Christian Almanac: Where Faith Meets Real Life
Episode 7 Transcript
When Christians Act Un-Christian — and Why Faith Still Matters
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Christians have been doing unchristian things since Jesus’s ministry began more than two thousand years ago.
Even the original twelve disciples,
those specially chosen Christ-followers,
weren’t immune from being humans with human failings.
Peter denied Jesus three times on the night of his arrest, even after boldly insisting he would never do such a thing (Matthew 26:69–75, NLT).
Judas Iscariot’s name has become synonymous with betrayal because he agreed to hand Jesus over to the authorities for thirty pieces of silver (Matthew 26:14–16, NLT).
James and John jockeyed for positions of honor in Jesus’s kingdom (Mark 10:35–37, NLT).
Thomas doubted the resurrection until he saw Jesus with his own eyes (John 20:24–29, NLT).
And at the crucifixion, most of the disciples fled in fear (Mark 14:50, NLT).
From the very beginning, the church has been made up of imperfect people who are still learning, growing, and being transformed by God’s grace, day by day.
But some people seem to think that becoming a Christian suddenly makes us perfect. It doesn’t. Salvation isn’t a personality upgrade, and it isn’t an instant maturity switch.
Following Jesus is a lifelong process of surrender, renewal, and growth—one decision, one correction, and a whole lot of grace at a time.
I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard people reject organized religion because they’ve seen church members—individually and collectively—do cruel, judgmental, even hateful things.
They point at a flawed human being and say, “If that’s what it means to be a Christian, I don’t want any part of Christianity.”
But here’s a hard truth: If you refuse to be part of any community because the people aren’t perfect, you’re in for a lonely life.
In my opinion, there is no better community to be a part of than the one that Christ Jesus established more than two thousand years ago. That community is still going strong today and it welcomes everyone.
But if you want to know what it means to be a Christian, don’t study other Christians, study what Jesus taught.
If you want to know what Christians are supposed to believe, how they’re supposed to think and act, study what Jesus did and taught.
In other words, follow Christ, not people.
I’ve written and spoken a lot about marketplace ministry.
As church attendance declines, the biggest mission field we have is the marketplace.
We might not all be part of a faith community, but we are all part of the marketplace—there’s no way to avoid participating in commerce.
That means your daily work life—how you speak, how you lead, how you treat people, and how you handle pressure—often becomes your loudest testimony.
If you’re a Christian in the marketplace, you could be the only example of our faith that many people see.
That’s a huge responsibility. You might even consider it a burden.
And when the weight of representing Christ in everyday life feels heavy, there’s a subtle temptation to shift that weight onto someone else—to lean too heavily on a pastor, a teacher, or a well-known Christian voice
and assume they’ll carry the standard for us.
It can feel easier to point to a visible leader and say, “That’s what Christianity looks like,” than to consistently live it out ourselves. But no human leader was ever meant to hold our faith together.
I don’t think anything hurts our cause more than when Christian leaders fall from grace. Sadly, we don’t seem to be able to go very many news cycles without hearing of a leader who has been accused of or admitted to sinful conduct. I’m not talking about just ordained pastors, I’m talking about ministry lay leaders, teachers, and even businesspeople.
When leaders who publicly identify as Christians are involved in financial misconduct, sexual immorality, abuse of power, or simple hypocrisy, it damages more than their personal reputation. It can wound victims, fracture congregations, and create cynicism among those who are already skeptical of the church. It can make us question everything they’ve ever said or done.
So how do we respond when someone we respected disappoints us?
We grieve. We tell the truth about wrongdoing. We pursue justice where it’s needed. And we recalibrate our focus on what scripture tells us.
There are people who look at a single Christian, a single church congregation, or even a denomination, and reject Christianity because they see flawed people who make mistakes.
Maybe you’ve done that.
But here’s what I hope you’ll do instead.
Don’t follow people. Follow Jesus.
