Our Outrage Reflects Who We Are

Every year, like clockwork, the Super Bowl arrives. And every year, just as reliably, a corner of the American church rushes to the front lines of a new moral panic. It doesn’t seem to matter what kind of pain, war, or hunger is unfolding in the real world; our collective fury is often directed not toward suffering, but toward a halftime show, a commercial, or a national anthem. We act as the self-appointed guardians of "decency," ready to defend our values from whatever cultural villain has been chosen for us this season.

The pebble in my path🚶🏽‍➡️ is this uncomfortable pattern. When did we decide that our primary job was to be the critics of culture rather than the caretakers of people?

We see this outrage cycle everywhere. We have seen mobilized anger over red Starbucks cups, the "sexuality" of green M&Ms, Easter eggs, changes to the Cracker Barrel logo, and whether a cashier says "Happy Holidays." It is exhausting. But more than that, it is revealing. When we possess the same level of vitriol for a candy mascot as we do for actual injustice, we have lost the plot. The pebble in my shoe is the realization that this isn’t about defending Jesus. It is about defending our own comfort. We are making these moments about us,our preferences, our nostalgia, and our sense of control.

The compass🧭 points us to a difficult memory that clarifies everything. I remember vividly when Black athletes began kneeling during the national anthem to peacefully protest police brutality. It was a dignified, non-violent act, a posture of lament that, historically, is deeply Christian. Yet, what I heard from the pulpit and from fellow believers was some of the most vitriolic rhetoric I have ever encountered.

A fellow pastor once said to me, "You know those guys would be beheaded in another country if they did that."

I responded, "So you’re thankful we live in a country where people can peacefully protest without fear of stuff like that happening to them, right?"

He said, "No, I think they need to know how seriously wrong they are."

That moment broke something in me. It revealed how easily faith can be twisted to sanctify nationalism under the guise of "reverence." The compass of Jesus does not point toward empire; it points toward the oppressed. Jesus did not scold the hurting for disrupting the peace; He disrupted the peace to heal the hurting. When we prioritize a flag over a neighbor’s pain, we aren't following the Carpenter from Nazareth. We are following our own desire for order.

The open trail 🛣️calls us to drop the stone of offense. The world is watching us. They see us outraged by male cheerleaders but silent on poverty. They see us angry about a halftime performance but indifferent to the lonely. This self-centered focus on "our rights" and "our culture" is the antithesis of the Gospel.

The open trail is a path of humility. It invites us to stop asking, "How does this cultural moment offend me?" and start asking, "Who is hurting, and how can I help?" The world does not need a church that is easily appalled. It needs a church that is easily moved to compassion.

Let’s stop auditing the world for errors and start offering it a reflection of love.

Stay barefoot. Stay honest. Stay close to the ground.

-Barefoot Gospel👣