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Family, let me ask you a hard question today: When did average become acceptable? When did just enough become good enough? When did we start calling bare minimum holy just because we're tired, traumatized, or comfortable?
One of the greatest enemies to purpose is not failure—it's settling. Not because you don't have the gift or don't know the call, but because you've made a decision to stay safe instead of being stretched.
Mediacrity is not a condition. It's a choice. And when you deliberately choose not to maximize what God gave you, that's not humility. That's not wisdom. That's called disobedience.
God doesn't call us to be comfortable. He calls us to be consecrated—to be pulled out and set apart for his specific use. Whenever God sees someone using you for anything other than what he called you to be, God intervenes.
Your relationship didn't fail because of you or them. It failed because God knew being with them would cause you to settle for less than what he called you to be.
I am allergic to average. I am allergic to mediocrity. You don't have to have much to be around me, but you at least have to want something. I came to preach to people who can declare all week: something my spirit has been telling me says there's so much more in store for me. That's why my job is irritating me. That's why my house is starting to feel small. That's why my taste is exceeding my bank account. Because something in me is saying there has to be more.
God does not expect perfection, but he does expect progress.
There is no neutrality in Christianity. Think about getting in your car: you put on your seatbelt, put your key in the ignition. Now, what's the use of neutral? Neutral won't make you go forward or backward—it depends on the surface you're on.
If your circle and your environment are moving backward, and you're in neutral, you're going to go backward with them. If you're hanging with people moving forward and you're in neutral, you're still not advancing. The spirit of neutrality prioritizes comfort over calling.
Too many people who call themselves Christian are in neutral. God is saying, "I do not need perfection, but I do desire progress."
When you know better and you choose to stay small, that is not just a missed opportunity. It's called sin. If I'm in McDonald's drive-thru and the Holy Spirit convicts me to pray with the lady in the window and I say, "I don't know this lady, I'm not going to do that"—I wasn't disobedient to just the moment. I was disobedient to the Spirit by default.
This past week at Bible study, we encountered something called the spirit of anticipation—a faith posture where you're not just believing God will do it. You're behaving like he already has.
When we look at Revelation 3:15-16, Jesus speaks to the church at Laodicea:
"I know your deeds. They are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other. So because you are lukewarm, neither hot nor cold, I am about to spit you out."
The Laodiceans were a wealthy, self-sufficient city. They had money, status, and resources. They drove nice, ate nice, lived nice. But they didn't have spiritual fire.
What's going to ruin many of our lives is cosmetic Christianity—the idea that you can be ordinary on the inside, but when you step outside the house, you put your faith on. Money, status, resources, and influence are not the barometer for your faith. Spiritual fire is the evidence of a divine encounter.
In scripture, fire is often a symbol of God's presence:
When God appeared in the burning bush, the fire was inside the bush, but the bush was not consumed. The bush knew: as long as I'm being a bush and let God do what he's doing, I'm going to be okay. Whatever fire touches it consumes, but the bush wasn't trying to be anything other than a bush.
You have to stop being jealous of what you see others carrying. What they carry could possibly consume you. Don't covet what I'm carrying—my oil may be too heavy for you. My favor may be too draining. My anointing may have you depressed because I was called to carry it.
Spiritual fire is the internal ignition of divine purpose fueled by intimacy with God. Fire represents passion that produces movement. It burns. It moves stuff. It transforms what it touches.
When you've got spiritual fire, you don't just talk about God. You start to look like God. Love like God. Live like God.
Excitement and passion look alike, but they are not the same. Excitement needs something to happen. I get excited when I see my food coming out at a restaurant. I get excited when I finally get a new car and see it pulled around with that new car smell. I get excited when my check drops—until the bills come out.
But passion is fueled by an internal combustion that produces external obedience. Excitement is built from what happens on the outside. Passion is stirred from what's happening on the inside. You can chase something you're passionate about even when it isn't producing anything you can touch. You can be passionate about your business, your future, your purpose, even when it isn't producing money yet. When you're passionate, if you win, you're on fire. But even if you lose, you're still on fire.
Because when people look at it and it isn't giving you anything, they can't figure out why you're so passionate about it. I'm not excited about it—I'm passionate about it.
What does spiritual fire look like in the life of a believer today? First: consistent prayer—not just prayer in a crisis.
Some of us are only crisis prayer warriors. You only pray when something is wrong. If you haven't really prayed since your last problem, maybe that's why God just sent you another problem. God says, "If you won't come to me, I'll make you run to me."
