The Castrated Gospel: Reclaiming Christ’s Rugged Mandate for Radical Love

1,358 words, 7 minutes read time.

The King of Kings is not a soft, sentimental figurine that fits neatly on a shelf next to your participation trophies. Most men have castrated the Gospel, trading the rugged, blood-soaked reality of Christ’s mission for a lukewarm “niceness” that requires nothing and changes no one. Jesus’ teachings on love and compassion were never intended to be a passive emotion or a polite suggestion; they were a tactical mandate for aggressive, self-sacrificial action in a world rotting with indifference. To love as Christ loved is not to feel a fleeting warmth in your chest while sitting in a padded pew, but to engage in a violent strike against the darkness of ego and the paralysis of comfort. This article breaks down the technical and spiritual mechanics of biblical compassion, demanding a total demolition of the modern, feminized version of “Christian kindness” in favor of the bone-deep, sacrificial execution of love that Christ actually commanded. The wreckage of your current spiritual life is the direct result of choosing safety over the cross, and it is time to face the brutal truth that a man who does not act in love is a man who does not know God.

The Technical Execution of Agape as a High-Stakes Objective

The modern failure to understand love stems from a linguistic and spiritual illiteracy that conflates agape with phileo or simple emotional affinity. In the Greek manuscripts and the subsequent theological frameworks of the early Church, love is defined not as an interior state of being, but as a deliberate, externalized choice of the will directed toward the objective good of the other, often at the direct expense of the self. This is a technical distinction with massive implications for how a man conducts his life. When Christ commands love in the Gospels, He is not requesting an emotional response to a neighbor; he is issuing a standing order for the redistribution of resources—time, wealth, and physical presence—to meet the needs of the broken. The parable of the Good Samaritan is not a sweet story about being nice; it is a clinical breakdown of a man who risked physical safety, financial loss, and social ostracism to perform a high-stakes medical and logistical intervention for a stranger. To follow this mandate requires a hardness of character that the average modern man lacks, as it demands the suppression of the survival instinct in favor of the spiritual directive. Compassion, derived from the Latin compati, means “to suffer with,” which implies a literal sharing in the agony of the afflicted, not a distant observation from behind a screen. If your life is marked by a lack of personal cost, you are not practicing Christian love; you are merely performing a socially acceptable imitation of it that carries zero weight in the kingdom of God.

Systems of Radical Compassion and the Eradication of Self-Interest

True compassion in action requires a systematic dismantling of the idol of self-preservation that governs the heart of the mediocre man. The teachings of Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount provide a technical manual for this destruction, demanding that a man go the extra mile, hand over his cloak, and pray for those actively seeking his ruin. This is not a call to weakness, but a display of terrifying strength that refuses to be governed by the standard human mechanics of retaliation and greed. Research into the sociological impact of early Christian communities reveals that their explosive growth was driven by a radical, organized system of compassion that included feeding the poor, burying the dead, and caring for the sick during plagues that sent “strong” pagan men running for the hills. This was love as a logistical powerhouse, a community-wide refusal to let any member suffer alone, backed by the absolute conviction that their lives were not their own. When a man operates under this framework, his priorities shift from the accumulation of comfort to the deployment of mercy, turning his home, his career, and his bank account into tools for the advancement of Christ’s healing. The gutless version of Christianity preached today ignores this, focusing instead on personal “blessing” while the world outside is starving for the sight of a man who actually gives a damn about something other than his own reflection.

