When the Veil Slips: A Reflection on Leadership, Unity, and the Enemy’s Subtle Work
When the Enemy Works in the Open
I have thought about this for a long time now.
For those of you who know me—truly know me—and have read some of my work,
you’ve likely noticed that I sometimes step into territory that doesn’t always
grow my fan base. My writing can wander into controversial places. Not because
I seek controversy or enjoy stirring the pot. In fact, I’d prefer peace most
days. But there are moments when silence feels like disobedience, and speaking
feels like the only faithful response.
Today is one of those days.
Before I began writing these words, I knew
exactly the kind of tension they might cause. I can already hear the imagined
responses:
“Craig, don’t say that.”
“Craig, let it go.”
“Craig, you’re being too sensitive.”
“Craig… maybe it’s just you.”
And maybe it is just me. I submit that
possibility to the Holy Spirit with humility. But for anyone reading this who
has ever felt something similar—whether in their church, their workplace, their
family, or any circle where leadership and community meet—this reflection is
for you.
I write today not to expose, accuse, or
divide. I write to shine light, because the enemy prefers the shadows, and as
Scripture teaches, “the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not
overcome it” (John 1:5, NIV).
This is a deep subject. And it is about the
enemy—the one who is so very good at manipulating outcomes in the short
term, but who never stands the test of time. His victories are shallow. His
strategies are predictable. His fingerprints fade the moment truth stands up
straight. Yet somehow, he never stops trying.
The
Blessing of a Pastor Filled with the Spirit
For many years, we were blessed with a senior
pastor of tremendous wisdom. A man filled with the Spirit—gentle, discerning,
balanced, deeply rooted in Scripture, slow to speak, yet powerful when he did.
I have written about him before. His leadership shaped the DNA of our church;
his teaching shaped our hearts; his presence shaped our community.
As with all seasons, his time eventually drew
to a close. Retirement was announced. Transition was planned. And like many
churches in the Western world today, the search for a new pastor was long,
challenging, and at times discouraging. It is no secret: finding pastors is
becoming increasingly difficult. Cultural pressures, burnout, spiritual
warfare, and reduced seminary enrollment—these forces create a bottleneck that
the modern church is struggling to navigate.
After a lengthy search, the leadership
abandoned the search for an outside candidate and promoted from within.
And at first, I supported the decision
wholeheartedly. Truly, I did.
You want to believe the best. You want to
celebrate internal growth. You want to imagine a homegrown leader carrying
forward the DNA we cherish. For a while, that hope carried me. But with
time—and perhaps this is the moment where honesty begins to cost something—the
veil loosened.
And once a veil slips, you cannot pretend you
didn’t see what you saw.
The Weekend
That Changed Something
Not long ago, our leadership team organized a
large weekend retreat for men in the area. I was serving at the check-in
registration table—a place I genuinely enjoy being. I love serving. I love
being involved in moments that strengthen the men of our church. I love seeing
faces I know and faces I don’t. Serving has always felt like a privilege, not a
duty.
When the new pastor approached the
registration table, I prepared to greet him.
But he didn’t look at me.
Not by mistake.
Not by passing oversight.
It was intentional—deliberately avoiding eye contact.
It was as if he went out of his way to avoid
acknowledging me at all.
I brushed it off at first. Moments happen.
People are distracted. Minds wander. Maybe he was preoccupied with
responsibilities. Perhaps he was tired. Maybe my timing was off. I am not quick
to assume the worst. I don’t believe in creating stories that aren’t there.
But the feeling stayed with me.
Over the next two days, I observed him—because
once you feel a disconnect, you notice patterns. And the pattern was
unmistakable: he repeatedly avoided me. Not once or twice. Not subtle. It was
consistent, almost deliberate.
At the same time, I noticed something else.
He had no difficulty making eye contact
with our highest-dollar donors. He went out of his way to greet them—big
smiles, back slaps, hugs, inside jokes. He laughed easily, confidently, warmly
with the athletic, jock-type group he naturally gravitates toward. Again, I
don’t fault anyone for their personality. I don’t dismiss the reality that we
naturally connect more easily with certain types of people. But once you become
the formal shepherd of a large church, the rules change.
High school is over.
Favouritism is not leadership.
And the flock belongs to God—not to personal comfort zones.
James could not have been more direct:
“... if you show favouritism, you sin” (James 2:9, NIV).
Favouritism is one of the enemy’s oldest
tricks for dividing a community, and he uses it because it works.
