There are weeks when I find myself grumbling about things quite close to home: my busy schedule, too many doctors’ appointments, my own struggles to slow down and pay attention. Most importantly, there are times when I feel like I’m missing out on the joy of what’s going on around me.
And then there are weeks when the news from elsewhere feels so heavy that my personal challenges seem trivial in comparison… and I find myself going a little numb.
This has been one of those weeks. And they seem to be coming more often.
I’ve found myself wrestling with what I’m hearing in the world around me. In particular, I’m disturbed by hearing the name of Jesus spoken with confidence… used to explain decisions, justify actions, even defend harm. I hear faith language woven into conversations about war, about policy, about who belongs and who doesn’t. And if I’m honest, there are moments when I feel unsettled, even grieved.
Because it’s my calling and my job to know the teachings of Jesus. I know the way He moves toward people, especially the vulnerable. I know the clarity of His call to love—not in theory, but in practice. And yet, I also hear that same name used in ways that don’t sound like Him at all.
Maybe you’ve felt that too. Not anger as much as confusion. Not certainty, but tension.
Trying to make sense of how the same faith that teaches us to love our enemies can also be used to justify actions that seem to ignore that very command.
And somewhere in the middle of that tension, this simple phrase came to me:
Don’t blame Jesus.
Because whatever is happening around us—whatever is being said or done in His name—we need to be careful not to confuse that with Jesus Himself. This isn’t a new problem. It’s just showing up on a larger stage.
What I’m feeling is not just personal—it’s something many of us are trying to navigate together. We are living in a moment where the name of Jesus is spoken often… but not always truthfully.
It shows up in conversations about war, where violence is explained as necessary, even faithful.
It shows up in discussions about immigration, where some lives seem to matter more than others.
It shows up in how we talk about the world itself—what we use, what we protect, what we’re willing to sacrifice.
And again, what makes this difficult is not the absence of faith. It’s that faith is being used in ways that contradict the heart of the gospel.
Faith is being used to explain. Used to justify. Used to give confidence to decisions that are already in motion. And for many of us, that creates a kind of disorientation. Because we’re not unfamiliar with Scripture. We’re not new to the teachings of Jesus.
So when we hear His name connected to things that don’t sound like Him…we’re left asking: Am I missing something? Is this what faithfulness looks like? Is this really what Jesus would say?
How does someone reach a point where they place responsibility for harmful decisions on Jesus?
Harm that has lasting effects, destroys families, inflicts pain, and creates deep and lasting hatred. Before such decisions happen on a national stage, the patterns first show up much closer to home. We blame Jesus for everyday decisions.
It shows up anytime we feel certain about what needs to happen…anytime we feel justified in our position…anytime we find ourselves asking God to support what we already believe is right.
It shows up in the quiet ways we divide people into categories—right and wrong, in and out. It shows up in how quickly we move from concern to judgment. It shows up in how easily urgency takes over, and listening becomes secondary.
And before long, something subtle begins to happen. We are no longer listening for the voice of Jesus. We are speaking with confidence…assuming we already know what He would say.
And when that happens—whether in our personal lives or in the world around us—it becomes very easy to say things in the name of Jesus…that don’t actually sound like Jesus at all.
Don’t blame Jesus.
Luke shares a short, somewhat comical story about Lazarus’ two sisters. However, like the rest of scripture, the story has layers that come alive as we dig in a little deeper.
Jesus comes by to visit. Martha welcomes Him and immediately gets to work. There are things to prepare, responsibilities to manage, and expectations to meet. She is doing what all good hosts do. Meanwhile, Mary, her sister, does something different. She sits at Jesus’ feet and listens.
And as the story unfolds, the tension begins to rise—not in the room, but within Martha herself. What begins as service slowly becomes strain. What begins as care turns into frustration.
Unwilling to tolerate her sister’s lack of attention to the job at hand, Martha takes her concern to Jesus. “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself?” Martha blurts out. “Tell her to help me.”
It’s a human moment. An understandable moment. A moment most of us have been through. Neither Luke nor anyone else has the right to trash Martha. We all need Marthas in our lives, and we all need to be a Martha at times. But listen closely to what Martha is asking. Because Martha isn’t asking Jesus what He wants. She is asking Jesus to take her side.
Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her to come and help me!
Luke 10:38–42
“Tell her…” she demands. In that moment, Martha moves from listening to Jesus… to speaking for Him. She has decided what needs to happen—and now she is asking Jesus to confirm it.
And Jesus responds. But not with harshness. He responds with clarity: “Martha, Martha… you are worried and distracted by many things. But only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”
Jesus does not criticize Martha’s desire to serve. He names what has taken over her attention. She is worried. She is distracted. She is pulled in many directions. And in her frenzied self, something good has begun to replace what is most important.