The Final Reckoning of Faith Without Tangible Works

The spiritual reality of a man is measured exclusively by the fruit of his actions, not the sincerity of his intentions or the intensity of his prayers. The Epistle of James provides the blunt, piercing verdict: faith without works is dead, a rotting corpse that serves no purpose but to deceive the one carrying it. This is the technical end-point of Jesus’ teachings on love—if the love does not manifest in the physical world through tangible service and sacrifice, it does not exist. The judgment scene in Matthew 25 makes this crystal clear, where the separation of the sheep and the goats is based entirely on whether or not the hungry were fed, the naked were clothed, and the prisoner was visited. There is no middle ground, no curve for “trying your best,” and no credit for “having a good heart.” A man who ignores the suffering around him while claiming to follow the Christ who was crucified for his sake is a liar and a coward. The soul-level change required is a total surrender of the ego, a hit-your-knees realization that you have been playing at religion while people are perishing in the shadow of your apathy. The call to compassion is a call to war against your own selfishness, demanding that you stand up, step out of your air-conditioned life, and begin the grueling work of being the hands and feet of a King who gave everything.

Transforming Christian Men through Jesus Teachings on Love and Compassion

The truth is a blade, and it is currently pressed against the throat of your pride. You have spent years convincing yourself that being a “good guy” is the same as being a follower of Jesus, but the evidence of your life says otherwise. A life devoid of radical, sacrificial love for the least of these is a life that has abandoned the Gospel in favor of a comfortable lie. Stop hiding behind your excuses, your busy schedule, and your theological debates. The wreckage of the world is screaming for men of action, men who understand that compassion is a weapon to be wielded, not a feeling to be coddled. Get on your knees, confess the stench of your indifference, and ask God to break your heart for what breaks His—then get up and do something about it. The time for sleepwalking is over; the King is coming, and He will not ask you what you felt, but what you did.

The Cost of Discipleship: Taking Immediate Action on Christ’s Mandate for Love

Stop pretending you are waiting for a sign. The sign is the misery of the world around you and the hollow echo in your own chest. If this truth hasn’t broken you, it’s because your heart is harder than the stone you claim to build your life on.

Get off the sidelines and into the dirt. Find a man who is drowning, a family that is starving, or a brother who has lost his way, and move with the aggressive compassion of the King you claim to serve. Sacrifice your comfort, bleed your resources, and prove that your faith isn’t just a collection of dead ideas. Do not go to bed tonight until you have identified one concrete, high-cost action of love you will execute in the next twenty-four hours. Your life of ease ends now; your life of purpose begins when you finally decide to die to yourself and live for the broken. Move. Now.

D. Bryan King

Sources

• Fratelli Tutti: On Fraternity and Social Friendship – The Holy See, 2020
• Matthew 25:31-46: The Final Judgment – English Standard Version, 2016
• The Social World of Early Christianity – Journal of Biblical Literature, 1982
• The Rise of Christianity: A Sociologist Reconsiders History – Rodney Stark, 1996
• Agape as Self-Sacrifice in the Johannine Corpus – Journal of Biblical Theology, 2019
• Sermon on the Mount: Analysis and Context – Encyclopedia Britannica, 2023
• Universal Declaration of Human Rights – United Nations, 1948
• James 2:14-26: Faith Without Works is Dead – English Standard Version, 2016
• The City of God: Book XIX – St. Augustine, 426 AD
• Religion in Everyday Life: Acts of Compassion Data – Pew Research Center, 2016
• Historical Foundations of Christian Humanitarianism – World Vision International, 2022
• History of the Salvation Army: Faith in Action – The Salvation Army, 2024
• The Evolutionary Psychology of Compassion and Altruism – Personality and Individual Differences, 2018
• How Early Christians Changed the World – Christianity Today, 1996
• The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Studies – Oxford University Press, 2008
• The Sermon on the Mount and Work – Theology of Work Project, 2021
• Strong’s Greek 26: Agapé Lexicon – Bible Hub, 2024
• The Imitation of Christ – Thomas à Kempis, 1418
• Mission, Vision, and Values: Christian Compassion – World Relief, 2024
• History of Samaritan’s Purse: Helping the Broken – Samaritan’s Purse, 2025

Disclaimer:

The views and opinions expressed in this post are solely those of the author. The information provided is based on personal research, experience, and understanding of the subject matter at the time of writing. Readers should consult relevant experts or authorities for specific guidance related to their unique situations.

