Boundaries That Give Life

/ Jason Morris / Leave a comment

Over the last several years, I’ve seen a number of clergy colleagues walk away from ministry. For some, it was the political tensions. For others, it was denominational disappointment. For many, it was burnout. I wrote this blog while reflecting on some of my former colleagues that I miss and often wonder what we could have done differently.

We are living in a world that does not know how to stop. Notifications don’t stop. Emails don’t stop. Expectations don’t stop. The news cycle doesn’t stop. If we’re not careful, we don’t stop either.

Somewhere along the way, we began to believe that constant availability is a virtue. That exhaustion is a sign of faithfulness. That saying “yes” to everything is what it means to be a good worker, a good friend, even a good Christian.

But let’s be clear: a life without boundaries is not holy. It’s unsustainable. It’s a quiet form of surrender to systems and expectations that do not have our wellness in mind.

If anyone could justify constant availability, it was Jesus. Yet, He regularly walked away from the noise. In the first chapter of Mark’s Gospel, Jesus leaves the pressing needs behind to pray in solitude. In other moments, He withdraws from the crowds, even when they are searching for Him.

That’s not neglect. That’s clarity. Jesus understood that we cannot live a life rooted in God if we are constantly at the mercy of every demand around us. Yet, many of us are.

We carry devices that have erased the natural boundaries of time and space. Work follows us home. Stress follows us into the night. If we haven’t put that device on “silence,” rest is interrupted by the quiet buzz of a notification.

In Genesis 2, God rests. Not because God is weary, but because rest is woven into the fabric of creation. To ignore rest is not just unhealthy, it is a rejection of something sacred.

When we refuse to set boundaries around our time, our technology, and our labor, we are not simply “staying productive.” We are participating in a system that quietly erodes our humanity. The Church should have something to say about that.

Before the church speaks to the world, it must tell the truth about itself. Too often, pastors are not just poor examples of healthy boundaries, we are active participants in unhealthy, even harmful, patterns. To be clear, the culture of pastoral overwork is not faithfulness. It is dysfunction dressed up as devotion.

There is a strain of ministry culture that treats exhaustion like a spiritual gift. Clergy “humble brag” about never being off the clock. They announce, often with prideful arrogance, that they are available 24/7/365.

That is not something to celebrate. It is a quiet confession that we do not trust God enough to rest. It is an admission that we are willing to ignore the command of Sabbath altogether. It is a confession of sin. 

In Genesis 2, God rests. In Exodus 20, God commands rest. If we claim to lead people in faith while refusing to practice one of the most basic rhythms God established, then we are not modeling discipleship, we are undermining it.

Beneath that overwork, there is often something we don’t want to confront…pride. We arrogantly and mistakenly believe that everything depends on me. We have convinced ourselves that if we step away, things will fall apart. We’ve embraced the lie that no one else can do what I do.

Let’s be honest…that is not humility. That is ego. A fragile ego at best.

The truth is, the church does not belong to the pastor. It doesn’t even belong to the people. It belongs to God. If the church cannot function without one person constantly sacrificing their health, their family, and their soul, then something is deeply broken.

Now, continuing with the theme of honesty, pastors are not alone in this. Churches often reward and reinforce this behavior. We celebrate the pastor who never takes a day off. We admire the one who “came in anyway” on their Sabbath. We speak fondly of the commitment of the pastor who never said “no.”

I once served a congregation that regularly spoke of a previous pastor who was “always at the church.” Laity let me know that “even on his day off” this pastor was at the church doing this or that. The way they celebrated this pastor, one would think this would have been a time of rapid, explosive growth. However, it was a season where they church experienced it’s sharpest decline in all the areas we regularly measure. Gee, I wonder if those things are related?

While we often celebrate overly busy church staff, we grow uneasy with leaders who protect their time, who take their vacation, who say “no.” We question their work ethic. We wonder if they are lazy. 

We often ask pastors and church staff how much they accomplished. We track attendance, participation, and productivity. But rarely do we ask if our leaders are resting. We rarely ask how our leaders are tending to their souls? When was the last time we asked our leaders if they have space to worship without leading? Have we asked our leaders if they are becoming who God has called them to be?

