church

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.

Pastoring in a Fractured World: A Reflection for Pastor’s Appreciation Month

/ Jason Morris / 1 Comment

I don’t need to tell you that the world feels fractured. Politically, socially, and yes, religiously, the landscape is a minefield of cultural tensions. As a pastor, I know many feel that fracture running right through the doors of the church and, more often than not, right through our own hearts.

The call to pastoral leadership in this context has become immensely complex. The job description today often feels less like pastor and more like a combination of cultural mediator, theological punching bag, and emotional trauma counselor.

Yet, in the midst of this complexity, our ultimate anchor remains profoundly simple.

The servant leadership to which we are called finds its purest expression in the Gospel of John. In chapter 13, Jesus knew his time was short. He didn’t use his final hours to issue a mission statement or hold a strategic planning session. Instead, he took off his outer garment, picked up a towel and a basin, and washed the feet of his disciples.

This is the non-negotiable definition of Christian leadership: a call not to power, but to humble service. We are called to embody the cross, which means putting the needs of the flock—even the dirty, resistant, and confused parts of the flock—before our own comfort or reputation. It is a humble, dirty, and often thankless act of love.

When a leader sincerely attempts to be faithful to Jesus, Scripture, and the rich tradition of United Methodist theology—a tradition that demands us to hold together grace, Scripture, reason, experience, and tradition—we are almost guaranteed to disappoint everyone.

My sincere pursuit of the radical, inclusive love of the Gospel is often labeled “too liberal” by one segment of the congregation. Simultaneously, my commitment to the authority of Scripture and the tradition of the church is immediately dismissed as “too conservative” by others. All the while, I am simply trying to remain faithful Jesus.

This environment has given rise to a deeply disappointing form of spiritual toxicity. We face not just theological disagreement, but outright personal attack. The name-calling—the accusations of heresy, the claims of being a “CINO” (Christian In Name Only), or whatever new term is trending online—is mean-spirited and fundamentally unchristian.

It is particularly painful when the genuine anger and disappointment people feel about our broader denominational decision are indiscriminately directed toward the local pastor who is simply trying to serve the community. Honestly, it hurts when people dismissively label pastors and ministry leaders as “woke liberal social justice warriors” when all we are doing is trying to follow in the Way of Jesus. 

Perhaps the most disheartening trend is the retreat from true Christian dialogue. People are making rash decisions—leaving the church, withdrawing from ministry, severing relationships, withholding gifts—based on incomplete or false narratives they’ve encountered outside our walls. The absence of a simple conversation is a wound. A moment of discussion with their pastor could often correct the misunderstanding or confusion, but many choose to walk away in silence, taking their pain and misinformation with them. And, let’s be honest, some don’t walk away in silence. They’ll talk about the church and why they are leaving with anyone who is willing to listen…except, of course, the pastor and church leadership!

This phenomenon is fueled by the rise of unvetted authority. We now live in an age where those who lack theological training have elevated themselves as experts simply because they found someone on Google who happens to agree with their pre-existing bias. They proof-text a verse of Scripture—ripped entirely out of its historical, literary, and theological context—and wield it as a weapon against the very community of Christ that gave it to us. It’s an act of deep theological arrogance that undermines centuries of scholarship and community discernment.

And then, at least for this pastor, there is the deepest hurt: the betrayal from within the body of clergy.

I must confess a profound disappointment in fellow clergy colleagues who have chosen to engage in tactics that can only be described as manipulative. When leaders actively lie and alter facts in order to “woo” people away from neighboring congregations, it is not discipleship, it’s not evangelism—it is opportunism. The concept of “stealing sheep” is an ancient indictment in the church, and its practice today is no less offensive to the Holy Spirit. We must trust that the success of a true ministry lies in fidelity to the Gospel, not in numerical gains achieved through unethical, divisive means. That kind of short-term thinking will never be rewarded in the long haul of God’s Kingdom.

So, what shall we do? I believe we must return to the towel.

We put on the apron of a servant, we bow down low, and we wash the feet. We commit ourselves anew to the hard, often lonely work of being a faithful pastor. We will keep preaching the transforming power of grace, teaching the depth of Scripture, and seeking the unity of Christ, even if it means we are never popular.

