Over the years in ministry, through seasons of change and decades of serving in the calling, I’ve watched the landscape of the Church shift—again and again. New strategies rise, new expressions emerge, and cultural waves crash at the gates of the Body of Christ. There is always this desire to be “relevant,” to meet the world where it is. And yet, deep within the soul of the Church is a cry to recover the DNA of the early apostolic company. What we have is not just a tension—it’s a tug-of-war.

Relevance has become a buzzword. But relevance, when not anchored in truth, requires compromise. And compromise—though subtle—is deadly. To be relevant to culture often means we must absorb part of it. To speak to modern issues, we immerse ourselves in them. To communicate faith on the level of the hearer, we water it down. I’ve watched it happen slowly, incrementally. But over time, relevance begins to redefine our values.

But here’s the truth: the Church was never called to mirror culture. It was called to confront it. The early Church did not try to “relate” to Roman rule, or blend with religious traditions, cultic practices, or distorted values of life. They were unapologetically counter-cultural. They understood the call to be in the world, but not of it—and they lived it.

What’s disturbing is how far we’ve drifted. We’ve tried to attract the world by looking like it, thinking we can rescue people from worldliness while using worldly methods. We justify our compromises as “relatable.” Social drinking, carnal environments, and a diluted holiness have all found their way into our sanctuaries. But relevance without holiness produces confusion. We’ve normalized immaturity and called it maturity because someone knows both sides. Yet many of these are still babes—stuck at salvation, never maturing into discipleship, let alone Christ-likeness.

Who let these false ideas in?

Even well-intentioned efforts, if not grounded in truth, open the door to private interpretation. Jesus never spoke in vague language. He confronted error, exposed darkness, and raised a standard that was not only high but clearly understood. His invitation wasn’t to blend in—it was to follow Him. That meant dying to self, abandoning personal wisdom, living by faith, and ministering to souls, while not making friends with the world.

Today, everything is labeled “Christian” or “church,” even when the foundational truths are absent. Maybe the issue isn’t culture invading the church—but the Church lowering her standards.

I recently found myself reflecting on the early Church’s demands: the qualifications for elders, the weight of fivefold ministry, and the expectation that saints would do the work of ministry. There was an assumption that the life of Christ within the people would be so vibrant, it would require spiritual oversight by mature elders—those who carried God’s heart.

And they weren’t living in a vacuum. Their world was far more corrupt than ours: idols at every turn, public temples to demons, open witchcraft, Baal worship, the cruelty of Rome, the celebration of depravity. And yet in the midst of it all—they stood. Separated for the work. The Church didn’t just survive—it multiplied.

They had a clear vision: manifest the Kingdom of God.
They had a clear mission: preach the gospel of the Kingdom to the ends of the earth.
They had apostolic oversight: men who set doctrine and brought what was lacking into fullness.
They had eldership in cities who preserved what the apostles had established.

And still, through every age, with all the cultural pressures, false teachings, ego-driven ministries, and shifting models—the Church, the ekklesia, stands. Bruised, stretched, and reshaped at times—but never destroyed. She is still being refined. And yes, she will become the glorious Bride. She will be the one who delivers the Kingdom to the Father. She will rise in apostolic and prophetic order. She will become the ruling, reigning ones.

This is my hope.
This is my assignment.
This is my call.

To reveal the King and His Kingdom. To unveil the mystery: Christ in you, the hope of glory.