Grieving the Church in the West

I find myself grieving for the Church. Not in anger alone, but in sorrow.

There is a weight that many believers feel but struggle to name. It is the sense that something has shifted. That we have grown comfortable standing near power. That we have become cautious about calling sin what it is when it resides in high places.

This is not written to condemn. It is written out of lament.

Our Attraction to Power

Why does the Church in the West seem so drawn to earthly power?

Why are we hesitant to name evil plainly when it is found among the influential and the celebrated? Scripture tells us to have nothing to do with the deeds of darkness, but rather to expose them. Yet we often grow quiet when the darkness wears a tailored suit, holds public office, funds ministries, or promises us cultural leverage.

There is a pattern that has become difficult to ignore. When wrongdoing is found among the unknown, we speak with clarity. When it is found among the powerful, we speak with caution.

Why are we more afraid of offending the powerful than wounding the powerless through our silence?

The Myth of Strategic Compromise

Some argue that proximity to power allows the Church to accomplish good. That flawed leaders can still advance worthy causes. That access opens doors for influence.

But God is not impressed by access. He is not persuaded by political advantage. He is near to the poor. He defends the widow and the orphan. He hears the cry of the oppressed.

If we claim to follow Christ, we must ask a hard question. Whose side are we practically standing on?

When Jesus was tempted in the wilderness, He was offered the kingdoms of this world. Power. Authority. Influence without the cross. He refused.

Yet how often do we accept what He rejected? We tell ourselves it is strategy. We call it engagement. We frame it as wisdom. At what point does strategy become compromise?

Silence Is Not Neutral

There is a cost to our quietness.

When leaders in positions of authority behave in vile and degrading ways, and the Church responds with hesitation or deflection, something breaks. The watching world sees it. The wounded feel it.

If our silence shields the strong and abandons the weak, it is not neutrality. It is complicity.

We cannot proclaim a crucified King while courting the favor of those who exploit the vulnerable. We cannot preach justice while ignoring injustice because it is politically inconvenient. The credibility of our message is bound to the integrity of our witness.

The Church does not lose her voice when she stands with the vulnerable. She loses it when she bows to power.

Lordship, Not Partisanship

This is not about partisan allegiance. It is about lordship.

Christ is Lord. Not Caesar. Not cultural access. Not a seat at influential tables.

If we bear His name, we must share His posture. He moved toward the sick, the poor, the sinner, and the outcast. He confronted religious hypocrisy. He spoke truth to power. He laid down His life.

The pattern is clear. The question is whether we will follow it.

A Call to Courage and Repentance

The questions before us are simple and uncomfortable.

Whom do we fear?
Whom do we serve?
Whose suffering moves us to act?

Are we protecting our comfort instead of embracing costly obedience? Are we safeguarding our place at the table while others are crushed beneath it?

This is a moment for honest self examination. For repentance where we have compromised. For courage where we have remained silent.

May the Church in the West recover a witness marked not by influence, but by faithfulness. May we step into the light. May we refuse to excuse what God calls sin, no matter how powerful the sinner.

Only then will our grief give way to renewal.