Second: conviction, not convenience. Conviction is proof that the Holy Spirit is still at work in your life. When you slip up and cuss and the Holy Spirit convicts you—oh God, forgive me—that's conviction. When you do wrong and something hits your spirit, that's conviction. Thank God for that conviction.
Third: obedience, not just opinion.
Fourth: hunger for God's word—not just Sunday sermons. I talk and teach about God, but I am not God.
Please stop coming to my church if you are more excited to hear from me than to hear from him. Don't do that to me. If you are running to me more than you run to God, that makes me God's opposition. God will shut me down so he can be back in the place he needs to be in your life.
I can be your preacher. I can be your pastor. I can be your shepherd. I can be your teacher. But I can't be your God. That's why my name isn't on the building. This is his church.
In this 21st century Christianity, we've stopped becoming preachers and started becoming famous artists. We're becoming public figures, worried about what our followers look like, what our views look like, what our members look like, what our money looks like. But God is not looking for who can say it better. He's looking for somebody who can be a lifter. The word says, "If I be lifted up, people will come." People don't come to this church because I preach that good. They come because it's a room full of people who are lifting Jesus up.
Lastly, if I'm hungry for God's word, I need discernment. If I'm hungry, I need discernment to know what's healthy and what's junk.
You can't eat at everybody's table. This lesson, taught when I was eleven years old, has profound spiritual application. You can't be watching twenty-five different YouTube sermons and thinking you're going to be healthy. You don't know if that's fullness or junk. Find you a teacher. Find you a rabbi. Find you a prophet who speaks to your life.
If you have spiritual fire, you should be inviting people. You shouldn't be coming to church alone. When I see young brothers posting about the word online, sharing what God is doing in their lives, carrying the message to their peers—that's fire. That's what it looks like when the word isn't just consumed but carried.
Consume the word means I listen to messages. Carry the word means am I sharing the word?
There's a difference between consuming the word and carrying it. When your children are debating scripture with passion, when you're inviting others to experience what God is doing—that's urgency and purpose at work.
Compromise causes slow leaks of holiness. It starts with something simple and grows into something drastic. Compromise will start with a smile and end with an affair. It will start with "I'll just watch online this week" and end with "I haven't been there in six months."
The danger of compromise is that you don't realize you've done it until you feel it. I can remember the exact moment I compromised. After finishing the Atlanta show on tour, exhausted, I went to Wendy's. The next day we went to Universal Studios and I was eating. Then came the second tour and the shirt was a little tight. I didn't recognize the compromise until two weeks ago when I couldn't button my shirt.
The devil makes compromise feel so good.
Being too full of yourself leaves no room for God to feed you. When you're full of pride, full of arrogance, full of yourself—the devil doesn't even have to attack you. You're attacking yourself.
Measuring your fire by someone else's is a trap. You woke up excited to come to church and the spirit was moving. You were praising God. But then the person next to you is doing something more expressive, and suddenly you're comparing instead of connecting.
Loud doesn't mean power. Some of you need to mute certain people on social media. They're putting your fire out. You're so busy looking at what other people have that you can't enjoy what you've got. And you don't even realize—what they have, they paid for.
I'm locked in on my assignment. Five o'clock I'm up. By 5:30 I'm praying. By 6:00 I'm trying to get out the door. I'm walking through to make sure everything is right. I'm checking my word, talking it over with the team, making sure I have no biblical errors, that my opinion isn't trumping what the word actually says. I watch my pastor's service because I'm not just over people—I'm under somebody. Even in my office, if my pastor is on the screen preaching, I press pause.
Complacency is believing this is good enough. I have compromised. I have been guilty of comfort. We got this building and I slipped. I looked up and thought, "We done made it." That's when I pulled the emergency brake, not the regular brake.
I turned down a 2025 tour. Why? Because I start slipping. Compromise isn't always about doing something wrong—sometimes I compromise because I'm not doing enough. Last year, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen thousand people joined the church. I can't honestly say I know where they're at.
When the fire goes out, mediocrity moves in—not because you're empty, but because you stopped expecting to be full.
The enemy doesn't have to kill your purpose. He just has to convince you to live beneath it. He just has to make you believe that coming to church is enough. But sitting in church for ninety minutes doesn't make you a Christian any more than standing in your garage makes you a car, standing in your kitchen makes you a chef, or having curlers makes you a stylist.
It's not just coming to church. It's surrendering to a process that makes you transformed.
What does spiritual fire actually look like?
