On Faith, Power, and the Stones We Throw

From the Journal of the Phoenix · Joel Mark

Excerpt from the Journal of the Phoenix

On Faith, Power, and the Stones We Throw

As I sit here and write this, I’m tired.

It’s been a long two years, but I’m still fighting, still growing, and still trying to bear the fruit I believe I’m called to produce.

I am not perfect, nor will I ever be.

Paul referred to himself as the chief of sinners, and I understand that sentiment. The only person I believe ever walked this earth in complete perfection was Jesus Christ, and He was sacrificed for people exactly like me — imperfect, stubborn, searching, falling, getting back up, and trying again.

Before anyone reads any further, I also know a lot of people do not hold the same beliefs I do.

I know agnostics, atheists, people who simply do not care, people of different beliefs, and people who practice other faiths.

That is okay.

If this is not your cup of tea, keep scrolling. No offense taken.

Those who know me know I will listen, discuss, ask questions, and disagree without believing disagreement gives me the right to condemn you.

I will never push my faith down someone’s throat.

I would rather hope the fruit of my life shows you what I believe.

As we move toward November’s midterm elections, we are going to hear more and more people aligning themselves with one side or another.

Republican.

Democrat.

Independent.

Left.

Right.

Or whatever else comes after someone’s name.

Candidates and supporters will use Scripture, faith, morality, and religious language to steer votes.

And I do not necessarily think there is anything wrong with allowing faith to inform political beliefs.

But I do think there is a problem when Scripture is twisted into a political weapon, when someone’s interpretation becomes the only acceptable interpretation, or when faith becomes a litmus test for whether someone voted correctly.

I cannot judge someone’s faith.

I am neither judge nor jury, and my own life and actions will one day be judged the same as theirs.

I have political opinions. Plenty of them.

I tend to believe strongly in individual responsibility and limited government. I often ask myself when government has ever done anything perfectly, and I believe both political parties have contributed to many of the problems we face today.

But that is my political philosophy.

It is not the Gospel.

No matter how the votes fall, Christ is still Christ.

God is still God.

And Scripture tells believers to pray for those in authority.

That does not mean every leader is righteous.

It does not mean every decision is correct.

It does not mean every law is perfect.

And it does not mean we should never challenge power.

Those in authority are human too.

They will make mistakes.

They will get things wrong.

They should be questioned, challenged, and held accountable when necessary.

But I also believe we are called to respect the laws and authorities placed over us.

There may be situations where compassion makes me deeply uncomfortable with what happens to someone, but if a law has been broken, I also understand that actions can carry consequences.

Just because I have compassion does not mean I have to understand, excuse, or agree with every decision someone makes.

I can have empathy for someone and still acknowledge that laws and rules exist for a reason.

A functioning society requires some shared order.

Without laws, boundaries, accountability, consequences, and respect for one another, eventually society becomes whatever the loudest or most powerful person decides it should be.

Mercy matters.

Grace matters.

Compassion matters.

But so do accountability, responsibility, and consequences.

Those ideas are not enemies of one another.

Mercy without accountability can become permission.

Accountability without mercy can become cruelty.

Wisdom has to be able to hold both.

And if a law is unjust, ineffective, or producing outcomes we believe are wrong, there are lawful ways to challenge it.

Vote.

Petition.

Advocate.

Speak.

Organize.

Work to change the system.

We can have compassion for the person affected while still respecting the process — and then work to improve the process if it needs changing.

There is an old saying that hard times create strong people, strong people create good times, good times create comfortable people, and comfortable people can eventually create hard times again.

I do not take that as some absolute law of history, but I understand the warning behind it.

Comfort can make us forget why certain structures, laws, boundaries, and responsibilities existed in the first place.

History is filled with times when people became comfortable with what was broken simply because it was familiar.

Then someone came along, took authority, disrupted that comfort, and was immediately viewed as dangerous, wrong, cruel, or reckless.

Sometimes history later showed that the disruption was exactly what was needed.

That is why I try not to judge leadership only by whether it makes me comfortable.

Comfort is not always truth.

Discomfort is not always injustice.

And sometimes the thing that feels harsh in the moment is exposing something that has been broken for a long time.

I am also often more cautious of the smooth tongue than the blunt one.

Smooth words can sound compassionate while hiding manipulation, avoidance, or deceit.

I tend to respect the person who says plainly:

“This is what I believe is broken.”

“This is why I believe it is broken.”

“And this is how I think it needs to be fixed.”

I may still disagree with them.

I may believe their solution is wrong.

I may later learn that I was wrong.

But clarity gives me something honest to evaluate.

I would rather know where someone actually stands than be comforted by beautiful words that conceal something else.

And that is where wisdom and discernment become incredibly important.

I do not want to accept something simply because it came from someone I like.

I do not want to reject something simply because it came from someone I dislike.

I do not want to nod along because agreeing might earn me points as a friend, make me popular with a group, or help someone win my vote.

I want to test what is being said.

Is it true?

Is it consistent?

Does it align with the principles being claimed?

What fruit does it produce?

Who benefits from me believing it?

And am I being persuaded by truth — or simply by a smooth tongue telling me what I already wanted to hear?