True security comes from placing our ultimate trust in the Lord, not in people.
The prophet Jeremiah tells us:
“Cursed are those who put their trust in mere humans,
who rely on human strength
and turn their hearts away from the Lord.
But blessed are those who trust in the Lord
and have made the Lord their hope and confidence.
Jeremiah 17:5, 7 (NLT)
Scripture reinforces this principle in other places as well.
Psalm 146 verse 3 says, “Don’t put your confidence in powerful people; there is no help for you there” (Psalm 146:3, NLT).
And the apostle Paul wrote, “For no one can lay any foundation other than the one we already have—Jesus Christ” (1 Corinthians 3:11, NLT).
Our foundation is a person, not a building, not an institution and certainly not a personality.
That doesn’t mean that being a Christian means it’s you and a Bible, and you’re on your own to figure it out.
We are created to live in community with other Christians, and we are meant to disciple one another, to help each other grow.
The early church devoted themselves to teaching, fellowship, sharing meals, and prayer (Acts 2:42, NLT).
The writer of Hebrews urges believers not to neglect meeting together, but to encourage one another (Hebrews 10:24–25, NLT).
Healthy Christian community provides accountability, correction, comfort, and shared mission. We need pastors and teachers. We need mature believers who can guide us. We need peers who will pray for us and tell us the truth in love. We need people we can disciple. Community is not optional; it’s part of how we grow.
We often hear people sneer at organized religion. Research from groups like the Pew Research Center has consistently shown that perceptions of hypocrisy and moral failure contribute to distrust of religious institutions.
And that reminds us that placing our faith in personalities instead of in Christ is spiritually dangerous.
But there’s a lot of value in religion as an institution.
Historically, Christian institutions have played a significant role in establishing hospitals and advancing healthcare; many of the earliest hospitals in Europe and the Middle East were founded by Christian communities.
Universities such as Harvard, Yale, and Princeton were originally established with Christian missions.
Churches have been central to literacy efforts, charitable relief, orphan care, disaster response, and movements to abolish slavery and promote civil rights.
That history is not spotless, and it’s not beyond critique. But it is substantial.
Organized religion has shaped law, education, art, music, and social reform in measurable ways.
So instead of abandoning the church because it’s imperfect, let’s work toward making our local expressions of it more faithful to Christ.
When you have a question, when you need to know what to do, go back to the source. Be a Christ follower, not a Christian follower.
I’ll be back in a moment with some thoughts about dinner.
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Welcome back.
What do you remember about dinner when you were growing up?
Some of my most precious childhood memories are built around family dinners. I grew up in a single-parent home. It was my mom, my brother and me.
Breakfasts were quick. Lunches were at school. But my mom did her best to protect dinner time, to make sure we sat down together at the end of the day, with food to nourish our bodies and time to nourish our small family.
The meals themselves weren’t elaborate. But it wasn’t about the food. It was about being together. The television was turned off. If the phone rang, it wasn’t answered—and that was before the days of answering machines and voice mail.
We ate and we talked. There was no topic that was off-limits, and we had some crazy conversations.
Those simple times and ordinary meals are still an anchor for me today.
Looking back, I realize something I didn’t understand then: my mother wasn’t just feeding us dinner. She was building a family culture. She was reinforcing stability. She was quietly telling us, “No matter what happens out there, this is where you belong.”
Strong families build strong communities. Strong communities build strong societies.
If the family is the foundation, it has to be reinforced daily. Foundations don’t strengthen themselves. They’re supported by habits, by rhythms, by traditions that may not look dramatic but are deeply formative.
Dinner is one of those rhythms.
Coming together at the table gives us a place of belonging, of being with the people who are most important to us.
When children are at the table, engaging with each other and with adults, they learn how to express their thoughts.
They learn how to disagree respectfully, something that we need more of in our culture today. Most important, they learn that their voice matters and their opinions have value.