Eton True Blood said, "Deliberate mediocrity is a sin." Mediocrity means choosing the middle when you've been graced for greatness. It's settling for safe, comfortable, or easy instead of excellent, faithful, and fruitful.
Deliberate mediocrity means you know you could do more, but you won't—not because you can't, but because fear, laziness, people-pleasing, and apathy have become your ceiling. The greatest version of yourself will not be a lazy one. The greatest version of yourself will not be someone who compromises to please people.
Why is this a sin? Because of James 4:17:
Whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is a sin.
The worst thing some of you could have done was come to church. Had you never come to church, you would have been fine in certain things. Once you come into the light of it, it is now a sin. When we intentionally underperform, hide our gifts, or ignore the Spirit's leading, we rob God of His glory.
The lie of low expectations is one of the most dangerous deceptions in the kingdom of God. It's the subtle belief that God is okay with just enough—that as long as you don't mess up too bad, stay quiet, and play it safe, God will be pleased.
But low expectations aren't humility. They're fear in disguise. Low expectations don't keep you humble. They keep you hidden. God said, "I did not call you to blend in." Too many of you are suffering from anesthetizing conformity. It puts you to sleep. You're so busy blending in that you've forgotten God called you to break out.
According to Luke 12:48, "To whom much is given, much is required." Jesus teaches this in the parable of the talents. The servant who buried his talents wasn't just cautious—he was rebuked and called wicked. Not because he failed, but because he did nothing.
God doesn't condemn failure. He confronts stagnation.
The servant wasn't punished for losing money. He was punished for refusing to use it. Some of you are catching hell because you won't use what He gave you.
How many times do your kids have to catch hell before you become an intercessor? How many times does the devil have to run crazy in your life before you stand up in your house and say, "Right now, in the name of Jesus, I come against every generational curse in my house"?
God is saying, "Why keep getting hit if you've got a gift?" Some of you keep catching hell and losing to the same problem year after year. The same person with a different name. The same relationship in a different season. The same mistake in another year. And God is saying, "At least this year, make the devil get creative."
In the kingdom of God, inactivity is not innocence—it's an insult. It's an insult that you can take notes so well but haven't started a note-taking ministry. It's an insult that the world paid you all that money to fix their stuff and you haven't walked down that aisle yet and said, "Hey pastor, let me do this for y'all." It's an insult that you can be in a group thread watching your family be crazy and not step up and try to fix it.
Jesus called the servant who buried his talents wicked, lazy, and worthless. These aren't just casual descriptions—they reveal character flaws, work ethic issues, and a lack of contribution. The question becomes personal: what will you be?
Passivity and purpose is rebellion in disguise. You might have a season where you're wicked—where you have character issues—but that's not the same as being lazy or worthless. The real problem is not being what God called you to be and thinking you're "just not ready yet."
Here's the truth: you're not going to be ready. Readiness is a trap that keeps you paralyzed. It's not about having everything figured out first. It's about stepping into what God has already called you to do, even imperfectly.
God can bless a failure. He can't bless a faker. God redeems a mistake, but He will confront a mismoment. Too many of us have fallen victim to deliberate mediocrity—we plan it so safe, unwilling to ruffle any feathers.
But look at what God calls us: light, salt, peculiar. Think about it. God said, "You're royal, but you're acting average." You're peculiar, and now you're crying because people think you're different. You're light, now they don't invite you to dark places. You're salt, now people got hater in their system.
I'm looking at you today saying, "This is the season where I need you to level up." I do not want the best part of this church to be a message. Here's what I want people to say: "It's just some good people over there." That's the mission.
When coaches call me about the young men from our church, they say, "Man, that's a good man. All them boys that come from y'all church, them some good men." That's the testimony I want. When I see a hundred teenagers every Wednesday downstairs in small groups, praying and talking to God, worshiping, and praying for each other—that's what I want.
Father, in Jesus' name, I call us out of deliberate mediocrity. I pray right now that we understand it's not about perfection—it's about pursuit. God, You've called us for such a time as this.
From the pulpit to the last pew, to the last viewer, to the last seat in overflow, God, we repent. There were times You called us to pray and we didn't pray. Times You called us to give and we didn't give. Times You called us to move and we stood still. Times when we stood still when You told us to stand still and we moved.
Somebody's heart was stirred today because in the depths of their soul, God is calling them to more. Not more money, more exposure, more followers. No, that's small. God is calling us to more prayer, more Word, more obedience. And for that, God, our answer will forever be yes to Your will, Your Word, and Your way. It's in the mighty name of Jesus we pray.
