The question isn’t whether Christians should engage in public life. Of course we should! We are called to be the salt and light. But look at how we are doing it.
Are we showing the world the salt—the preserving, purifying, distinct flavor of Christ? Or are we just adding to the bitter noise?
Sometimes I wonder if we are more concerned with winning the culture war than with loving the people on the battlefield.
Let me ask you a question.
Have you ever noticed how Jesus handled the most controversial issues of His day?
He was constantly challenging the religious leaders, the Pharisees—the people who were obsessed with rules and public displays of piety. Yet, He was incredibly gentle with the people they condemned.
I love the story of the woman caught in adultery. The law was clear, right?
They dragged this woman into the temple, threw her at Jesus’s feet, and demanded judgment. They were using her as a political tool to corner Jesus. They wanted to show their public influence.
But Jesus? He didn’t take the bait. He didn’t join their political tribe.
He knelt down and wrote in the dust. He let the silence speak for itself, and when He finally stood, He didn’t condemn her. He looked at the angry crowd who had dropped their stones and said, “Go now and leave your life of sin.” Mercy triumphed over judgment.
This is the key: Jesus refused to let the political and cultural arguments of the day distract Him from His true mission, which was transforming individual hearts. He wasn’t focused on overthrowing the Roman empire, even though everyone wanted a political Messiah. He was focused on the person right in front of Him.
The hardest things
And you know what? It brings up one of the hardest things we face right now: how to talk about people who are seeking refuge without getting lost in all the political yelling.
It’s easy to focus on borders and laws and systems, but then we forget the human story.
Imagine for a second being totally vulnerable, feeling unsafe, and then your entire world changes with a knock.
For some of these families, the “knock” isn’t about a broken taillight. It’s about war, violence, or persecution.
They filed for refugee status, they’re waiting for their cases to be heard, and they’re clinging to hope in a place that often feels cold and unwelcome.
And here’s the thing that really gets me: When I hear about folks who have walked so far, dragging their lives behind them, only to be turned away—deported—before they even get a chance to tell their story, it breaks my heart.
They’re just asking for a fair hearing, a chance to explain the fear they ran from.
As Christians, we have to look past the politics and see the person who is simply waiting to be seen and heard.
And this is why we have to stop confusing our political tribe with the heart of Jesus.
The First Refugee Family
Let me tell you a story that explains this. It’s a story we often skip over in the Christmas pageants.
It’s the story of the First Refugee Family.
I absolutely love to imagine Mary and Joseph right after the wise men left. The shepherds had gone back to their fields.
Everything was quiet. Then, in the middle of the night, Joseph has a dream—an angel warns him that King Herod is coming, and he is coming to kill the baby boys.
Think about that moment. The King of all creation, the promised Messiah, is a fragile infant whose life is in immediate danger.
Joseph and Mary had to pack up everything they owned—probably not much—and flee.
They didn’t go to a safe, welcoming country a short drive away. They became undocumented immigrants, seeking asylum in a foreign land: Egypt.
I mean, can you imagine? They traveled that long, hard journey, probably on a donkey, Mary holding the baby Jesus tight.
They were running for their lives from a murderous tyrant.
They were the very definition of refugees.
Now, picture this moment in your heart.
What if they got to the border of Egypt, exhausted and scared, and the Egyptian soldiers were like, “Nope.
We don’t have enough room for you. Your papers aren’t in order. You’re a potential burden on our society. Turn around and go back.”
The soldiers would have been sending the Messiah back to certain death.
It’s a terrifying thought, right?
The King of the Kingdom of God started His life as a tiny, vulnerable refugee seeking safety in a foreign land.
God intentionally wrote the story this way so we would never, ever forget what it means to be the stranger, what it means to be dependent on the kindness of a foreign nation.
The Power of Radical Love
I think we’re wired to follow the “if-it-ain’t-broke-don’t-fix-it” strategy, but that can keep us stuck in a so-so spiritual situation. We need to look at Jesus’s example and take a good look inside ourselves, too.
Look at the story of the call of Matthew. Matthew was a tax collector. In his time, that was like being a traitor and a cheat rolled into one. He was a collaborator with Rome—the enemy! No good, respectable person would ever have dinner with him.
But Jesus walked right up to his booth—his symbol of corruption—and simply said, “Follow me.” He offered Matthew a new identity and a new purpose, a new name, right there on the spot.
Jesus didn’t wait for Matthew to clean up his act, renounce his political affiliation, or change his entire life before extending grace. He offered grace first.
This is what our faithful public witness looks like now. It’s not about being loud or angry. It’s about being so full of Jesus’s grace that we can see the person in front of us, even when they’re on the “wrong” side of the political aisle.
So, what does this mean for us? For Christian women trying to raise their families, live out their faith, and figure out how to vote or what to post?
It means we need to remember the washing of the Disciples’ Feet.
On the night before His death, Jesus performed the lowest task of a servant. He stripped off His outer robes, knelt down, and washed the dusty, dirty feet of His friends. He even washed the feet of Judas, the man who was about to betray Him.
He wasn’t giving a fiery political speech about how the Kingdom of God would conquer Rome. He was giving a living lesson in humble, loving leadership. He was showing us that true greatness is found in serving others. That’s the most powerful public witness there is.
I know it can be draining to contemplate life, as opposed to just living it. But taking time to fully and truthfully examine where your heart is—is my allegiance to a party or to the Prince of Peace?—can prevent you from sliding into predictable patterns.
If you’re having a hard time, if you feel tempted to jump into the rhetoric, remember this: Jesus did not come to be served, but to serve. He did not come to take sides; He came to take the cross.
Our job is not to win the culture war. Our job is to reflect the compassion, transformative power, and deeply personal ministry of Jesus to everyone we meet.
So, let’s choose to serve. Let’s choose the humble, quiet work of love. Let’s choose the Kingdom that will never be shaken.
Let Jesus do for you what He did for Matthew and the woman at the well: give you a new identity that is so powerful, you don’t need a political flag to wave. You just need His love.
Have a great night.