Letters to the American Church

To the beloved of Christ scattered across America, grace, peace, and courage to you in the name of Jesus, who loved us and gave Himself for us.

I write to you with the burden of both grief and hope. Grief, because so many who wear Christ’s name have forgotten what it means to follow Him. Hope, because His call still rings out, unwavering: “Follow me.” Not into power, not into safety, not into superiority—but into love. A love that costs. A love that heals. A love that carries a cross.

Let us remember what Jesus asked of us.

He did not say, “Take up your comfort.”
He did not say, “Defend your dominance.”
He did not say, “Prove your righteousness.”

He said, “Take up your cross.”

The cross was not a symbol of cultural relevance or religious pride. It was Rome’s cruel tool of execution, repurposed by Christ as the ultimate sign of self-giving love. And He did not wield it against others. He carried it for others.

To be Christian is not to wield the sword of judgment but to bear the wounds of mercy. It is to embody the ethic of the kingdom He proclaimed in His Sermon on the Mount: a way of meekness, mercy, peacemaking, and purity of heart. That sermon, not Caesar’s sword or the Constitution’s amendments, is our moral charter.

Jesus’ new commandment, “Love one another as I have loved you,” is not an ornament for our theology; it is the cornerstone. This kind of love is not sentimental. It is sacrificial. It is not ideological. It is incarnational. And it is not optional.

Christ-followers, the time has come for us to examine our hearts and ask:

  • Have we traded the gospel of Jesus for a gospel of power?
  • Have we made being “right” more important than being loving?
  • Have we built sanctuaries of self-protection instead of communities of self-giving?

The cruciform life—the cross-shaped life—is the only one Jesus ever invited us into. It is the way of downward mobility, of humility and service, of justice that flows not from domination but from compassion. It looks like washing feet. It looks like forgiving enemies. It looks like feeding the hungry and protecting the vulnerable.

If your faith costs you nothing, it may not be Christ you’re following.

This is not a call to guilt but to grace. You are loved… deeply, relentlessly. Even now, the Spirit is ready to breathe new life into weary disciples, disillusioned believers, and compromised churches. But revival will not come through a flag or a ballot box. It will come when we return, not to empire but to Christ.

Beloved, the world will not know us by our influence, but by our love. That is the mark of discipleship. That is the witness the world longs to see.

So take up your cross, not in bitterness, but in joy. Not to defeat your neighbor, but to serve them. Not to prove a point, but to love without condition.

For that is the way of Jesus.

Grace and peace to you from the Crucified and Risen One,

In the fellowship of Christ’s love,

Bruce