for love of God. Sitting in that room, surrounded by clergy and laity from across the conference, I’ve been thinking about what happens when we confuse freedom with faith.

This isn’t just a political question; it’s a spiritual one. When our allegiance to national identity takes precedence over our discipleship to Christ, freedom becomes something we cling to rather than something we practice for the good of others. Drawing on insights from Brian Kaylor and my own study of democracy and faith, I’m exploring how our call as Christians is not to baptize the nation but to live as citizens of the kingdom of God — a kingdom defined by love, humility, and justice for all.

Faith is showing up everywhere — in hashtags, business plans, and brand partnerships. But what happens when belief becomes something to sell instead of something to live? This reflection explores how easily the Gospel can be turned into content, how that shapes the way we practice faith, and what Jesus modeled instead: a life of love, humility, and action. Real faith isn’t about reach. It’s about relationship.

When I volunteered with my daughter’s youth group, I expected to help with small group questions and crafts. Instead, I found a living parable of belonging. Sixth-grade girls taught me more about radical hospitality than any training could. Jesus didn’t wait for people to behave before he loved them—and neither did they.

What if holiness looks less like getting everything right and more like showing up as your truest self — sparkly boots, pink cowboy hat, and all? At a Chappell Roan concert, in a neighborhood gifting group, in the joy of a shared song, I’ve started to see glimpses of what the early church looked like in Acts: awe, generosity, and glad hearts. Maybe being the church today isn’t about holding tighter to what we’ve always done, but about carrying God’s goodness into the places we already are — where joy and kindness overflow, and community feels like freedom.

God’s love doesn’t work on efficiency. It isn’t practical or balanced the way we want it to be. God’s love is relentless. It’s extravagant. It refuses to let one life slip away unnoticed.

Jesus told a strange story about a dishonest manager who got praised for being clever. The lesson? Sometimes the world is more deliberate with money and energy than people of faith. What would it look like if we lived more strategically with what matters most?

Sabbath began as God’s blessing before it was ever a rule. Over time people turned it into a burden, but Jesus cut through the confusion: Sabbath was made for life, not for rules. This post explores how scripture, Jewish tradition, and even everyday practices remind us that Sabbath is still a gift meant to help us thrive.

“They say that Jesus is the way, but then they gave him a white face… So did modern Christians do as Hayley Williams accuses? Burnished bronze is nowhere close to the Jesus described in Revelation.”