Becoming Zero

A Sermon on Our Value in Christ

(Note: Sermons can be heard in audio format at https://millersburgmennonite.org/worship/sermon-audio/)

Philippians 2:1–13

Introduction

There is a strange kind of math at the heart of Christian faith.

Most of us are taught to become something: successful, respected, secure, noticed. We want a place, a voice, a purpose. There is nothing wrong with wanting life to matter. There is nothing wrong with wanting to be seen and loved.

And today, as we honor our graduates, we give thanks for real accomplishment, for effort, growth, perseverance, and the doors that now open before them. But I also want to bless them with this deeper challenge: do not let the world’s calculations of what counts for success be the measure for your life.

The world often teaches us an anxious kind of success. It teaches us to add and add and add: accomplishments, things, recognition, possessions, influence, control, certainty, proof that we are right, evidence that we matter.

Then Paul gives us the mathematics of Jesus.
Jesus, who had equality with God, did not use it for his own advantage.
Jesus emptied himself.
Jesus took the form of a servant.
Jesus became obedient, even to death on a cross.

Jesus became zero.

Not worthless. Not meaningless. Not erased. But emptied of grasping for power. Emptied of the need to dominate. Emptied of the need to stand above others. Emptied so completely that the love of God could be witnessed without obstruction.

Let us pray:

Que las palabras de mi boca y las meditaciones de nuestros corazones sean agradables a tus ojos, oh Dios, roca nuestra y redentor nuestro. Amén.

Homily

Becoming zero does not mean believing we have no value. It does not mean allowing ourselves or others to be diminished or abused in the name of humility. That is not the way of Christ. The humility of Jesus does not protect oppression; it exposes it. The self-emptying of Christ is not self-destruction.

To become zero is not to become nothing.

To become zero is to become free.

I once wrote a short poem called “Becoming Zero,” subtitled “The Mathematics of the Divine.” It begins:

“It is where
I need to be
not past the center
into negativity
but more of others
and less of me”

That is the distinction we need. Becoming zero is not moving past the center into despair, shame, worthlessness, or self-hatred. It is the place where my needs, preferences, anxieties, opinions, and desires are no longer the measure of everything.

It is, as the poem says, “more of others / and less of me.”

And then the poem continues:

“What were gains
I now consider loss
for where the axes
meet at zero
they make a cross”

Where the axes meet at zero, they make a cross.

That is Philippians 2. The vertical line: love of God. The horizontal line: love of neighbor. And at the center: Christ, emptied, humbled, crucified, and yet revealing the very heart of God.

So when Paul says, “Value others above yourselves,” he is not asking us to wander into negativity. He is asking us to come to the cross-shaped center.

Paul writes:

No hagan nada por ambición egoísta ni por vanidad.

“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves.”

That sentence alone could transform the church.

Imagine if it became not just a verse we admire, but a practice we live. Imagine if every time we entered a room we asked, “Whose good am I seeking?” Imagine a disagreement where people asked, “How can I understand the interest of the other before defending my own?” Imagine life lived where the question was not, “How do I get my way?” but “How do we become more faithful to Christ together?”

That is the community Paul is describing.

“If you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any common sharing in the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion…”

Paul is appealing to what the church at Phillipi has already received. If Christ has encouraged us, if love has comforted us, if the Spirit has drawn us into fellowship, then those gifts should become visible in the way we treat one another.

La vida de la iglesia debe ser el desbordamiento de la gracia de Dios.

Church life should be the overflow of God’s grace.

If we have been comforted by Christ, we become comforting people.
If we have been forgiven by Christ, we become forgiving people.
If we have been welcomed by Christ, we become welcoming people.
If we have been served by Christ, we become servants of all.

Paul says, “Be like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and of one mind.”

That does not mean everyone in the church must have the same personality, opinions, politics, beliefs, preferences, background, or tastes. Christian unity is not sameness. The church is a body, not a wall of identical bricks.