And it’s not just an opportunity for children to learn. Adults can learn, too. They learn what’s going on in each other’s lives. And everyone has the opportunity to share information, to teach what they have learned.
The dinner table becomes a training ground for communication outside the home. It’s where children practice making eye contact instead of staring at a screen. It’s where they learn to listen without interrupting. It’s where they discover that not every disagreement is a crisis and that strong opinions can still be expressed with respect and kindness.
Those skills don’t magically appear in adulthood. They are formed over time, in ordinary conversations about homework, office politics, friendships, disappointments, and plans for the weekend.
The way we talk to one another at the table as youngsters shapes the way we talk to teachers, employers, neighbors, church members, and eventually spouses and children of our own.
In that sense, the dinner table is leadership development. It’s conflict resolution practice. It’s relationship training in its simplest and most consistent form.
When we make family dinner a commitment, we’re saying, “This matters.”
We’re choosing intentional presence over convenience. We’re building margin into our lives for the people who will outlast every deadline and every appointment.
And when children see that commitment, they understand—without a lecture—that relationships are worth prioritizing.
The dinner table is also a place where faith can be shared naturally. It’s not a sermon or a Sunday School lesson, it’s communicated and absorbed in conversation.
Acts 2:46 (NIV) tells us that the early Christians “broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people.”
We invite God to join us by blessing the meal. In that simple act of gratitude, we acknowledge that everything on the table—and everything in our lives—comes from His hand. And then, almost without realizing it, we begin to disciple in the middle of everyday life.
When someone shares a success, we can talk about humility and gratitude. When someone shares a disappointment, we can talk about perseverance and trust. When there’s conflict, we can talk about forgiveness. When there’s uncertainty, we can talk about prayer and wisdom.
Faith becomes less of a formal lesson and more of a lens for us to look through.
Here’s something important about family dinners.
They don’t have to be perfect.
One of the quickest ways we talk ourselves out of family dinners is by convincing ourselves that we can’t do it “right.”
We’re too busy.
Schedules don’t align.
I’m not a great cook.
It’s chaotic.
And sometimes all of that is true.
Life is full. Work runs late. Kids have activities.
There are seasons when everything feels like it’s happening at once. And if you wait for the perfect, peaceful, beautifully prepared meal where everyone is smiling and engaged, you may wait forever.
But this isn’t about gourmet food or Pinterest-worthy place settings.
It’s about consistency, intentionality, and presence.
When I think back on those dinners when I was growing up, what stands out isn’t the menu.
There was nothing glamorous about our kitchen table. It was just three people who belonged to one another, sitting down at the end of the day.
And yet, something powerful was happening in those ordinary moments.
At the time, I didn’t realize it.
I didn’t think, This is building my emotional security or This is teaching me how relationships work or This is forming my understanding of family.
But it was.
Invisible things were being built.
Trust was being built—because we showed up for each other day after day.
Belonging was being built—because there was a place at the table that was always mine.
Stability was being built—because no matter what happened at school or in the world, dinner was steady.
Shared history was being built—stories, inside jokes, moments that still come back to me years later.
You don’t see those things while they’re forming.
They grow quietly, like roots underground.
I didn’t know it then, but it shaped me.
And the same quiet shaping is happening now in the lives of the people who gather at your table.
If you’re thinking, This sounds wonderful, but how do we actually do it? — here are five simple steps. Nothing complicated. Nothing overwhelming.
[put the steps on the screen]First, choose a realistic number of nights.
Don’t start with an ideal. Start with what you can sustain. Maybe it’s three nights a week. Maybe it’s four. Maybe in this season it’s just one. It’s better to commit to two or three nights and keep them than to aim for seven and give up in frustration.
Second, set a no-screen boundary.
Turn off the television. Put the phones in another room. Not face down on the table — actually away. That small physical act sends a powerful message: the people sitting here matter more than whatever is happening on a screen.
Third, start with one conversation question per meal.
