If You Want a Church, You Better Be Ready for Real People

If you say you want a church then you need to understand something simple. People do not walk in perfect. They walk in hurt. They walk in confused. They walk in angry. They walk in broken. They walk in messed up from life, family, trauma, addiction, betrayal, and every mistake they ever made.

If you want a church then you better be ready for all of that.

You cannot claim to love Jesus and then freeze when someone walks in who is lost. You cannot claim you want to change the world and then get nervous when the world shows up at your door. You cannot pray for growth and then complain when the people who show up are nothing like you expected.

The lost do not need your opinions.

The broken do not need your judgment.

The stray do not need your conditions.

They need honesty.

They need patience.

They need someone who will not look away.

If you plant a church but only want clean people, you do not want a church. You want a club. If you say you want revival but cannot handle someone who smells, cries, shakes, vents, swears, or drags their past in with them, then you are not ready for revival. The real work is not on a stage. The real work is in the mess.

The hurting need people who listen.

The wandering need direction.

The angry need someone to stay steady.

This is the cost.

This is the assignment.

This is what real church looks like.

If you want a church, expect the lost to show up first.

If you want a church, expect the broken to sit in the front.

If you want a church, expect the stray to test your patience.

And if you cannot handle that, then do not pretend you want to reach people.

Because the ones God sends will not fit your preference. They will fit your calling.

This is the work.

You asked for it.

Now step up and live it.

When Power Tries To Control, The Kingdom Suffers

The church is called to build people. Not manage them. Not control them. Not silence them. Jesus never used fear or pressure to keep people in line. He used truth. He used love. He used authority that came from the Spirit, not a position.

Today, too many leaders use their titles to control hurting people. They speak as if they guard the kingdom, but their actions weaken it. They call this accountability. It is not. True accountability restores. False accountability restricts.

You see the difference when someone falls. A mature leader lifts a person back to strength. An immature leader protects their image and pushes the person away. That is the misuse of power. It crushes the wounded. It damages trust. It sends broken people back into the world without healing.

Boards and councils often sit in rooms and make decisions about people they have never prayed with or walked with. They hide behind anonymity while claiming authority. They hold power but refuse to hold responsibility. When this happens, the kingdom takes the hit. People lose faith. People lose hope. People walk away. Not from God. From the people who misrepresented Him.

The misuse of power never builds disciples. It builds fear. It builds compliance. It builds silence. None of that produces life. None of that reflects Jesus. He rebuked the systems that placed heavy burdens on people. He confronted leaders who loved authority more than people. He spoke truth to rebuild, not suppress.

The kingdom advances through humility. Not force. Through relationship. Not rules. Through love that takes time to listen, understand, and walk with people through their pain. Power used to protect an image harms the very mission leaders claim to defend.

If you lead in any capacity, you carry a responsibility. People are watching how you treat the hurting. People are watching how you respond when someone disagrees. People are watching how you handle conflict. You either strengthen their faith or weaken it. There is no middle ground.

The misuse of power damages the reputation of the gospel. It tells lost people they have no place. It tells wounded people they must stay silent. It tells the next generation that God’s house is unsafe. This is not kingdom leadership. This is control.

Real strength comes from lifting people. Real authority comes from serving. Real influence comes from consistency, humility, and love. These are the seeds that grow fruit. No board. No council. No title can replace that.

If you want to protect God’s kingdom, then protect the people in it. Be the leader who restores. Be the voice that heals. Be the one who listens. Be the one who refuses to hide behind titles or decisions made in secret.

Power is not the enemy. Misused power is. And when leaders choose control over compassion, the kingdom suffers every time.

Write this on your heart. Every step of leadership will rise or fall on how you treat people. If your leadership draws people to Jesus, you are building the kingdom. If your leadership drives them away, you are damaging it.

The fruit tells the story. Every time.

Truth is

Some people have asked me how I’m doing after my dad passed. Truthfully, I miss him deeply. I still can’t believe he’s gone. But just like life, death also just is. We didn’t bring ourselves here, and we don’t get to choose when it’s time to go.

They say writing is therapeutic. But I’m realizing I write better when I’m broken. When I’m messed up. I don’t think AI is built for heart and art. It’s great for logic — banking, coding — but not for baring your soul. That’s sacred space.

Lately, I’ve felt numb. Not depressed. Not suicidal. Just… awake. Like God is waking me up to what I’ve avoided — what I’ve watered down to please people. I’ve been like a giant elephant tied to a tiny peg — swinging back and forth, lulled into thinking I can’t break free.