La unidad significa que nuestras diferencias se reúnen bajo el señorío de Cristo.

Unity means our differences are gathered under the lordship of Christ.

We can disagree and still ask, “How do I love you?” We can see things differently and still ask, “How do I honor Christ in how I speak to you?” We can have strong convictions and still refuse selfish ambition and vain conceit.

That phrase “selfish ambition” matters. Paul is not condemning all ambition. There are holy ambitions: to serve well, love deeply, seek justice, create beauty, build peace, preach truth, care for the suffering.

He is naming the ambition that curves inward.

Selfish ambition says: I must win. I must be seen. I must be right. I must get credit. I must protect my place. I must not become less.

Then Paul names “vain conceit”: empty glory, hollow importance, the need to appear larger than we are.

Against all of that, Paul says: humility.

But humility is often misunderstood. Humility is not pretending our gifts are not real. Humility is not saying, “I am terrible at everything,” when God has given us abilities. True humility is living in the truth:

I am deeply loved, but I am not the center.
I have gifts, but they are not mine to hoard.
I have needs, but so do others.
I have a voice, but so does my neighbor.
I have interests, but they are not the only interests that matter.

Paul says:

“Not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others.”

He does not say we have no interests. He does not say our needs do not matter. He does not command a community where some are always sacrificed for the comfort of others. In a healthy body, every member matters. En un cuerpo sano, cada miembro importa.

This is where John the Baptist helps us.

In the Gospel of John, John’s disciples come to him worried. Jesus is baptizing. Crowds are going to Jesus. John’s influence is decreasing. His ministry is no longer at the center.

And John says:

“He must become greater; I must become less.”

That is becoming zero.

John does not say it with bitterness. He does not say, “Well, I guess I failed.”

John fundamentally understands his calling. John is not the bridegroom. He is the friend of the bridegroom. John is not the light. He bears witness to the light. John’s joy is not in being central. His joy is in pointing to Christ.

John is free because he knows who he is and whose he is. He can decrease because his identity is not threatened by Christ’s increase.

Ministry is not about us. It’s about Jesus. Our identity and value are rooted in Christ. Like John, we are free because we know who we are and whose we are. And that manifests itself in our relationships with others. As Paul says:

En vuestras relaciones entre vosotros, tened la misma mentalidad que Cristo Jesús.

“In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus.”

“In your relationships.” At home. At church. In disagreement. In conflict. In leadership. In service. In community. Have the mind of Christ there.

And what is the mind of Christ?

Jesus does not humble himself from a place of lowliness. He humbles himself from the highest place. He does not become servant because he has no power. He becomes servant because this is what divine love does with power.

The world uses power to dominate. Jesus uses power to serve.
The world uses status to separate. Jesus uses status to kneel.
The world uses authority to command attention. Jesus uses authority to wash feet.

This is why “Becoming Zero” is not just an individual spiritual idea. It is the shape of the church.

A zero-shaped church is a church where people make room.

It is where the strong do not use their strength to get their way, but to support the weak. It is where her members do not say, “This church belongs to us,” but, “How can we welcome those God is bringing among us?” It is where leaders do not ask, “How can I be important?” but, “How can I help others flourish?”

A zero-shaped church is where people in conflict do not rush to defend themselves first, but pause long enough to ask, “What burden, wound, hope, loss, care might my brother or sister be carrying?”

And this is where we must be honest: valuing others above ourselves is hard.

It sounds beautiful until someone else’s interests inconvenience us. It sounds holy until someone else’s needs require us to change. It sounds inspiring until valuing another person means listening longer than we wanted, apologizing more honestly than we planned, giving up a preference we cherished, or making room for a voice we would rather not hear.

There is a kind of mathematics that says: If someone else gains, I lose.

But Christ gives us different math. I call it The Geometry of Grace.

In Christ, another person’s dignity does not SUBTRACT from mine. Another person’s voice does not erase mine. Another person’s gift does not make mine meaningless.