She is no longer centered on Jesus.
And that is the turning point of the story. Because this is how it happens. Not through rebellion. Not necessarily through bad intentions. Rather, it happens through a slow shift. A shift where urgency replaces attention…certainty replaces listening…and we begin to move ahead of Jesus.
And once that happens, something else follows just as quietly. We begin to act with confidence in what is right… and then ask Jesus to bless what we’ve already decided.
Don’t blame Jesus.
Notice that Jesus never told Martha to take control of the room. Jesus never told her to demand more from her sister. Jesus never told her that her urgency was more important than His presence.
And if we’re going to use His name—if we’re going to claim His authority—then we have to stay close enough to His voice to hear what He actually says.
Throughout Christian history, there have been attempts to wrestle honestly with difficult realities. Perhaps none more serious than the question of war. Humanity has wrestled with this question so often that a theory called “just war” emerged, which has resurfaced again as to why we have soldiers and war machinery prosecuting a war in the Nation of Iran.
However, “just war” was never meant to make violence easy to justify. It was meant to place limits on it. To slow things down. To ask hard questions. To protect the innocent wherever possible.
Not to give us confidence in harm, but to make us cautious in the face of it.
Which means anytime faith is used to make harm sound simple… or necessary… or unquestionably right… We should pause.
And we should listen again.
The same is true when we hear people describe someone as being guided by an “Old Testament” mindset—as if that somehow explains or excuses behavior. But for those who follow Jesus, we don’t choose between parts of Scripture. Jesus is the clearest picture of who God is. Not instead of Scripture—but as the One who brings Scripture into focus. Which means we don’t use Jesus to justify our way. We follow Jesus—even when it challenges our way. And that brings us back to Martha.
Because her story is not about choosing between work and stillness. It’s about choosing whether we will remain close enough to Jesus to be shaped by Him…or move ahead of Him and ask Him to catch up with us.
Only one thing is needed. And it begins by listening. Instead, too often, we blame Jesus.
If Jesus is right—if only one thing is truly needed—then the invitation before us is not just to believe differently, but to live differently. Because the alternative to confusion is not certainty. The alternative is clarity rooted in presence.
In the story, Mary is not praised for choosing stillness over work. She is praised for choosing “what is better” because she stayed close enough to Jesus to be shaped by Him.
That’s the vision. A life where we remain close enough to Jesus…that His voice becomes more familiar than all the others. A life where urgency does not get the final say. Where outrage does not form our instincts. Where we are not constantly reacting—but intentionally listening.
John Mark Comer, author of our companion book for this series, reminds us that hurry is not just about pace—it’s about formation. We become what we give our attention to. And if our attention is constantly pulled toward noise, conflict, and urgency, we will slowly begin to mirror those same patterns—even in the way we talk about faith.
But if we give our attention to Jesus—consistently, intentionally, relationally—something else begins to take shape.
We become people who are not easily rushed into judgment. People who do not need to grasp for certainty. People who refuse to treat others as problems to solve or obstacles to remove. People who sound like Jesus… because we’ve spent time listening to Him.
And that kind of life doesn’t just change us. It changes the way we move through the world. It creates communities that are slower to speak, quicker to listen, more careful with their words, and more grounded in love.
Communities that don’t need to use Jesus to justify their way—because they are being shaped by His. That is the better part. And Jesus says it will not be taken away.
So what does this look like for us? What might we do differently this week? Not in theory. Not in abstraction. But in the real pace of our lives.
It begins simply. Before we speak in the name of Jesus…we make sure we’ve spent time listening to Him.
That might mean setting aside a few minutes each day—not to analyze, not to debate—but to sit with His words. To notice what He actually says. To let His voice become familiar again. It means paying attention to what is forming us. What voices are we listening to most? What patterns are shaping our reactions? What sources are feeding our sense of urgency, certainty, or fear?
And then, gently but intentionally, we begin to make space for something different. Space to slow down. Space to listen. Space to notice when we are moving ahead of Jesus instead of walking with Him.
It also means holding our convictions with humility. Not abandoning what we believe—but remaining open enough to ask, again and again: Does this sound like Jesus? Does this reflect the way He treats people? Does this align with His call to love—even when it’s difficult?
And when we find ourselves drifting—when we feel the pull of urgency, frustration, or certainty—we return. Not with guilt. Not with shame. But with the simple invitation Jesus offers to Martha: Come back. Sit down. Listen again.
Because in a world full of noise, full of confident voices speaking in His name, our calling is not to keep up. Our calling is to stay close.
Listen to Him. Don’t blame Jesus for the decisions we make that are counter to His teachings.
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Pastor Tommy
Some content comes from John Mark Comer. The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry. Colorado Springs : WaterBrook, 2019. ISBN 9780525653097.