The Old
Wound of the “Cool Kid” Culture
If you grew up in a smaller town—or even just
lived through typical North American high school culture—you know precisely how
the hierarchy works. The jocks, the cool kids, the socially dominant ones—they
live in a different world. Their experiences are confident, public, and rewarded.
If you weren’t part of that circle, then your
experience was often the opposite. You walked the halls as an observer, not an
insider. You felt invisible at times, or worse, dismissed.
As adults, we pretend we’ve outgrown the
dynamics of adolescence—but many haven’t. Some simply recreate their old social
ecosystems in new settings.
And when that mindset enters the pulpit, the
enemy smiles.
Again, I’m not saying jocks are nasty. I’m not
dismissing personality or style. But leadership—especially spiritual
leadership—requires something more profound than charm, charisma, athletic
energy, or social boldness. It requires seeing people. All people.
Jesus said, “My sheep listen to my voice; I
know them, and they follow me” (John 10:27, NIV).
A shepherd knows all the sheep—not just the impressive ones.
When leaders look only to the people who make
them feel good, who fund the projects, who reinforce their identity —the quiet
ones, the faithful servants, the older generation, the introverts, the misfits,
the overlooked—they begin to feel spiritually homeless in their own church.
Maybe I am not the only one among 3,000 who
feels something slipping.
Four Months
Later
Fast-forward four months.
I have gone from wanting to greet this new
senior pastor every Sunday to not caring at all if he speaks to me. That’s not
bitterness. It’s a resignation. It’s the quiet realization that something in
the DNA has shifted.
This is not about me needing attention. I am a
grown man with spiritual maturity and thick skin. This is not about ego or
insecurity. This is about discernment, responsibility, and the long-term health
of our church.
Scripture warns leaders repeatedly that their
personal conduct becomes the culture of the community:
“Be shepherds of God’s flock that is under
your care... not lording it over those entrusted to you, but being examples to
the flock.”
—1 Peter 5:2-3 (NIV)
When a senior leader starts behaving like a
“cool kid,” greeting some with enthusiasm and others with indifference, the
enemy begins his subtle work—not through dramatic attacks but through tiny
fractures in unity.
When the
Enemy Tests a New Pastor
When Jesus began His ministry, the enemy came
immediately. Scripture says, “Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the
wilderness to be tempted by the devil” (Matthew 4:1, NIV). That should teach us
something:
Every new leader faces immediate spiritual
attack.
Sometimes the first attack is not scandal, not
doctrine, not immorality—
but favouritism, social division, and the temptation to lead from comfort
instead of calling.
The enemy loves it when leaders gravitate
toward the wealthy, the influential, the charismatic. He loves it when pastors
surround themselves with people who mirror their strengths rather than
complement their weaknesses.
He loves most when leaders forget the lonely,
the overlooked, the faithful servants who do the quiet work.
Because Jesus never forgot them.
Jesus consistently went to the people no one
else saw:
The woman at the well (John 4).
The blind man (John 9).
The bleeding woman (Mark 5).
The tax collectors, sinners, and outsiders (Matthew 9:10-12).
Whatever else a pastor may be—preacher,
teacher, strategist, administrator—their first calling is to mirror Christ’s
heart for all people, not just the ones who remind them of themselves.
Is It Just
Me?
Maybe.
Maybe I misread everything.
Maybe I projected feelings that were never there.
Maybe he simply had too much on his plate.
Maybe one day he’ll read this and wonder why I didn’t talk to him directly.
But here is what I know with spiritual
certainty:
If I can feel this, so can someone else in the
congregation.
Disconnection rarely happens to just one person.
The enemy never tests a leader in private without hoping for a harvest in
public.
Unity is fragile.
And the enemy is no longer hiding in the shadows—he is out in the open,
influencing culture, family, entertainment, and yes, even church leadership
dynamics.
As Paul wrote,
“For we are not unaware of his schemes.” (2 Corinthians 2:11, NIV)
When the Veil Slips: A Reflection on
Leadership, Unity, and the Enemy’s Subtle Work
When
Leadership Becomes a Mirror—and a Warning
The older I get, the more convinced I become
that leadership does not so much change a person as it reveals them. It
is a magnifying glass, not a sculptor. It enlarges what was already
there—strengths, weaknesses, insecurities, blind spots, motives. Good
leadership refines those things under the guidance of the Holy Spirit;
unexamined leadership amplifies them under the influence of the enemy.