God loved us 100% before we even learned to loved God 1%. My friends, that’s the Geometry of Grace.

Division disappears and the church grows like in Acts where people were ADDED to their number every day. That’s the Geometry of Grace.

The dignity of all of us is multiplied to become a sum greater than its parts. That’s the Geometry of Grace.

The first become last, the negative becomes positive, the least of these become Christ, and King of kings chooses to become zero….

“Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is above every name…”

This is not a strategy for self-promotion. We do not humble ourselves in order to get applause later. We do not become servants as a clever way to become masters. That would just be selfish ambition wearing religious clothing.

But Paul wants us to know that self-emptying is not annihilation. The humbled Christ is exalted. The crucified one is Lord. God vindicates self-giving love.

Paul ends:

“Continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose.”

Work out your salvation. Ocupaos de vuestra salvación.

Not work for your salvation because God is at work in you. The you here is plural. Do you believe that God is working in you? Do you believe that God is working in your sisters and brothers here? Do you believe that God is at work in our community, nation, and the world?

The mindset of Christ is being formed within us. God is working in us to will and to act according to God’s good purpose.

So yes, we practice. Yes, we choose. Yes, we repent. Yes, we listen. Yes, we serve. Yes, we learn to lay down selfish ambition and vain conceit.

But underneath our work is God’s work.

God is making us into the kind of people who can love like this. God is making us into the kind of church where people do not have to compete for worth. God is making us into a body where Christ is made visible more and more each and every day.

The text today is an invitation, but it also raises some hard questions. Let’s reflect on these together:

What do you need to let go? ¿Qué necesitas liberar?

Are you clinging to status, preference, control, resentment, recognition, or the need to be right?

Where is Christ inviting you to become less, not because you do not matter, but because Christ matters more?

Where is Christ inviting you to value another person’s interests above your own?

¿En qué momento te invita Cristo a valorar los intereses de otra persona por encima de los tuyos?

Maybe it is in your family. Maybe it is in this congregation. Maybe it is with someone you are avoiding. Maybe it is in a disagreement where you have been preparing your defense rather than your compassion. Maybe it is in a ministry where you need to rejoice that someone else is now carrying what you once carried. Maybe it is simply in the daily hidden work of making room.

John said, “He must increase, and I must decrease.”

Paul said, “Have the same mindset as Christ Jesus.”

Jesus said, “Whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant.”

This is the way of the kingdom.

Not upward grasping, but downward love.
Not selfish ambition, but shared joy.
Not vain conceit, but holy humility.
Not my interests alone, but the interests of others.
Not becoming nothing, but becoming free in everything.

So let us become zero.

Let us become empty enough for Christ to fill us.
Low enough for Christ to lift us.
Humble enough for Christ to be seen in and through us.
Free enough to value one another above ourselves.
Loving enough to make room for all God’s children.

And may the same mind be in us that is in Christ Jesus.

Let us pray:

Prayer (Less of Me by Glen Campbell)

Let me be a little kinder
Let me be a little blinder
To the faults of those about me
Let me praise a little more

Let me be when I am weary
Just a little bit more cheery
Think a little more of others
And a little less of me

Let me be a little braver
When temptation bids me waver
Let me strive a little harder
To be all that I should be

Let me be a little meeker
With the brother that is weaker
Let me think more of my neighbor
And a little less of me

May it be so

In the name of our Servant King, Jesus the Christ.

Amen

TL; DR: While I haven't fully read this article, I thought I should share it, especially now with the current conflict with #Iran.

#USMilitary #MilitaryEthics #ServantLeadership #ProfessionOfArms #MilComm #Politics #PeteHegseth #Hegseth

https://slate.com/news-and-politics/2026/04/military-pete-hegseth-trump-bragging-problem.html

When Faith Becomes Service

DID YOU KNOW

Did you know that true Christian community is revealed not by what we receive, but by what we are willing to give?