A church that expects constant availability from its leaders is not cultivating faithfulness; it is cultivating burnout. It is encouraging pastors and staff to willfully ignore a commandment. A pastor who embraces that expectation is not being heroic. They are being formed by something other than the way of Jesus.

If we are serious about being the church, this must change. We cannot preach Sabbath and then reward its violation. We cannot call people to abundant life while modeling exhaustion. We cannot claim to trust God and then live as if everything depends on us.

Healthy boundaries in ministry are not optional. They are essential. Not just for the sake of pastors and staff, but for the sake of the witness of the church itself. When leaders live with integrity…when they rest, when they step away, when they trust God enough to not be constantly available, they show the world something different. They show that the gospel is not about endless striving. It is about trust. It is about freedom. It is about life.

Boundaries are not about building walls. They are about telling the truth about what matters. Boundaries communicate that our worth is not determined by our output. Our presence is more valuable than our productivity. Our relationships deserve our attention, not our leftovers.

In Ephesians 5:15–16, we are called to live wisely by “making the most of every opportunity.” Wisdom, in this case, might look like logging off. It might look like saying no. It might look like protecting time that the world would gladly consume.

Healthy relationships require more than good intentions. They require shared commitments and clear boundaries. We cannot say we value our families, our friendships, or our communities if we consistently allow other things to take priority over them.

However, this is exactly what our culture encourages: more work, more noise, more distraction. Boundaries push back against that. They protect what is sacred from what is seemingly urgent.

There is a harder truth within this idea of boundaries. It’s one the church has not always named clearly enough: Abuse has no place in a life shaped by the love of God. Physical abuse, emotional manipulation, control, coercion, intimidation and fear are not Christian tools for health and vitality. These are not “relationship struggles.” They are violations of dignity, of trust, and of covenant.

In 1 Corinthians 13, we are taught that love is patient and kind. It does not harm. It does not dominate. It does not diminish. We need to say this plainly: enduring abuse is not a spiritual virtue. It is not what God asks of anyone.

In fact, abuse is a breaking of covenant no less serious than infidelity. Just as unfaithfulness violates the promises of a relationship, so does harm. To wound someone (physically or emotionally) is to betray the very vows meant to protect and honor them.

Sometimes, the most faithful boundary a person can set is this: You do not get access to me if you continue to harm me.

That is not bitterness. That is truth. That is not failure. That is courage.

For too long, parts of the church have encouraged people (especially women) to endure what God never intended them to bear. Silence has been mistaken for faithfulness. Endurance has been confused with holiness. This must change.

A church that follows Jesus cannot be a place where harm is hidden, minimized, or excused. It must be a place where boundaries are honored, where dignity is protected, and where people are empowered to step away from what is destroying them. Anything less is not the gospel.

At their core, boundaries are about making space for God, for others, and for the life we are called to live. Without boundaries, our lives become crowded with things that feel urgent but are not ultimately life-giving. When that happens, worship becomes an afterthought. Discipleship becomes optional. Service becomes something we’ll get to “when things slow down” (which they never do). 

Perhaps boundaries are more than personal decisions. Perhaps they are acts of resistance. Resistance against a culture that commodifies our time. Resistance against systems that reward burnout. Resistance against unhealthy expectations, even within the church.

At the same time, they are acts of faith. Faith that believes rest matters. Faith that knows we are more than what we produce. Faith that God might meet us in the chaos, but more often meets us in the quiet spaces we choose to protect.

Where is God inviting you to draw a line? Not out of fear, but out of faith. Not to push the world away, but to make room for what is sacred.

A life with healthy boundaries is not a smaller life. It is a fuller one. A freer one. A more faithful one.

Holy Frustration

/ Jason Morris / Leave a comment

There’s a kind of frustration that drains us. And then there’s a kind that awakens us. I’ve come to call it “holy frustration.”

It’s that persistent nudge one can’t quite shake. The quiet (or not-so-quiet) stirring in your spirit when something isn’t as it should be. It’s the moment you think, “Someone should do something about this,” and then slowly realize that the Spirit might be inviting you to be part of that “something.”

Holy frustration isn’t meant to leave us stuck. It’s meant to move us.

Throughout Scripture, we see that God often works through people who are unsettled by what they see. Moses was troubled by injustice. Nehemiah was heartbroken over a ruined city. The prophets burned with urgency over unfaithfulness and oppression. Jesus himself was moved with compassion when he saw the crowds “harassed and helpless.”

