Anger and bitterness pulse through our veins, fueled by a culture that thrives on reaction and retribution. I’ve been watching it unfold on X lately, where terms like “woke right” bounce around—half critique, half weapon—exposing the raw nerves of a fractured people. It’s the latest symptom of a deeper ache: we’re all hurting, and instead of healing, we’re shouting over each other. X is just the megaphone, turning our pain into soundbites and our divisions into snarky one-liners. It’s a marketplace of ideas, sure, but the format—short, sharp, and prone to venom—pours gas on the fire.
I have a love-hate thing with X. When Elon Musk took it over, I cheered. He made it freer, messier, and less a tool of propaganda for globalists and leftist elites. It now has both sides... better, but both sides have wolves in sheep's clothing.
It’s a window into the heartbeat of our culture—news breaks there, trends rise, and you can feel what people are wrestling with, unfiltered. I lean on it to stay connected, to know what’s stirring beyond the polished headlines. But there’s a shadow side. For every honest voice, there’s a chorus of bad actors—negativity merchants, false prophets, gossip vendors, and flat-out liars. The freedom I celebrate comes with a flood of noise, and sifting through it is exhausting. It’s a tool that reveals us, but it doesn’t redeem us.
That’s where I keep hoping the American church could step in. In my bones, I believe gospel messaging and Biblical values—grace, truth, love—could be a balm for this mess. Imagine a voice cutting through the X chaos, reminding us we’re all broken, all in need of something bigger than our grudges. Psalm 46:10 says, “Be still, and know that I am God.” There’s power in that—stopping the scroll, quieting the noise, and remembering who’s in control. But the church feels lost in the noise too. It’s got feet of clay—flawed, human, stumbling—and too often builds on sand, chasing relevance or political points instead of bedrock truth. I see pastors on X with big platforms, but half the time they’re just playing the influencer game, not pointing to something different.
The “woke right” dust-up is a perfect example. It’s a term born from hurt—conservatives feeling betrayed, liberals mocking, everyone clutching their piece of the victim pie. On X, it’s a snark-fest, not a reckoning.
And the church? Mostly silent, or worse, joining the fray with its own hot takes. We’re reacting to reactions, nursing wounds with salt instead of salve. Division isn’t new—maybe we’re just better at broadcasting it now—but it’s hard to shake the sense that we’re stuck. X amplifies our human reflexes: when we’re hurt, we lash out, and when we’re lost, we dig in.
Yet there’s hope woven into the mess if we look for it. Jesus said in John 16:33, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” Trouble’s a given—X proves that daily—but it’s not the end of the story. The church could lean into that, offering a lifeline instead of a loudspeaker. Ephesians 4:2-3 nudges us further: “Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace.” That’s a tall order in a soundbite culture, but it’s a call worth answering—less yelling, more bearing with each other.
I don’t have easy answers. I’m as tangled in this as anyone—drawn to X’s pulse, repelled by its poison.
But I keep circling back to that gospel hope: a call to step off the sand, past the clay, and onto something solid. The noise won’t quiet on its own, and the church won’t find its voice by mirroring the shouting match.
Maybe it starts smaller—less megaphone, more mercy.
Less trending, more timeless.
We’re a nation adrift, but there’s still a foundation to stand on. For now, the static’s loud, and I’m left wondering how long we’ll keep yelling into the void. But I’m holding onto this: “The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer” (Psalm 18:2). Clay crumbles, sand shifts, but that doesn’t move.
“Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. [25] And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock. [26] And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand. [27] And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it.” (Matthew 7:24–27 ESV)
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