When I reflect on Philippians 2:3–4, I am confronted with a reversal of instinct. “Do nothing according to selfish ambition… but in humility consider others better than yourselves.” This is not a call to diminish oneself, but to reorder priorities. The Greek term ταπεινοφροσύνη (tapeinophrosynē) speaks of a lowliness of mind—a deliberate choice to elevate others’ needs above our own. In a culture that encourages self-promotion, this teaching feels almost counterintuitive. Yet Paul presents it as the foundation of a healthy, Spirit-formed community.

What makes this even more compelling is that Paul does not leave the instruction in abstraction. He points to real people—Timothy and Epaphroditus—who lived it out. Timothy was described as one who would “sincerely be concerned” for others, not seeking his own interests. That word “sincerely” carries the sense of being genuine, without divided motives. It challenges me to ask whether my concern for others is rooted in Christ or shaped by convenience. Community, in its truest sense, is not built on shared preferences but on shared sacrifice.

Did you know that God measures spiritual maturity by how deeply we care for others’ needs?

Timothy stands as a striking example of discernment shaped by love. Paul trusted him because his heart aligned with the mission of Christ. This reminds me that spiritual growth is not merely about knowledge or personal discipline; it is about transformation that expresses itself outwardly. The more we are conformed to Christ, the more we become attentive to those around us. It is not accidental—it is the fruit of a life surrendered.

Epaphroditus takes this even further. In Philippians 2:30, Paul notes that he “came close to death for the work of Christ.” That level of commitment is sobering. The Greek phrase παραβολευσάμενος (paraboleusamenos) suggests risking everything, even one’s life. It is the kind of devotion that does not calculate cost in the moment of need. When I consider this, I realize how easily I measure service by comfort rather than calling. Yet the early church was built by individuals who saw others’ needs as worth their personal sacrifice.

Did you know that Christ Himself is the original model of a community-centered life?

Before Paul ever wrote about humility, it was fully demonstrated in Jesus. “He humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross” (Philippians 2:8). The Greek word ἐκένωσεν (ekenōsen)—often translated “emptied Himself”—captures the voluntary laying aside of privilege for the sake of others. Christ did not serve because He had to; He served because love compelled Him. This becomes the pattern for all who follow Him.

When I look at the life of Jesus, I see that He consistently prioritized people. Whether healing the sick, feeding the hungry, or restoring the broken, His actions revealed a kingdom where others mattered deeply. This stands in contrast to the self-focused tendencies we often carry. Christ’s example reminds me that serving others is not an interruption to my spiritual life—it is the expression of it. To walk with Him is to walk in that same direction of self-giving love.

Did you know that God often advances His purposes through communities that choose unity over self-interest?

The narrative in Judges 9:22–10:18 reveals what happens when self-interest dominates. Leadership driven by ambition and division leads to instability and hardship. It serves as a cautionary backdrop to Paul’s teaching. When individuals pursue their own agendas, the community fractures. But when humility and service take root, something entirely different emerges—a unity that reflects God’s character.

This truth is echoed in Psalms 68:1–14, where God is depicted as one who rises on behalf of His people, bringing order and provision. There is a collective dimension to His work. He strengthens and sustains communities that align with His purposes. When I step back and consider this, I see that my role within the body of Christ is not isolated. My choices affect the whole. Choosing to serve, to care, and to prioritize others contributes to a spiritual environment where God’s presence is more clearly experienced.

As I bring this into my own life, I am reminded that community is not something I evaluate from the outside; it is something I help shape from within. The question is no longer, “What am I receiving?” but “How am I contributing?” Perhaps the most meaningful step I can take today is to notice someone else’s need and respond with intentional care. In doing so, I participate in the same pattern modeled by Christ and lived out by those who followed Him faithfully.

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Wet Feet

There is something almost comical about it at first. I took the dog to the park because I knew I would be away for pastors’ Bible study. The grass was wet. My sneakers got soaked. I went home, changed my socks, and thought I had solved the problem. Then on the hour drive I realized my feet were getting wet again, because of course the shoes themselves were still wet. So now, during Bible study, my feet have been wet. Damp. Cool. Probably getting more shriveled by the hour.

