The Contestant
I grew up in church.
Every Sunday meant a pew.
Sunday night too.
Most Wednesdays.
And I learned something early.
Churches compete.
No one says it out loud.
But you can feel it.
When a new congregation starts growing, people migrate.
When a preacher catches fire, seats shift.
When the music feels fresher, attendance follows.
We called it revival.
Sometimes it was.
Sometimes it was just a better show.
That sentence still sits with me.
Because revival costs something.
Repentance.
Humility.
Change.
A show costs lighting and timing.
Momentum can look like blessing.
Crowds can feel like confirmation.
But numbers have never been proof of depth.
I watched believers move like consumers.
Sampling.
Comparing.
Upgrading.
As if the kingdom were a marketplace.
Here is the line I cannot shake:
When church becomes a contest, we start cheering for growth more than holiness.
That realization humbles me.
Because it is easy to critique it.
Harder to admit how often I have been drawn to what is impressive.
I do not want to measure faith by movement.
I do not want to confuse excitement with surrender.
I want the kind of revival that changes me, not just the room.
Even if it never trends.
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