That inner discomfort isn’t a sign something is wrong with your faith. It may be a sign the Holy Spirit is at work within your faith. Sometimes the very thing that frustrates you is the doorway to your calling.

The good news is that God doesn’t just stir our hearts. God equips our hands. Scripture reminds us that we are empowered for action. 

Ephesians 2:10 says, “For we are what he has made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of life.”

Galatians 6:9 encourages us to “not grow weary in doing what is right, for we will reap at harvest time, if we do not give up.” 

In Hebrews 13:16, we are reminded, “Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God.”

God doesn’t plant holy frustration in us just to leave us restless. God provides what we need to respond. The Spirit nudges, but also strengthens, equips, guides, and sustains.

There is also a deeper kind of holy frustration many are feeling today. It’s one rooted not just in unmet needs, but in a distorted witness.

When faith becomes entangled with power in ways that diminish the Gospel…when nationalism is confused with faithfulness and discipleship…when exclusion is baptized as righteousness…when silence replaces courage, it’s right for something in us to feel unsettled. That unease may be the Holy Spirit refusing to let us grow comfortable with a diminished vision of God’s kingdom.

Holy frustration, in this sense, becomes courage. It gives us the strength to speak truth to power with humility and conviction. It empowers us to offer a better and more faithful theology rooted in love, justice, and the life of Jesus. It compels us to refuse to settle for what is loud or popular when it is not life-giving or Christ-centered

At the same time, when that holy frustration is stirred up, fear can easily creep in. But we must remember that we are called to “obey God rather than any human authority” (Acts 5:29). It can feel daunting when influential voices with large platforms and cultural power seem to reinforce a distorted message. But the witness of the Church has never depended on size or status. It has always depended on faithfulness.

Holy frustration does not call us to bitterness or division. It calls us to clarity, courage, and deeper love. It calls us to embody a Gospel that is bigger than fear, wider than borders, and rooted not in dominance, but in self-giving grace.

So, if you feel that tension, don’t dismiss it. It may be the Spirit inviting you not only to serve, but also to witness. Not only to build, but also to speak. Not only to act, but to help re-center the story on the way of Christ.

Holy frustration often starts individually, but it rarely ends there. You may feel a nudge to gather musicians and start something new in worship, organize a small group or Bible study, serve neighbors through food, care, or presence, advocate for those whose voices which are overlooked, repair something broken (literally or figuratively). 

The possibilities are as wide as God’s imagination. But at some point, our possibilities spurred on by holy frustration needs to become holy action. Holy frustration becomes holy action when we move from “someone should” to “let’s begin.” Or better yet, “let’s begin together.”

This isn’t about guilt or obligation. It’s about joy. There is deep, life-giving joy in joining God’s work in the world. When we step into what God is stirring in us, we often discover that we’re not alone. We learn that we are more capable than we thought. We find that even the small steps matter because God has a way of multiplying what we offer. What once felt like frustration becomes purpose. What once felt heavy becomes hopeful.

If something has been stirring in you, don’t ignore it. Pray about it. Talk about it with a trusted friend, counselor, or spiritual guide. Then, take one small step.

You don’t need a perfect plan. You don’t need to have it all figured out. You simply need to be willing. Because that holy frustration might just be the Spirit inviting you into something beautiful. May our holy frustrations become holy actions!

Why Churches Serve Coffee

/ Jason Morris / Leave a comment

My last couple of posts have been pretty heavy. So, this entry is a little more lighthearted!

There are a few passages in Scripture that feel almost too relatable. Acts 20:7–12 might be near the top of that list. It’s the one featuring a young man named Eutychus, a long-winded sermon, and…an unfortunate nap taken at the worst possible time.

Let’s set the scene.

The apostle Paul is in Troas, gathered with believers on the first day of the week for worship, teaching, and the breaking of bread. It’s evening, likely because most people worked during the day. They’re meeting in an upper room, lit not by soft LEDs or carefully curated sanctuary lighting, but by oil lamps. Luke even makes a point to tell us: “There were many lamps in the room.”

Translation: it was warm, crowded, a little stuffy, and probably smelled like burning oil.

