Insights on faith, culture, and the glorious mess between.

Today, as we honor Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., I go back to a sermon he preached just two months before his assassination. Standing in the pulpit at Ebenezer Baptist Church, he talked about something he called "the drum major instinct," a deep human desire we all have to be out in front, to be recognized, to be first.

Dr. King offered something radically different. He said, "If you want to be important—wonderful. If you want to be recognized—wonderful. If you want to be great—wonderful. But recognize that he who is greatest among you shall be your servant. That's a new definition of greatness."

Dr. King was quoting Jesus. But he could have just as easily been reading from Philippians 2.

Last week, I wrote about finding joy when the future is uncertain. This week, I want to talk about something that might be harder.

It's one thing when you don't know what's coming. It's another thing entirely when you know exactly where you are, and it feels like prison.

Maybe it’s the job that drains you but you can't leave because you need the income. The financial mess that has you completely boxed in. The relationship that feels suffocating but is complicated to change. Or maybe it's those responsibilities that feel like chains… caring for aging parents, managing chronic illness, stuck in a season you never asked for.

You're not wondering what's next. You know what today is. And today feels like prison.

So the question changes from "How do I trust God when I don't know what's next?" to "How do I trust God when I'm stuck in the present, and it's terrible?"

I still remember March 2020 like it was yesterday.

Only three months earlier I had become the lead pastor of ACAC. Following a man who had successfully lead for 36 years. The plan was crystal clear. My calendar was packed with meetings, my schedule mapped out for months, and I was riding the wave of excitement that comes with a new chapter. Everything felt certain.

Then COVID hit. Within 48 hours, everything shut down. Every plan. Every meeting. Every strategy session. Gone. And I remember sitting there thinking, "How do I lead when I don't even know what's next?"

Maybe you've felt that way too. Not necessarily about a pandemic, but about something. A relationship that's uncertain. A job that feels unstable. A health diagnosis that came out of nowhere. A future that used to feel clear but now feels foggy.

Here's what I've learned... we're wired for certainty. Everything in us craves it. We build our entire lives around trying to control, predict, and manage what's coming next. We have apps that predict the weather two weeks out, retirement calculators that tell us how much we need to save down to the dollar, and GPS systems that reroute us around traffic before we even hit it and tell us within a minute of when we’ll arrive.

We need to know. And when we don't, it steals our joy.

But what if joy isn't found in knowing what's next? What if it's found in knowing Who's next to you?

Christmas is supposed to be merry and bright. At least that's what the songs tell us.

But for some of you reading this, this Christmas feels anything but merry. Maybe it's your first Christmas without someone you love. Maybe there's an empty chair at the table that wasn't empty last year. Maybe it’s your first holiday season after a divorce and your watching your kids pack bags to spend half of Christmas somewhere else. Maybe you're facing a health crisis that makes it hard to muster the energy to pretend everything is okay. Maybe the financial stress of the season only highlights what you don't have.

The cultural pressure to be joyful can make the grief feel even heavier.

If that's you today, I want you to know something… your pain is valid. Your struggle is real. And the Christmas story has something to say to you and what you’re experiencing.

If you're a pastor or ministry leader, this one's for you.

Here's the reality… our culture is becoming increasingly post-Christian. The moments when what matters to the world overlaps with what matters to the church are becoming fewer and farther between.

But Christmas? Christmas is different.

Even as people disconnect from Christ, they still love Christmas. They sing songs with biblical theology while shopping at Target and the mall. They show up to church services they'd never attend any other week of the year. And that creates a unique opportunity, one we can't afford to waste.

The question isn't whether Christmas matters. The question is… Are we being strategic and intentional with this moment?

We're really good at loving people from a distance.

We'll sponsor a child in another country for $40 a month, feel good about it, and never learn how to pronounce their name. We'll donate clothes to the homeless shelter but won't engage with the actual people on our streets experiencing homelessness. We'll pray for the nations but won't talk to our neighbor who just moved here from another nation.

Whether it's someone 8,000 miles away or 8 feet away, we prefer the distance. Because distance is safe. Distance is comfortable. Distance doesn't require much from us.

Here's the problem… You cannot love people from a distance.