But I can.

And I must.

I’m tired of playing church.

Tired of checking boxes.

I just want to cry out to God in the dark. Quietly. Honestly. Like I used to.

I don’t know where that place went — that holy space of true worship. It feels like even that has become automated. A different kind of AI. And I truly believe automation doesn’t belong in two places: the heart and worship.

Truth is, my dad’s affairs are still a mess. My life feels like it’s crumbling. And I’ve kept it all hidden, waiting until it’s too late to ask for help — because I’m strangely wired to thrive in chaos. Maybe it makes me feel heroic when God rescues me from the disaster I created from my own stupidity or in my own religious mindset give me credence to say God still lives me he does not let me drown in my own bad decisions.

I’m not okay, but I’m still here. I still love God. I still trust Him. I just can’t pretend anymore. I’m not a musician. I’m not a performer. I’m a worshiper. And I know now, more than ever, that music isn’t worship. And worship was never about the music.

It’s about surrender.

And I’m trying to get back there. The moment I start to surrender theres a line telling me it’s all wrong. All willing to point fingers to the music. 

So if I seem quiet. Different. Reserved or bombastic and outspoken at times I’m trying to figure all this all out and I am real and honest to share with you just how I am feeling.

Lights Camera, Worship!

 Worship and Performance. Filling the Church or the Kingdom?

This is going to be an uncomfortable conversation, but I’m not here to make you comfortable. I’m here to ask a question that has been burning in my spirit for a while now—is what we call worship really about God, or is it about putting on a show?

I’ve been in church long enough to see the shift. I remember when worship was about broken people pouring out their hearts before God, not about perfect vocals, the right lighting, and a seamless flow of emotional highs and lows to make sure people “experience” something. When did we trade the anointing for atmosphere? When did we decide that the Holy Spirit needs a stage production to move?

Worship or Concert?

I’ve been in services where the worship team looked more like a band playing for an audience rather than a people leading others into the presence of God. Fog machines, LED panels, click tracks, and timed cues. And I get it—excellence is important. God deserves our best. But if you take all of that away, is there still worship? Or does the power disappear when the lights go up and the sound system goes down?

The biggest red flag? The focus has shifted from participation to observation. The people aren’t worshiping—they’re watching. We call them a “congregation,” but we treat them like an audience. We even design the service flow to make sure it’s “engaging.” We don’t want them to lose interest.

But interest in what? In God? Or in the performance?

Filling Seats or Saving Souls?

Let’s talk about numbers, because that’s the obsession now. How many people are in the seats? How many views did the livestream get? How many followers does the church’s Instagram have? But here’s the real question: How many hearts were actually changed? How many people walked in lost and walked out transformed?

You can have a packed house and an empty altar. You can have thousands in attendance and zero in the Kingdom. Because when the goal is to build a brand instead of building disciples, you get a following, not a revival.

The enemy isn’t afraid of a big church. He’s afraid of a praying church. He’s afraid of a church that doesn’t need perfect conditions to call on the name of Jesus. The devil isn’t intimidated by a setlist, but he trembles at the sound of a real worshiper who doesn’t need music to lift up the name of God.

The Idol of Worship

Here’s the hard truth—we have turned worship itself into an idol. We have become so fixated on the way worship looks and feels that we forget WHO worship is for. We measure success by how “powerful” a worship set was, as if God’s presence is determined by how emotionally moved we were.

Can I tell you something? Emotion is not the same as anointing. Just because something gave you goosebumps doesn’t mean it carried the weight of heaven.

Some of the most powerful worship I’ve ever experienced didn’t have a band. It didn’t have a stage. It was people crying out to God with no concern for how they looked or sounded, no countdown clock telling them when to stop, no need to hype up a response. It was real. It was raw. It was worship.

The Real Battle

At the end of the day, the battle isn’t about church growth—it’s about the Kingdom. The devil doesn’t care if churches get bigger as long as they stay powerless. He doesn’t care if worship teams get better as long as worship stays hollow.

So here’s my challenge:
🔥 Strip it all away. Take away the production. Take away the lights. Take away the stage. Would people still worship? Would YOU still worship?
🔥 Stop chasing moments—chase God. His presence doesn’t need theatrics. It needs hearts that are truly after Him.
🔥 Decide what you’re building. A church? A brand? A movement? Or the Kingdom of God?

Because at the end of the day, filling a room means nothing if heaven is still empty.