That is why discernment matters.

That is why testing the spirit matters.

And that is why examining the fruit matters.

Because regardless of who wins an election, my faith cannot rise and fall every election cycle.

I trust someone far more powerful than an elected official, a political party, a donor, a corporation, a movement, or anyone with money and influence.

And when Christ walked this earth, some of His strongest confrontations were not aimed at Rome.

They were aimed at religious people.

People who knew the law.

People who publicly displayed their righteousness.

People who were absolutely certain they were standing on God’s side while forgetting mercy, humility, justice, and love.

“Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and unto God the things that are God’s.”

That distinction matters to me.

Christ’s commands were given to His followers.

Feed the hungry.

Care for the poor.

Shelter those in need.

Care for children and widows.

Visit the sick.

Love your neighbor.

Welcome the stranger.

Forgive.

Give.

Serve.

Personally, I often wonder whether government ends up stepping into spaces the Church and community should never have abandoned in the first place.

That is my belief.

Others may disagree with where that line belongs.

And that is okay.

Reasonable people can disagree about policy while still agreeing that suffering matters.

So how does all of this connect back to fruit and faith?

Quite a bit.

My path has crossed people who are incredibly forceful about their faith.

So forceful that if you do not align with them politically, socially, morally, or personally, they will publicly attack you, privately condemn you, question your character, or question whether your faith is genuine.

That is their choice.

But it has taught me to stop and ask for wisdom, knowledge, understanding, and discernment.

To test the spirit.

To examine the fruit.

Because a Christian banner does not automatically make every action beneath it Christian.

History gives us more than enough examples of awful things done under that banner.

And I am reminded of Christ standing before a crowd ready to condemn a woman and saying:

Let the one without sin cast the first stone.

That does not mean Christians are never supposed to correct one another.

Scripture actually gives believers a process for accountability, correction, restoration, and discipline.

But correction and condemnation are not the same thing.

Accountability and humiliation are not the same thing.

Conviction and control are not the same thing.

And faith and political allegiance are not the same thing.

One thing I have learned is that when someone leads with, “You’re a Christian, so you need to…”

I usually stop before engaging.

Sometimes I simply ask:

How’s your heart?

Not sarcastically.

Not as a weapon.

As a reminder — to them and to myself — that before we use faith to police someone else’s choices, we should examine our own motives, our own fruit, and our own walk.

And sometimes I do not respond at all.

I walk away.

Not every theological challenge deserves a debate.

Not every accusation deserves a defense.

And not everyone who invokes Christ is actually inviting a Christ-centered conversation.

I am tired of hearing some version of:

“If you voted for ______, your faith is not grounded.”

“If you really believed, you would want the government to do ______.”

“A real Christian could never support ______.”

No.

You may disagree with my reasoning.

You may challenge my conclusions.

You may even show me something I have misunderstood.

And I should remain humble enough to listen.

But ultimately, I will answer for my life.

And you will answer for yours.

Yes, I want mercy.

I want grace.

I want justice.

I want people fed, sheltered, protected, loved, and treated with dignity.

We may disagree about whether government, churches, charities, communities, individuals, families, markets, or some combination of them is the best way to accomplish those things.

That disagreement does not automatically make one of us righteous and the other immoral.

We all have to walk humbly.

We all have to acknowledge that we may be wrong.

We are all capable of being completely convinced we are right while producing terrible fruit.

That includes me.

I have to ask the same questions of myself.

If I claim Christ and then use my words to destroy someone, what am I producing?

If I manipulate someone into taking my side, what am I producing?

If I humiliate someone because they disagree with me, what am I producing?

If I demand loyalty instead of allowing someone the freedom to think for themselves, what am I producing?

If I proclaim peace but leave chaos everywhere I go, what am I producing?

If I talk endlessly about love but only extend it to people who agree with me, what am I producing?

The label is not the fruit.

The volume is not the fruit.

The Bible verse in the bio is not the fruit.

The behavior is the fruit.

I do not have all the answers.

I do not have some special wand that tells me exactly how everything should work.

Sometimes I wish I did.

What I have is faith.

Faith that God’s plan is greater than mine.

Faith that He can guide me if I remain willing to listen.

Faith that free will means I still have choices to make and consequences to own.

Faith that I should continually examine what those choices are producing in me.

Because faith produces fruit.

And if my faith is real, eventually it should become visible.

In how I love.

In how I disagree.

In how I vote.

In how I treat someone who votes differently.

In how I use whatever influence I have.

In how I speak when I have the ability to wound.

In how I respond when someone rejects what I believe.

And sometimes, yes, in knowing when words are necessary.

But hopefully, most of the time, the fruit speaks first.

I do not need to scream that I follow Christ.

I want to live in such a way that people can see what I am trying to follow.

Not perfectly.

Never perfectly.

But authentically.

Faith should not become the stone we throw.

It should be part of what teaches us when to put the stone down.

And perhaps before asking whether someone else’s politics prove their faith, we should ask the same question I asked myself at the beginning of this series:

What am I producing?

— Journal Entry from the Phoenix

Originally published on Facebook, August 30, 2026. View the original post.