Family, let me ask you a hard question today: When did average become acceptable? When did just enough become good enough? When did we start calling bare minimum holy just because we're tired, traumatized, or comfortable?
One of the greatest enemies to purpose is not failure—it's settling. Not because you don't have the gift or don't know the call, but because you've made a decision to stay safe instead of being stretched.
Mediacrity is not a condition. It's a choice. And when you deliberately choose not to maximize what God gave you, that's not humility. That's not wisdom. That's called disobedience.
God doesn't call us to be comfortable. He calls us to be consecrated—to be pulled out and set apart for his specific use. Whenever God sees someone using you for anything other than what he called you to be, God intervenes.
Your relationship didn't fail because of you or them. It failed because God knew being with them would cause you to settle for less than what he called you to be.
I am allergic to average. I am allergic to mediocrity. You don't have to have much to be around me, but you at least have to want something. I came to preach to people who can declare all week: something my spirit has been telling me says there's so much more in store for me. That's why my job is irritating me. That's why my house is starting to feel small. That's why my taste is exceeding my bank account. Because something in me is saying there has to be more.
God does not expect perfection, but he does expect progress.
There is no neutrality in Christianity. Think about getting in your car: you put on your seatbelt, put your key in the ignition. Now, what's the use of neutral? Neutral won't make you go forward or backward—it depends on the surface you're on.
If your circle and your environment are moving backward, and you're in neutral, you're going to go backward with them. If you're hanging with people moving forward and you're in neutral, you're still not advancing. The spirit of neutrality prioritizes comfort over calling.
Too many people who call themselves Christian are in neutral. God is saying, "I do not need perfection, but I do desire progress."
When you know better and you choose to stay small, that is not just a missed opportunity. It's called sin. If I'm in McDonald's drive-thru and the Holy Spirit convicts me to pray with the lady in the window and I say, "I don't know this lady, I'm not going to do that"—I wasn't disobedient to just the moment. I was disobedient to the Spirit by default.
This past week at Bible study, we encountered something called the spirit of anticipation—a faith posture where you're not just believing God will do it. You're behaving like he already has.
When we look at Revelation 3:15-16, Jesus speaks to the church at Laodicea:
"I know your deeds. They are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other. So because you are lukewarm, neither hot nor cold, I am about to spit you out."
The Laodiceans were a wealthy, self-sufficient city. They had money, status, and resources. They drove nice, ate nice, lived nice. But they didn't have spiritual fire.
What's going to ruin many of our lives is cosmetic Christianity—the idea that you can be ordinary on the inside, but when you step outside the house, you put your faith on. Money, status, resources, and influence are not the barometer for your faith. Spiritual fire is the evidence of a divine encounter.
In scripture, fire is often a symbol of God's presence:
When God appeared in the burning bush, the fire was inside the bush, but the bush was not consumed. The bush knew: as long as I'm being a bush and let God do what he's doing, I'm going to be okay. Whatever fire touches it consumes, but the bush wasn't trying to be anything other than a bush.
You have to stop being jealous of what you see others carrying. What they carry could possibly consume you. Don't covet what I'm carrying—my oil may be too heavy for you. My favor may be too draining. My anointing may have you depressed because I was called to carry it.
Spiritual fire is the internal ignition of divine purpose fueled by intimacy with God. Fire represents passion that produces movement. It burns. It moves stuff. It transforms what it touches.
When you've got spiritual fire, you don't just talk about God. You start to look like God. Love like God. Live like God.
Excitement and passion look alike, but they are not the same. Excitement needs something to happen. I get excited when I see my food coming out at a restaurant. I get excited when I finally get a new car and see it pulled around with that new car smell. I get excited when my check drops—until the bills come out.
But passion is fueled by an internal combustion that produces external obedience. Excitement is built from what happens on the outside. Passion is stirred from what's happening on the inside. You can chase something you're passionate about even when it isn't producing anything you can touch. You can be passionate about your business, your future, your purpose, even when it isn't producing money yet. When you're passionate, if you win, you're on fire. But even if you lose, you're still on fire.
Because when people look at it and it isn't giving you anything, they can't figure out why you're so passionate about it. I'm not excited about it—I'm passionate about it.
What does spiritual fire look like in the life of a believer today? First: consistent prayer—not just prayer in a crisis.
Some of us are only crisis prayer warriors. You only pray when something is wrong. If you haven't really prayed since your last problem, maybe that's why God just sent you another problem. God says, "If you won't come to me, I'll make you run to me."