But here is the brutal truth many do not want
to face:
When leadership is placed on someone who is
still carrying unhealed dynamics from their past—especially their social
identity—the enemy often uses those dynamics as leverage to shape a church's
culture.
Not out of hatred toward the leader, but
toward the church itself.
I do not believe our new senior pastor is a
bad person. I do not believe he seeks to harm. I do not believe he
intentionally excludes or dismisses anyone. But I do believe that every
leader—myself included—is vulnerable to repeating patterns from earlier seasons
of life.
For him, the pattern seems to come from a
world many of us lived through: the world where value was based on athletic
ability, social presence, or being part of the “in crowd.”
In high school, that world is almost
unavoidable. In adulthood, it is dangerous. In church leadership, it is
spiritually catastrophic.
Because in the Kingdom of God, the social
ladder is inverted:
“The last will be first, and the first will be last.” (Matthew 20:16, NIV)
Jesus does not build His church on charisma.
He builds it on character.
He builds it on compassion.
He builds it on people who see others the way He sees them.
And the moment a leader forgets that, cracks
begin forming in the foundation.
How the
Enemy Uses Familiar Scripts
One thing the enemy is remarkably good at is
recycling old scripts in new settings. He does not need creative tools because
human nature hasn’t changed since Eden.
Consider the first breach in a human
relationship recorded in Scripture—Cain and Abel. Jealousy, comparison,
insecurity, and favouritism. Cain felt unseen. Abel felt favoured. And in the
rawness of that dynamic, the Lord spoke warning:
“If you do not do what is right, sin is
crouching at your door;
it desires to have you, but you must rule over it.”
—Genesis 4:7 (NIV)
Sin crouches.
It waits.
It studies us.
It looks for fractures.
Favouritism in leadership is one of its
favourite doors.
When a pastor subconsciously gives more
energy, attention, and affirmation to the people who feel familiar, socially
safe, or beneficial, sin does not need to knock loudly. It only needs to
whisper:
“You’re doing great.”
“You deserve to be comfortable.”
“These people appreciate you more.”
“You don’t need to stretch yourself.”
“You don’t owe anyone more than this.”
The enemy rarely tempts pastors with blatant
evil.
He tempts them with selective kindness.
The result?
People on the margins feel pushed further outward.
Servants who once felt joy in their church begin to feel invisible.
Those who longed for connection begin to feel spiritually orphaned.
And the leader, unaware of the emotional collateral, continues leading with
unchallenged blind spots.
That is why Scripture repeatedly warns against
favouritism—
not because it is offensive socially, but because it is corrosive spiritually.
A Church’s
DNA Can Shift Without Anyone Noticing—Until It’s Too Late
I love my church. Deeply. I love its worship.
I love its people. I love the legacy of spiritual nourishment that has fed me
for years. That is why this shift has been so noticeable and so concerning.
Culture does not change with a bang; it
changes with a breeze.
Not through dramatic decisions but through subtle behaviours.
Not through sermons but through interactions in the lobby.
Not through vision statements but through the unspoken rules of belonging.
When a leader begins to behave like a high
school quarterback walking through the cafeteria—giving high-fives to
teammates, laughing with familiar faces, nodding to the popular kids, and
breezing past those who are not socially beneficial—they send a message:
“I see some of you more clearly than others.”
The enemy delights in that message because he
knows what comes next:
- Some
people withdraw.
- Some
people feel embarrassed for even wanting a connection.
- Some
reinterpret the church as a social club instead of a spiritual home.
- Some
silently question whether they belong at all.
- And
some—especially men—feel their old high school wounds reopening.
Leadership is not simply about preaching
truth; it is about creating belonging.
And belonging cannot exist where favouritism lives.
A Moment at
the Retreat I Can’t Shake
It wasn’t just the avoidance. It was the
contrast.
Watching the pastor enthusiastically greet
certain men—those with influence, wealth, charisma, or athletic energy—while
offering little more than a passing nod to others felt like watching an old
script play out in a place that should be sacred.
It made something in me ache. Not because I
needed attention, but because the church should be the one place where the
unseen are seen.
Jesus modelled this relentlessly:
He saw Zacchaeus in the tree (Luke 19:1–10).
He saw the marginalized woman by the well (John 4).
He saw the disciples when they were overwhelmed and confused.
He saw the poor widow putting two small coins into the offering (Mark
12:41–44).