It doesn’t have to be deep. In fact, simple is often better.
What was the best part of your day?
What was the hardest part?
What made you laugh?
When my friend Mark Goldstein first saw Christian Business Almanac, he said it would be great for families to use as a guide for daily discussions at the dinner table. So I’m going to give it a shameless plug here. Even though many of the articles are about business, the book includes daily scriptures, inspirational thoughts, prayer prompts and interesting history—plenty of items to spark discussion.
The point is, one thoughtful question can open a door that might otherwise stay closed.
Fourth, include a moment of gratitude.
It can be a short prayer. It can be one sentence of thanks from each person. It can be as simple as, “Lord, thank You for this food and for this time together.” Gratitude reminds everyone that we are recipients of grace, even on ordinary Tuesdays.
Fifth, protect it like an appointment.
If it’s on the calendar, treat it with the same respect you would a meeting with a client, a medical appointment, or any other commitment. There will always be something else competing for your time. Decide in advance that this rhythm matters.
And if you want to make it even more meaningful, create a few simple traditions.
You might share the “high and low” of the day — one good thing, one hard thing.
You might rotate who prays, even letting younger children take a turn.
You might have one question that everyone answers, no skipping allowed.
These small traditions become threads that weave your family story together.
You don’t need a complicated system.
You need a plan simple enough to repeat — and a commitment strong enough to keep showing up.
Now, we know that family dinners alone won’t fix society. Sitting down for a meal together isn’t a cure-all for every cultural problem we face. But small, faithful practices compound over time.
Strong societies are built in living rooms, not just legislatures. They’re built in kitchens, around tables, in ordinary conversations where values are modeled and reinforced day after day.
And it doesn’t matter what your family looks like.
Family isn’t defined by a perfect structure. It’s defined by shared commitment and shared life.
If there are two or more people under your roof, you can create this rhythm.
What matters isn’t the configuration.
What matters is the decision to gather.
And one day, today’s ordinary dinner will be someone’s precious memory.
It won’t feel extraordinary while you’re in it. It may feel rushed. The food may be simple. Someone may be in a bad mood. You may be tired.
But years from now, what will remain probably won’t be the menu.
It will be the table, the conversations, the feeling of being known.
One day, your children—or maybe even your grandchildren—may look back and remember that there was a place where they belonged at the end of every day.
A place where they could talk about what went wrong and what went right.
A place where they could ask questions and be heard.
A place where they were corrected when necessary, encouraged when they felt discouraged, and reminded that they were loved.
They may not articulate it in those words.
But they will carry it with them.
You don’t see the impact while it’s happening. It feels ordinary. Repetitive. Sometimes even inconvenient.
But that’s how foundations are built.
So if you’re feeling pressure to make it impressive, release that.
You don’t need perfection.
You need presence.
Show up. Sit down. Turn off the noise. Ask a question. Say a prayer. Listen.
The ordinary table may be one of the most powerful places in your home.
And one day, someone you love will thank God for it—even if they never quite find the words.
I’ll be back in a moment with this week’s real life tip.
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Welcome back. I’m going to start this week’s real life tip with a question.
If you have stairs in or around your home or workplace, do you know the number of steps in each flight of stairs? You should.
More than one million people per year are treated in emergency departments for stair-related injuries, and a lot of those injuries come from missing the top or bottom step.
You’ll be safer on stairs when you know how many steps you have to take to reach the top or bottom of the staircase.
My husband Jerry taught me this years ago.
Knowing the number of steps in a set of stairs is especially important if you can’t see your feet or the steps. For example, if you’re in the dark or carrying something, such as a child, a pet, a laundry basket, luggage or a large box, you can count the steps to know when you reach the landing.
The fad of counting steps for fitness has faded, but there’s one kind of step-counting that will always be important. You’ll reduce your risk of falling if you count and remember the steps on your stairways.
Thanks for being here. See you next week.