And then…Paul starts preaching. And keeps preaching. And keeps going and going and going.

In fact, Scripture says he talked “until midnight.” Not started at midnight…went until midnight. Which means Eutychus didn’t doze off during a tidy 20-minute homily. This was a full-on marathon sermon.

Now, before we judge Eutychus too harshly, let’s be honest: warm room, flickering lights, late hour, long sermon…we’ve all been there. This is precisely why, in many churches today, the thermostat is under lock and key. It’s not about control. It’s about preventing biblical reenactments. Nobody wants to be responsible for a second-story incident during the sermon.

Eutychus, seated in the window (perhaps trying to get a little fresh air), slowly drifts off…until he falls.

Luke, the author of Acts (and a physician, mind you), doesn’t sugarcoat it: the young man was picked up dead.

Now the story takes a dramatic turn. Paul goes down, throws himself on the boy, embraces him, and declares, “Do not be alarmed, for his life is in him.” It’s a moment that echoes the ministries of prophets like Elijah and Elisha and God’s life-giving power breaking into a desperate situation.

And then, because this is one of the most unintentionally humorous passages in Scripture, Paul goes back upstairs. He breaks bread. He eats. And then he keeps talking. Until dawn.

Imagine being in that congregation. You’ve just witnessed a fatal fall, followed by a miracle resurrection…and Paul’s response is essentially, “Alright, where were we?”

There’s something deeply human about this story. It reminds us that the early church wasn’t a collection of polished, perfect worship experiences. It was real people, in real rooms, dealing with real limitations (fatigue, long days, imperfect conditions). Faith wasn’t neat and tidy. It was lived.

It also gives us a glimpse into the intensity of early Christian gatherings. These weren’t casual drop-ins. People were hungry and desperate to hear the good news, to learn, to be together. Paul knew he was leaving soon, and he had more to say than could fit into a neatly timed service.

Still…there’s grace here for both preacher and listener.

For listeners: yes, try to stay awake. Maybe don’t sit in the window if you’re prone to nodding off. And if the sanctuary gets a little cool, just know it’s for your safety.

For preachers: perhaps a gentle reminder that length does matter. We don’t have to say everything in one message!

But at the center of it all is the miracle.

Eutychus is restored to life. The community is “not a little comforted,” which is Luke’s understated way of saying, “they were overwhelmed with relief and awe.” This isn’t just a quirky story about a sleepy teenager. It’s a testimony to the life-giving power of God. Even in the middle of human frailty, distraction, and yes, even boredom, God is still at work.

So the next time the sermon runs a little long, or your eyelids start to get heavy, take heart: at least no one has fallen out of a window.

And even more importantly, God is still bringing life, still meeting us in ordinary (and occasionally drowsy) moments, still holding us together as a community.

Though…just to be safe, maybe grab an extra cup of coffee before worship.

A Follow Up: One Pastor’s Response

/ Jason Morris / Leave a comment

While we had stir fry on Tuesday, April 7, it was my favorite TACO Tuesday in some time. Because for a brief moment, however fragile, however complicated, there was a pause.

A two-week ceasefire.

In a world that has felt like it’s been inching toward the unthinkable, even a pause can feel like grace.

But let’s be honest about the kind of grace this is.

This is not the peace of Christ.

This is not reconciliation.

This is not justice rolling down like waters.

This is a temporary halt to a crisis we helped create.

Let’s refuse to rewrite the narrative. The Strait of Hormuz was open before this escalation. The threats of annihilation were not necessary. The rhetoric of “all hell raining down” was not diplomacy. It was domination dressed up as strength.

When President Trump or anyone else suggests that this moment is the result of brilliant negotiation, we need the courage to say what is true: You do not get credit for putting out a fire you poured gasoline on.

Especially not when that fire was ignated with language that flirted openly with genocide (the destruction of an entire people). There is nothing strategic, clever, or praiseworthy about threatening mass death. Ever.

The ends do not justify the means. Not in the Kingdom of God. Not in any moral framework worth holding onto.

And yet… here we are.

Two weeks.

Jesus once said: If you have faith the size of a mustard seed… (Matthew 17:20)

So maybe that’s what this is. A mustard seed moment. A fragile, trembling hope that something better could emerge, that cooler heads might prevail, that violence might be de-escalated, that lives might be spared.

