For most of my adult life, I treated my opinions like they were emergency rescue equipment.
I wasn’t sharing an opinion.
I was delivering a sermon.
A public service.
A sacred duty.
Politics? I had a full TED Talk locked and loaded.
Religion? The passion of ten theologians, zero formal training.
Education policy? I typed like a man possessed.
Oat milk? A crime against God and cows.
Honestly, I believed I was helping.
Like maybe — just maybe — my opinion could dismantle corruption, bridge divides, fix polarization, AND teach people the proper way to load a washing machine.
Guess what:
It did not.
I used to walk around with the spiritual posture of a man who believed the world was one argument away from enlightenment. I was an emotional smoke detector — always beeping. Erin could probably hear me ramping up before I opened my mouth.
And then the culture started shifting…
And not gently.
More like a refrigerator crashing down a flight of stairs.
Suddenly our opinions weren’t ideas anymore. They were weapons.
Social media turned into a global bar fight. People were swinging phrases like “educate yourself” and “do your research” with the enthusiasm of drunk uncles at Thanksgiving.
I know, because I used to be in the fight. Elbows deep about what is wrong with our education system. I had all the answers. Typing aggressively. Crafting responses so self-righteous they probably required a permit.
I’d slam my thumb on “POST” and get that tiny dopamine hit that said:
Yes.
Justice has been served.
By ME — a guy in sweatpants.
Until one day I finally admitted the truth: No one has ever changed their mind in a Facebook or X argument. Not once. Not in the entire history of Wi-Fi.
If Moses came down the mountain today with the tablets, someone would reply: “Actually, this has been debunked.” And everyone else would fight about it for nine days.
These days, when I scroll, I see good people cheering — CHEERING —when someone they disagree with loses their job, their dignity, their reputation or even their life.
I think: When did we decide cruelty = conviction?
Who taught us rage = righteousness?
Who convinced us that empathy is weakness?
We didn’t become divided because we disagree. We became divided because we forgot how to disagree without trying to annihilate each other.
Truth: I used to believe that if “they” — the wrong people, the misinformed people, the loud people — disappeared, everything would magically heal.
Even if they all vanished… we would still be here. Still angry. Still empty. Still pointing fingers at whoever’s left. Because outrage doesn’t need a villain. It just needs oxygen.
I imagine Jesus watching all this unfold, arms crossed, mumbling: “Guys… seriously?” Maybe whispering, “Love your enemies… even the ones who use all CAPS.”
Not tolerate. Not agree. Not pretend everything is fine.
Just…remember they’re human. Humans who are wrong sometimes. Humans who are scared sometimes. Humans who are carrying hurts we can’t see.
And that includes me. And you. And the person in your comments right now demanding your stance on something you didn’t even know existed this morning.
So maybe the bravest thing we can do now — in a world auditioning for the Olympics of Outrage — is simply this: Step out of the fight. Lower our voices. Hold our fire. Let the crescendo end with us. Because the gospel — the real one, the human one — was never about winning the argument.
It was about loving people so fiercely that the argument didn’t matter anymore.
History won’t remember who shouted the loudest. Only who loved loud enough to quiet the room.
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