Second: conviction, not convenience. Conviction is proof that the Holy Spirit is still at work in your life. When you slip up and cuss and the Holy Spirit convicts you—oh God, forgive me—that's conviction. When you do wrong and something hits your spirit, that's conviction. Thank God for that conviction.
Third: obedience, not just opinion.
Fourth: hunger for God's word—not just Sunday sermons. I talk and teach about God, but I am not God.
Please stop coming to my church if you are more excited to hear from me than to hear from him. Don't do that to me. If you are running to me more than you run to God, that makes me God's opposition. God will shut me down so he can be back in the place he needs to be in your life.
I can be your preacher. I can be your pastor. I can be your shepherd. I can be your teacher. But I can't be your God. That's why my name isn't on the building. This is his church.
In this 21st century Christianity, we've stopped becoming preachers and started becoming famous artists. We're becoming public figures, worried about what our followers look like, what our views look like, what our members look like, what our money looks like. But God is not looking for who can say it better. He's looking for somebody who can be a lifter. The word says, "If I be lifted up, people will come." People don't come to this church because I preach that good. They come because it's a room full of people who are lifting Jesus up.
Lastly, if I'm hungry for God's word, I need discernment. If I'm hungry, I need discernment to know what's healthy and what's junk.
You can't eat at everybody's table. This lesson, taught when I was eleven years old, has profound spiritual application. You can't be watching twenty-five different YouTube sermons and thinking you're going to be healthy. You don't know if that's fullness or junk. Find you a teacher. Find you a rabbi. Find you a prophet who speaks to your life.
If you have spiritual fire, you should be inviting people. You shouldn't be coming to church alone. When I see young brothers posting about the word online, sharing what God is doing in their lives, carrying the message to their peers—that's fire. That's what it looks like when the word isn't just consumed but carried.
Consume the word means I listen to messages. Carry the word means am I sharing the word?
There's a difference between consuming the word and carrying it. When your children are debating scripture with passion, when you're inviting others to experience what God is doing—that's urgency and purpose at work.
Compromise causes slow leaks of holiness. It starts with something simple and grows into something drastic. Compromise will start with a smile and end with an affair. It will start with "I'll just watch online this week" and end with "I haven't been there in six months."
The danger of compromise is that you don't realize you've done it until you feel it. I can remember the exact moment I compromised. After finishing the Atlanta show on tour, exhausted, I went to Wendy's. The next day we went to Universal Studios and I was eating. Then came the second tour and the shirt was a little tight. I didn't recognize the compromise until two weeks ago when I couldn't button my shirt.
The devil makes compromise feel so good.
Being too full of yourself leaves no room for God to feed you. When you're full of pride, full of arrogance, full of yourself—the devil doesn't even have to attack you. You're attacking yourself.
Measuring your fire by someone else's is a trap. You woke up excited to come to church and the spirit was moving. You were praising God. But then the person next to you is doing something more expressive, and suddenly you're comparing instead of connecting.
Loud doesn't mean power. Some of you need to mute certain people on social media. They're putting your fire out. You're so busy looking at what other people have that you can't enjoy what you've got. And you don't even realize—what they have, they paid for.
I'm locked in on my assignment. Five o'clock I'm up. By 5:30 I'm praying. By 6:00 I'm trying to get out the door. I'm walking through to make sure everything is right. I'm checking my word, talking it over with the team, making sure I have no biblical errors, that my opinion isn't trumping what the word actually says. I watch my pastor's service because I'm not just over people—I'm under somebody. Even in my office, if my pastor is on the screen preaching, I press pause.
Complacency is believing this is good enough. I have compromised. I have been guilty of comfort. We got this building and I slipped. I looked up and thought, "We done made it." That's when I pulled the emergency brake, not the regular brake.
I turned down a 2025 tour. Why? Because I start slipping. Compromise isn't always about doing something wrong—sometimes I compromise because I'm not doing enough. Last year, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen thousand people joined the church. I can't honestly say I know where they're at.
When the fire goes out, mediocrity moves in—not because you're empty, but because you stopped expecting to be full.
The enemy doesn't have to kill your purpose. He just has to convince you to live beneath it. He just has to make you believe that coming to church is enough. But sitting in church for ninety minutes doesn't make you a Christian any more than standing in your garage makes you a car, standing in your kitchen makes you a chef, or having curlers makes you a stylist.
It's not just coming to church. It's surrendering to a process that makes you transformed.
What does spiritual fire actually look like?