If I’m being honest (yes, some pastors still aspire to always tell the truth), my doubts have been louder than my hopes lately.

Because we’ve seen how quickly words turn back into weapons. We’ve seen how easily truth is bent, twisted, and discarded. We’ve seen how moral lines are crossed and then justified in the name of patriotism or even faith.

So yes, I am praying. But I am praying with eyes wide open.

Let’s not celebrate this as a win. This is a pause. A fragile interruption. A breath between threats.

If we treat it like a victory lap, we will miss the urgency of the moment.

Nothing about the underlying posture has changed. The rhetoric has not been repented of. The threats have not been owned. The moral failure has not been confessed. Until those things happen, the danger remains.

Let’s name something else that is deeply troubling…I see many “faithful” people defending these words, suggesting they weren’t meant literally, that they were just strategic, just posturing, just part of the game.

But this is exactly the problem.

When threats of destruction are dismissed as “just words,” we have already lost our moral footing. This type of leadership is unacceptable…no matter how you spin it, soften it, or sanitize it.

As followers of Jesus, we simply cannot tolerate this. Not because we are partisan. But because we are Christian.

So what do we do with these two weeks? We do not relax. We do not scroll past.We do not move on. We act.

This is a pause to:

Pray: not vague, passive prayers, but bold prayers for peace, for restraint, for transformation of hearts hardened by power, greed and ego.

Plan: how will we, as people of faith and conscience, continue to show up?

Communicate: call, write, and meet with those who represent us in Congress. Make it unmistakably clear: this is not acceptable. (I could write several posts expressing my disappointment, but not surprise, by the response of my senators – silence, and representative- a proclamation of unwavering support for Trump’s actions).

Advocate: for policies and leaders that value human life over political posturing.

Let the world know that this is embarrassing. This is un-American. This is not Christian. This is unacceptable.

There is another truth we cannot ignore.

Many are still defending this behavior…not reluctantly, but enthusiastically while also claiming the name of Jesus.

Let’s be clear: this is not Christianity. This is idolatry. It is the elevation of nation, power, and personality above the teachings of Christ.

Jesus said: By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another. (John 13:35) He didn’t stop there. He expanded that love to include neighbors and enemies alike.

Christian nationalism, by contrast, makes room for love…but only of self. It draws tight boundaries around who matters and who doesn’t. It blesses force where Jesus commands mercy. We cannot serve both.

We often say, “this is not who we are.”

But if we’re honest, this is exactly who we are right now.

Maybe it’s not who we aspire to be. Maybe it’s not the deepest truth of who we could become. But it is who we have become…

A people willing to excuse cruelty.

A people willing to justify threats.

And unless there is real, collective transformation (moral, spiritual, political) this is who we will continue to be.

A people willing to trade integrity for power.

We also need to abandon the illusion that we are automatically the “good guys.” Moral superiority is not a birthright. It is earned through humility, justice, and compassion. And right now, when we threaten devastation, alienate allies, and justify it all with religious language, we are not reflecting the light we claim to carry. We are obscuring it.

Here’s a free pro tip: Take a hard look at your social media feed.

If you see voices celebrating threats of destruction…

If you see people excusing dehumanizing language…

If you see “Christians” cheering tactics that contradict Christ…

Click that unfollow button…or at least “mute” them…even if just for a season…

Not out of spite, but out of spiritual clarity.

What we normalize shapes us. What we tolerate forms us. What we consume disciples us.

Two weeks. That’s what we have.

Two weeks to prepare, not for celebration, but for what may come next if nothing changes.

Two weeks to raise our voices. Two weeks to demand better. Two weeks to embody a different way.

Because this is not okay. It has never been okay. And it will never be okay.

The Church must not grow weary. The people must not grow silent. The truth must not be softened.

The ceasefire is not the end of the story. It is the moment where we decide whether we will keep telling the truth or start believing the lie.

When Words Become Weapons: One Pastor’s Response to Power, Threats, and the Way of Jesus

/ Jason Morris / 2 Comments

There are moments when silence becomes complicity.

This is one of those moments.

Recent public statements from President Donald Trump, posted on social media platforms, have crossed beyond political rhetoric into something far more dangerous. Threats that a “whole civilization will die tonight,” that people will be “living in Hell,” and that “all hell will rain down on them” are not merely words. They are declarations shaped by fear, fueled by ego, and untethered from the moral vision of the Gospel.