Jesus never gravitated naturally toward the
powerful.
He gravitated toward the hungry.
If a pastor does not see his flock—not just
the shiny parts of it—the flock begins to feel spiritually malnourished.
The Test of
a Pastor’s New Season
Scripture shows that every new leader
undergoes spiritual testing.
Joshua needed courage.
Moses needed humility.
David needed a heart aligned with God, not with human approval.
Peter needed steadfastness after failure.
Paul needed to resist the temptation of spiritual pride.
But perhaps the most relatable story is found
in 1 Samuel 16.
Samuel was ready to anoint the next king, and
he almost chose the wrong one. Why? Because he was drawn to the tall, strong,
impressive sons of Jesse—the ones who looked like leaders.
But God stopped him with words every pastor
should tattoo on their heart:
“The Lord does not look at the things people
look at.
People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”
—1 Samuel 16:7 (NIV)
This is the enemy’s strategic opportunity:
If he can distract a new pastor with the
outward appearance, then he never needs to worry about the inward
transformation.
If he can steer a pastor toward the socially
strong, then he can weaken the spiritually vulnerable.
If he can direct a pastor toward the wealthy
or influential, then he can starve the quiet faithful who carry much of the
unseen burden of the church.
And when that pattern goes unchecked, it
becomes the culture.
The Power
of Small Moments in a Big Church
I think about that moment at the registration
table often—not because of personal offence but because of what it represents.
In a church of 3,000 people, most interactions
with the senior pastor will be small. For many, a momentary greeting, a shared
smile, a handshake in passing, is all they will ever receive.
But for them, that is the church.
It is their connection.
It is their affirmation.
It is their spiritual welcome.
When someone in leadership refuses eye
contact—intentionally or not—the impact is not equally distributed. The wealthy
donor shrugs it off. The confident extrovert dismisses it—the socially secure
never notices.
But the ones who have served faithfully for
years?
The ones who show up quietly?
The ones who have been wounded before?
The ones who are spiritually sensitive to the atmosphere?
They feel it immediately.
Not as rejection but as dissonance.
Something feels “off.”
Something feels spiritually misaligned.
Something feels like the enemy is whispering between the cracks.
And discernment is not paranoia—it is a
spiritual gift.
“Dear friends, do not believe every spirit,
but test the spirits to see whether they are from God.”
—1 John 4:1 (NIV)
Christians must be discerning enough to notice
when the culture is shifting and courageous enough to pray into it.
Am I Saying
the Pastor is Wrong? Not Necessarily.
I want to emphasize this clearly:
I do not claim flawless perception.
I do not claim perfect discernment.
I do not claim that the pastor is intentionally doing anything harmful.
What I am saying is this:
I sense, with conviction, a growing division
forming—not because of doctrine but because of demeanour.
And if I can feel it, I know others can too.
People who have walked similar journeys.
People who know what it’s like to be overlooked.
People who are sensitive to spiritual unity and disunity.
People who understand human behaviour not as a series of coincidences but as
echoes of deeper patterns.
The enemy often begins his influence long
before anyone recognizes it.
Leaders rarely fall in dramatic fashion.
They drift in subtle ways.
A handshake unoffered.
A greeting was avoided.
A pattern unnoticed.
A preference practiced.
A flock partially seen.
And before long, the church begins to feel
divided—not formally, but emotionally.
Old
Testament Example: Saul and the Poison of Insecurity
Saul’s story is the clearest Old Testament
example of what insecurity in leadership can become when left unchallenged.
When Saul first became king, he hid among the
baggage because he felt unworthy (1 Samuel 10:22). That insecurity, never
surrendered fully to God, eventually twisted into jealousy, favouritism,
paranoia, and division.
Saul began seeking the approval of people
instead of the approval of God.
He surrounded himself with those who fed his ego or fueled his fears.
And the enemy used that insecurity to unravel his leadership.
The result?
A kingdom divided.
A leader tormented.
The people are confused.
This is not to compare our pastor to Saul—but
to remind us that leadership vulnerability is a biblical theme, not a modern
criticism.
When a leader’s social instincts go unchecked,
the enemy takes note.
New
Testament Example: Diotrephes and the Danger of Loving First Place
In 3 John, the apostle writes about a man
named Diotrephes, a church leader with a fatal flaw:
“Diotrephes, who loves to be first, will not
welcome us.”
—3 John 1:9 (NIV)
He loved being first.
He loved being central.