Eton True Blood said, "Deliberate mediocrity is a sin." Mediocrity means choosing the middle when you've been graced for greatness. It's settling for safe, comfortable, or easy instead of excellent, faithful, and fruitful.
Deliberate mediocrity means you know you could do more, but you won't—not because you can't, but because fear, laziness, people-pleasing, and apathy have become your ceiling. The greatest version of yourself will not be a lazy one. The greatest version of yourself will not be someone who compromises to please people.
Why is this a sin? Because of James 4:17:
Whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is a sin.
The worst thing some of you could have done was come to church. Had you never come to church, you would have been fine in certain things. Once you come into the light of it, it is now a sin. When we intentionally underperform, hide our gifts, or ignore the Spirit's leading, we rob God of His glory.
The lie of low expectations is one of the most dangerous deceptions in the kingdom of God. It's the subtle belief that God is okay with just enough—that as long as you don't mess up too bad, stay quiet, and play it safe, God will be pleased.
But low expectations aren't humility. They're fear in disguise. Low expectations don't keep you humble. They keep you hidden. God said, "I did not call you to blend in." Too many of you are suffering from anesthetizing conformity. It puts you to sleep. You're so busy blending in that you've forgotten God called you to break out.
According to Luke 12:48, "To whom much is given, much is required." Jesus teaches this in the parable of the talents. The servant who buried his talents wasn't just cautious—he was rebuked and called wicked. Not because he failed, but because he did nothing.
God doesn't condemn failure. He confronts stagnation.
The servant wasn't punished for losing money. He was punished for refusing to use it. Some of you are catching hell because you won't use what He gave you.
How many times do your kids have to catch hell before you become an intercessor? How many times does the devil have to run crazy in your life before you stand up in your house and say, "Right now, in the name of Jesus, I come against every generational curse in my house"?
God is saying, "Why keep getting hit if you've got a gift?" Some of you keep catching hell and losing to the same problem year after year. The same person with a different name. The same relationship in a different season. The same mistake in another year. And God is saying, "At least this year, make the devil get creative."
In the kingdom of God, inactivity is not innocence—it's an insult. It's an insult that you can take notes so well but haven't started a note-taking ministry. It's an insult that the world paid you all that money to fix their stuff and you haven't walked down that aisle yet and said, "Hey pastor, let me do this for y'all." It's an insult that you can be in a group thread watching your family be crazy and not step up and try to fix it.
Jesus called the servant who buried his talents wicked, lazy, and worthless. These aren't just casual descriptions—they reveal character flaws, work ethic issues, and a lack of contribution. The question becomes personal: what will you be?
Passivity and purpose is rebellion in disguise. You might have a season where you're wicked—where you have character issues—but that's not the same as being lazy or worthless. The real problem is not being what God called you to be and thinking you're "just not ready yet."
Here's the truth: you're not going to be ready. Readiness is a trap that keeps you paralyzed. It's not about having everything figured out first. It's about stepping into what God has already called you to do, even imperfectly.
God can bless a failure. He can't bless a faker. God redeems a mistake, but He will confront a mismoment. Too many of us have fallen victim to deliberate mediocrity—we plan it so safe, unwilling to ruffle any feathers.
But look at what God calls us: light, salt, peculiar. Think about it. God said, "You're royal, but you're acting average." You're peculiar, and now you're crying because people think you're different. You're light, now they don't invite you to dark places. You're salt, now people got hater in their system.
I'm looking at you today saying, "This is the season where I need you to level up." I do not want the best part of this church to be a message. Here's what I want people to say: "It's just some good people over there." That's the mission.
When coaches call me about the young men from our church, they say, "Man, that's a good man. All them boys that come from y'all church, them some good men." That's the testimony I want. When I see a hundred teenagers every Wednesday downstairs in small groups, praying and talking to God, worshiping, and praying for each other—that's what I want.
Father, in Jesus' name, I call us out of deliberate mediocrity. I pray right now that we understand it's not about perfection—it's about pursuit. God, You've called us for such a time as this.
From the pulpit to the last pew, to the last viewer, to the last seat in overflow, God, we repent. There were times You called us to pray and we didn't pray. Times You called us to give and we didn't give. Times You called us to move and we stood still. Times when we stood still when You told us to stand still and we moved.
Somebody's heart was stirred today because in the depths of their soul, God is calling them to more. Not more money, more exposure, more followers. No, that's small. God is calling us to more prayer, more Word, more obedience. And for that, God, our answer will forever be yes to Your will, Your Word, and Your way. It's in the mighty name of Jesus we pray.