Let us be clear: this is not the way of Jesus.

Jesus does not threaten annihilation. Jesus does not revel in destruction. Jesus does not speak of entire peoples as expendable.

Instead, Jesus says: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you. (Matthew 5:44) Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. (Matthew 5:9) Those who live by the sword will die by the sword. (Matthew 26:52)

The contrast could not be more stark. What we are witnessing is not strength. It is the ancient, familiar language of empire. It is Pharaoh hardening his heart. It is Nebuchadnezzar exalting his power. It is Caesar mistaking domination for peace.

Scripture has always warned us about leaders who choose this path: Woe to those who call evil good and good evil. (Isaiah 5:20) When the righteous are in authority, the people rejoice; but when the wicked rule, the people groan. (Proverbs 29:2)

When leaders trade humility for hubris, wisdom for rage, and diplomacy for threats, the consequences are not abstract…they are measured in human lives.

These statements also force us to confront uncomfortable but necessary truths…

First, they clarify that Donald Trump is not a Christian leader (regardless of the weak defense provided by Paula White-Cain…who is really just a grifter disguised as a pastor). Christianity is not defined by labels or political alliances, but by fruit (Matthew 7:16). The fruit here, threats of mass death, dehumanizing language, and reckless escalation does not resemble the Spirit of Christ.

Second, they expose the myth that the United States is inherently a “Christian nation.” A nation that blesses threats of devastation, that baptizes violence in the language of righteousness, and that confuses power with moral authority has lost its theological bearings. A press secretary wearing a cross necklace and a Secretary of the Department of War claiming God’s providence does not provide a Christian blanket of protection. Lies are still lies.

The Kingdom of God is not synonymous with any nation. Jesus made that clear: My kingdom is not from this world. (John 18:36)

We must also resist the temptation to soften our language. There is a time for nuance and there is a time for truth.

This is a time for truth.

When a leader speaks casually about the destruction of an entire civilization, that is not faithfulness. That is not strategy. That is evil.

When rhetoric escalates toward violence instead of seeking peace, that is not strength. That is moral failure.

And when such language is defended or excused by those claiming the name of Christ, the witness of the Church is compromised.

Even more troubling is the inversion of reality. When calls are made for “less radicalized minds” to prevail, we must ask plainly: who is acting with recklessness, hostility, and apocalyptic imagination? The radicalization on display is not coming from those calling for restraint. It is coming from the very voice issuing these threats.

To pastors, Christian leaders, bishops, and especially evangelical leaders: this is our moment. We cannot remain silent.

The Gospel we preach on Sunday must have something to say about the words spoken on Monday. If we claim allegiance to Jesus, then we must reject language and policies that contradict His way so clearly.

Silence in the face of this rhetoric is not neutrality. It is endorsement. Let us speak up. Loudly. Clearly. Courageously.

To members of Congress…Democrats, Republicans, and Independents alike…this is also your responsibility. The Constitution does not grant unchecked power to any one individual, especially not in matters that could lead to catastrophic conflict. If rhetoric is escalating toward violence, it is your duty to intervene, to restrain, and to restore sanity to the process. Reasonable, level-headed leadership is not weakness. It is the last safeguard against disaster.

When allies begin to distance themselves, when the global community expresses concern, when the tone of leadership shifts from diplomacy to domination, these are warning signs. We ignore them at our peril.

The combination of figures like Donald Trump and Pete Hegseth shaping military posture and public rhetoric should give us pause. Not because disagreement is dangerous, but because recklessness is. This is about more than Iran. It is about the soul of a nation and the lives of countless people.

The prophet Joshua once stood before the people and said: Choose this day whom you will serve. (Joshua 24:15)

That question remains. Will we serve the gods of power, fear, and domination? Or will we follow the crucified Christ…the one who chose love over violence, mercy over vengeance, and sacrifice over supremacy?

Enough is enough. We cannot baptize cruelty. We cannot sanctify threats. We cannot pretend that this is normal.

If we are to be the Church, then we must be the Church…prophetic, courageous, and unafraid to speak truth to power.

Because when words become weapons, silence is not an option.