He loved being recognized.
And he rejected those he saw as “lesser.”
John warns the church not to imitate such behaviour.
Favouritism corrupts.
Selective hospitality divides.
Leadership ego wounds the flock.
The New Testament church was plagued by this
temptation then, and the modern church is no different.
The Enemy
Is Out in the Open Now
I’ve said this many times in my writing, but
I’ll say it again because it is more true now than ever:
The enemy is no longer hiding in the shadows.
He is operating openly—in families, in schools, in entertainment, in
government, and yes, even in the church.
His strategy is not always chaotic. Often, it
is comfort.
Not always deception. Often, it is a distraction.
Not always immorality. Often, it is insecurity.
Not always heresy. Often, it is favouritism.
He does not need to break the church from the
outside if he can fracture it from the inside.
A kind word withheld.
A servant unseen.
A difference left unacknowledged.
A heart is discouraged.
A leader unaware.
These small fractures eventually weaken the
structure unless the Holy Spirit reinforces it.
A Reflection on Leadership, Unity, and the
Enemy’s Subtle Work
Reclaiming
Unity, Strengthening the Flock, and Blessing the Shepherd
By now, if you’ve journeyed with me through
the raw honesty of these reflections, you may feel the same tension I’ve
carried for months—a mixture of concern, discernment, hope, and a relentless
desire for the church to thrive. That is why Part Three matters so deeply.
Because discernment without direction becomes
discouragement.
Concern without action becomes complaint.
Awareness without response becomes apathy.
And the church of Christ, in this fragile
moment of history, cannot afford apathetic believers. Not now. Not when the
enemy has stepped out of the shadows and into the open. Not when spiritual
counterfeits disguise themselves as preferences, personalities, and familiar
habits.
We need believers who see clearly and respond
wisely.
Before I move into the three things we—as
followers, members, servants, and leaders—can do to strengthen our church and
community, I want to say this:
Everything written here has been born out of
love—love for my church, love for my faith family, love for unity, and yes,
love for our new pastor. Hard truths spoken without love fracture community;
hard truths spoken with love can rebuild it.
That is my aim.
That has always been my aim.
So let us turn now not to what is wrong, but
to what we can do.
Three
Things We Can Do to Lead Our Church and Community Toward Unity
1. We Must
Become the Protectors of Humility—In Ourselves First
Before any of us points a finger at a leader,
we must examine our own hearts with equal intensity. Humility is not natural;
it is cultivated. And humility is contagious—when one believer walks in it,
others feel safer to do the same.
Paul writes:
“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value
others above yourselves.”
—Philippians 2:3 (NIV)
Humility is powerful because:
- it
dismantles ego,
- it
removes competition,
- it
bridges social divides,
- it
strengthens relationships,
- and it
stops the enemy from gaining traction.
When we practice humility intentionally, it
forces the enemy to retreat because he cannot lay a foundation on soil that is
continually tilled by grace.
But humility is not soft. Humility is strength
under control. It looks like:
- choosing
to greet those no one else notices,
- deliberately
not joining cliques,
- refusing
to measure people by social value,
- engaging
the overlooked with warmth,
- building
bridges between personality groups,
- stepping
into awkward spaces with kindness,
- and
remembering that every believer bears the image of God, regardless of
status.
If leadership sometimes fails to model
humility consistently (as all humans do), then the congregation must rise up
and embody it—not to replace the pastor, but to reinforce the culture Christ
commands.
We cannot demand humility from the pulpit
unless we practice it in the pews.
If we do this, we become a firewall around our
church culture, keeping favouritism from rooting itself too deeply.
2. We Must
Prioritize Connection Over Comfort
The enemy thrives in disconnected
environments. Isolation is his playground, and neglect is his weapon.
Peter warns us with sobering clarity:
“Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to
devour.”
—1 Peter 5:8 (NIV)
Lions never attack the herd; they target the
isolated.
If leadership unintentionally creates
emotional isolation through selective attention or unconscious favouritism,
then the congregation has a responsibility—not to criticize—but to connect.
This means:
- When
you see someone sitting alone, go to them.
- When
you see someone consistently overlooked, draw them in.
- When
you see someone discouraged, check in on them.
- When
you see someone new, greet them before the pastor does.
- When
you see a gap in culture, fill it with grace instead of complaint.
The church grows not only through preaching
but through connection.