We lead not for praise, but for Christ. We serve not for reward, but because we have been served. And we trust that even in the storm, the work done in humble love is the only work that truly lasts.

So, if you are a pastor who is feeling the heaviness of our fractured world, know that you are not alone. Know that you are are seen…you are valued…you are loved…you are needed.

Happy Pastor’s Appreciation Month!

“You Don’t Look Like a Pastor.”

/ Jason Morris / Leave a comment

It was a Friday night about 14 years ago.

I was leading the wedding rehearsal for a young couple at the church I was serving. I was wearing my typical rehearsal attire: khaki’s, polo, my favorite Doc Martens. For those who know me, this qualifies as “dressed up!” I mean, the polo was even tucked in!

As the bridal party was gathering, the father of the bride introduced himself and started asking some questions: “Where’s the altar? Where’s the kneeling rail? Where do people get saved?”

Based on his line of questioning, I had a pretty good idea of the type of church this gentleman attended. We had a nice conversation about worship styles and ministry approaches. It seemed like the conversation was coming to a close when we both agreed that keeping Jesus as the focus is what’s most important.

Then he made a statement that was more puzzling than anything else. “You don’t look like a pastor.”

I implied that I’d rather “live and be” like a pastor than just keep up the appearance of a pastor and then asked, “So, what exactly does that mean?”

He replied, “Oh, you know…suit and tie, clean shaven, slick backed hair, that kind of stuff.”

Now, to be fair, my hair was in a bit of a wild state as I was in the middle of a wager to grow my hair out like chef Hubert Keller.

I’ve always embraced an attitude of, “this is who I am, so this is what you’ll get” when it comes to my pastoral “style.” Whether it’s my attire, my use of humor/sarcasm, my early onset grumpiness, my proclamation that I have one suit and I only wear it for weddings, funerals, and to ask for large sums of money, or my desire to help us not take ourselves too seriously, I really just don’t care that much what others think.

While I believe we should take care of ourselves so that we are healthy enough to serve, I’m not sure God truly desires that we place too much pride in our appearance. In fact, 1 Samuel 16:7 pretty much confirms my assumption, “…Humans see only what is visible to the eyes, but the Lord sees into the heart.”

And, most church-going Christians will agree, “it’s the heart that matters most.” But, far too many are still convinced that we need to come in our “Sunday best.”

I remember hearing a colleague share about a member who pulled him aside to announce his disappointment in one of the younger members church attire. The person announced that he felt it was disrepectful to wear jeans, a t-shirt and sneakers to a worship service. “That’s no way to honor God,” the man stated.

My friend replied, “Well, I’m not sure if you are aware of this, but that person is wearing $500 designer jeans, $1,200 sneakers, and is one of our most faithful and generous members. And, he shows up early every Sunday to lead our high school Bible study.” Now, I’m not sure he should have talked about the persons generosity…but I know he was just trying to humble (and shut up) the grumpy member.

Some have suggested that we dress in a way that reflects our context. Well, the most direct neighbors to our church would probably be the people sleeping in our alley or across the street at the mission. Wearing a suit and tie just might feel a bit out of touch. Down the street is the “business sector.” 15 years ago, the suit and tie would have been more prevalent, but today even the business sector has become more casual. If I see someone in a suit and tie, I assume they are on their way to court!

I mean, the largest and fastest growing churches in my local context are some of the most casual, informal churches I’ve ever visited. Some of the pastors and worship leaders in these congregations look like they just got out of their pontoon or were in the background of a Justin Bieber video. I mean, my only question is why are Dahmer glasses (wire-rimmed, double-bridged, aviator-style frames) so popular among evangelical megachurch pastors?

Maybe it isn’t about attire after all?

I mean, just exactly who are we trying to impress? God or our neighbor? I don’t think anyone could convince me that those who “dress up” score more points with God than those who don’t.

It’s not about being hip and cool…it’s not about our Sunday best…it’s about being ourselves – being who God created us to be.

So, whether you are a suit and tie, dress and hat, jeans and t-shirt, formal, informal or business casual type person, just be yourself! I’m conviced that God prefers that we all “be” the part than “look” the part.