Yet somehow it feels fitting.

Not dramatic. Not grand. Just fitting.

I think of the phrase “getting my feet wet,” as though ministry, faith, and discipleship are things I ease into gradually, carefully, at a manageable depth. But some days it doesn’t feel like that. Some days it feels more like simply having wet feet and carrying on. Not preparation for service, not a metaphor about a faithful beginning, but the thing itself. Wet feet. A small discomfort that stays with me. A quiet bodily reminder that I am not moving through the day untouched.

And sitting here, I cannot help but think of Jesus washing feet.

Not the polished image of it. Not the sentimental church painting version. But the actual strangeness of it. Wet feet. Dirty feet. Vulnerable feet. Tired feet. The feet that carried dust, ache, story, and status. The Lord kneeling with basin and towel. The Most High God attending to what is lowest. Not avoiding the human mess, but stooping into it.

Maybe there is something right about reflecting on servant life while sitting in damp shoes.

Because service is rarely abstract. It is seldom dry and comfortable. It does not usually happen in pristine conditions, after everything has been neatly changed and arranged. Often it is inconvenient. Often it lingers. Often I think I have addressed the problem, only to discover the wetness has seeped through again. I change the socks, but the shoes are still soaked. I try to reset myself, but the deeper discomfort remains.

That, too, may be part of ministry.

I carry wetness with me. The sorrows of others. The unfinished conversations. The burdens that seep through. The humble tasks nobody notices. The little irritations that become, strangely, occasions of grace. And maybe part of following Jesus is not always finding a way to stay dry, but learning how to keep loving with wet feet.

Jesus washed feet not because feet are noble, but because they are ordinary. Necessary. Exposed. Human. He met his friends there, at ground level. And then he told them to do likewise.

So perhaps wet feet are not the worst thing.

Perhaps they are a reminder.

A reminder that I am not above the ground.
A reminder that discipleship is tactile.
A reminder that love kneels.
A reminder that service is not clean.
A reminder that holiness may sometimes smell like damp shoes and feel like wrinkled skin.

In some ways, it seems fitting to go through this day with wet feet.
Maybe, in some ways, it seems right to go through life that way too.

Not just getting my feet wet,
but having them wet—
as one who follows the Christ
who washed feet,
and who still seems to meet me there,
down low,
with basin,
with towel,
with love.

Overcoming the Nicolaitans

860 words, 5 minutes read time.

I used to think the mention of the Nicolaitans in Revelation 2 was just a historical footnote. A strange name, a brief condemnation, and that was it. But the more I’ve lived and the more I’ve seen in the church, the more I realize this short verse is one of the most piercing warnings—and one of the most hopeful promises—in all of Scripture.

The Nicolaitans (likely meaning “conquerors of the people”) represent the spirit that seeks to lord it over God’s people instead of serving them. It shows up when leaders or systems silence gifts, control contributions, and push people into “safe” roles that fit the hierarchy rather than the needs of the body. It’s the voice that says, “You’re not good enough,” or “We already have someone for that,” even when your skills could serve the kingdom in powerful ways.

Modern-Day Targets of the Nicolaitans

This spirit isn’t stuck in the first century—it’s alive and well today. Here are some common ways it targets believers:

• Talented outsiders like you and me: Creative people (programmers, artists, writers) who offer real solutions but get sidelined because they don’t fit the “approved” inner circle. Your gifts are seen as a threat to the status quo.
• Questioners and reformers: Anyone who asks “Why do we do it this way?” or suggests improvements. They’re often labeled “divisive” or “unsubmissive” to shut them down.
• The overlooked majority: Everyday members who want to serve but are funneled into low-visibility roles (setup, cleaning) while a few “stars” get all the platform time.
• The wounded and weary: People hurt by past church experiences who are tempted to give up entirely. The Nicolaitan spirit whispers, “You’re not needed here—or anywhere.”
• The LGBT+ community: Individuals who identify as lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, or other sexual and gender minorities. Many have been told they are “not welcome,” “not good enough,” or “too sinful” to participate fully in church life, even when they sincerely seek Christ. The Nicolaitan spirit often uses moral superiority or rigid gatekeeping to exclude them, rather than meeting them with grace, truth, and the invitation to follow Jesus.