In Acts 2, the early church exploded because
believers devoted themselves to fellowship—not just teaching. They ate
together. Prayed together. Supported one another. It was a community so unified
and so relational that Scripture says:
“And the Lord added to their number daily
those who were being saved.”
—Acts 2:47 (NIV)
Not weekly.
Not monthly.
Daily.
Connection accelerates kingdom impact.
And connection is something we all control.
We may not be able to change a pastor’s
instincts, but we can absolutely change the atmosphere of our church by
becoming the most welcoming, relational, attentive congregation in the region.
If the pastor learns to connect better along
the way, praise God.
If he learns from watching the congregation connect, even better.
But even if he doesn’t—not at first—the enemy will have no foothold in a church
overflowing with connection.
3. We Must
Intercede for Our Pastor as if the Future of the Church Depends on It—Because
It Does
It is easy to critique leadership.
It is far harder to kneel for it.
Every pastor—every single one—is under more
spiritual attack than the average believer realizes. The enemy does not care
about the sheep if he can destabilize the shepherd.
Jesus made this clear when He said:
“Strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered.”
—Mark 14:27 (NIV)
If we sense—even faintly—that our pastor is
being spiritually tested, then our primary role is not to judge but to
intercede.
Pray for his humility.
Pray for his clarity.
Pray for his courage.
Pray for his spiritual protection.
Pray for his emotional resilience.
Pray for his ability to see all people equally.
Pray for God to soften areas that need softening.
Pray for God to fortify areas that need strengthening.
Pray for him to resist the enemy and his subtle whispers.
And most importantly:
Pray that the Holy Spirit fills every gap,
blind spot, and weakness.
Intercession is not optional—it is the
backbone of spiritual leadership.
When we pray for our pastor, we do not excuse
faults; we empower transformation.
We do not overlook patterns; we call heaven’s attention to them.
We do not protect egos; we protect the flock.
Praying for our pastor is not a sign of
weakness in the church—it is a sign of unity.
The
Hopeful Ending: A Blessing Over Our Pastor and Our Church
I want to end this reflection with hope, not
heaviness. With blessing, not burden. With unity, not fracture.
Despite everything I’ve shared—the concerns,
the observations, the subtle shifts, the spiritual warnings—I believe
wholeheartedly that God is not finished with our pastor, our church, or our
community.
Every leader faces a wilderness season.
Every shepherd faces spiritual testing.
Every transition reveals previously unseen blind spots.
Every pastor needs the grace of growth.
And growth is still possible—abundantly so.
So I speak this blessing as both prayer and
prophecy:
A Blessing
for Our Pastor
May the Lord strengthen you with wisdom beyond
your years and humility beyond your instincts.
May the Holy Spirit soften every place the enemy has tried to harden and
illuminate every place he has tried to shadow.
May your leadership be refined, not diminished, by this season of testing.
May you greet every member of the flock with the heart of Christ—seeing the
unseen, lifting the lowly, embracing the overlooked.
May the Spirit guard your steps from the pull of favouritism, the temptation
of comfort, and the echoes of old identities.
May you grow into a shepherd who reflects Jesus more deeply with every
passing month.
And may the church—not through pressure, but
through prayer—be part of your strengthening, not your stumbling.
A Blessing
for Our Church
May unity rise in our congregation like a tide
that reveals Christ’s presence in every corner of our community.
May the love among us silence the whispers of division.
May the humble be exalted, the lonely be embraced, the wounded be healed,
and the overlooked be recognized.
May every member sense the Holy Spirit calling them not just to attend their
church, but to build it.
And may the enemy’s attempts to divide us return void as we walk in step
with the Spirit.
A Final
Word of Hope
If I can feel this shift, I know others have
as well.
Not out of judgment—but out of discernment.
Not out of isolation—but out of spiritual sensitivity.
Not out of pride—but out of a longing for the church to remain the radiant
bride Christ intended.
But here is the good news:
It is not too late. Not even close.
God shapes leaders.
God corrects cultures.
God heals communities.
God restores unity.
God strengthens His church—especially when the enemy presses in.
And I pray—sincerely and with full
blessing—that our pastor will overcome this test. I pray he sees the
opportunity. I pray he senses the Spirit. I pray he hears the whisper of
conviction and responds in humility and strength.
Because if he does, the church will not
divide.
It will thrive.
And what the enemy intended for harm will
become the very thing God uses to forge a stronger, more united, more
Christ-centered community than ever before.
Always thought provoking! Always written from a place of love!
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