If you’ve felt targeted, know this: It’s not about your worth. It’s about a system that values control over Christ’s body.

I’ve felt that sting personally. As a web programmer, I’ve offered my gifts to churches—only to be gently (or not so gently) redirected to volunteer tasks that kept me on the sidelines. It hurt. It made me question my worth. And I know I’m not alone. Many of us have been made to feel like our talents don’t fit the approved structure.

But here’s the red meat of this passage: Jesus doesn’t stop at “I hate what they do.” He immediately turns to the promise to the overcomer.

The Nicolaitans are not the enemy we’re supposed to spend our lives fighting. They are the obstacle we’re called to overcome.

Jesus is saying: “I see the pain. I hate the control. I hate the rejection. Now rise above it. Don’t let their system define your calling. Don’t let their ‘no’ silence your gifts. Use what I’ve given you—whether inside the walls or outside them. Keep serving Me. Keep building. Keep loving. You are an overcomer. And the tree of life is waiting for you.”

Reflection Questions

Prayer

Lord Jesus, You walk among Your churches and You see everything. You know the pain of being sidelined, the sting of being told I’m “not good enough.” Thank You for hating what hurts Your people. Help me identify and overcome the Nicolaitan spirit in my life—whether it’s in a church system or in my own doubts. Give me courage to use the gifts You’ve placed in me, even if it’s outside the approved structures. May I stay faithful, keep my first love, and overcome—not by fighting people, but by trusting You. I look forward to the day I eat from the tree of life in Your paradise. In Your name, Amen.

Call to Action

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Author’s Note:

The identity and exact teachings of the Nicolaitans remain debated among scholars. Some link them to moral compromise (sexual immorality and idolatry, as suggested by the “doctrine of Balaam” in Revelation 2:14–15), while others see the name as symbolic of hierarchical control and domination over God’s people. Regardless of the precise interpretation, the core issue is clear: Jesus hates anything that harms, controls, or leads His church astray. This devotional focuses on the spirit of exclusion and abuse of authority that still appears in churches today, while affirming that Christ calls all to repentance, grace, and overcoming through Him.

D. Bryan King

Sources

• Who are the Nicolaitans mentioned in Revelation 2:6, 14-15? – GotQuestions.org
• The Nicolaitans in Revelation: Bible Story and Meaning – Christianity.com
• Who Are the Nicolaitans Found in Revelation? – Bible Study Tools
• Who Were the Nicolaitans, And What Was Their Doctrine and Deeds? – Renner Ministries
• Nicolaism – Wikipedia
• Who Were the Nicolaitans? – BibleInfo.com
• Bible Gem 2197 – Who Were the Nicolaitans? – Berean Insights
• About the Nicolaitans – Useful Bible
• Nicolaitans Commentary – Bible Study Tools
• Revelation 2:6 Commentaries – StudyLight.org
• Christian Authoritarianism: The Unwitting Threat to Democracy – Medium
• Susie and the Dictator: Assisting an Authoritarian Pastor – Pearls & Swine
• Authoritarianism and Egalitarianism in Church Leadership – Sacred Structures
• Authority, Not Authoritarian – 9Marks
• How to Diagnose and Treat Pastoral Authoritarianism – Founders Ministries

Disclaimer:

The views and opinions expressed in this post are solely those of the author. The information provided is based on personal research, experience, and understanding of the subject matter at the time of writing. Readers should consult relevant experts or authorities for specific guidance related to their unique situations.

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