Why Christianity is not safe

There’s something happening. People are showing up to church—unexpectedly, hungrily, open-hearted—and it’s not just in one place. Across the country, there are signs of new life. But in the middle of it, the question hangs in the air: do we understand just how revolutionary this faith really is?

Luke opens the book of Acts by reminding us that his Gospel was only the beginning. “In my first book, Theophilus, I wrote about all that Jesus began to do and to teach.” Acts is what Jesus continues to do and teach—through His Spirit-filled people. It’s not a record of the past. It’s a manifesto for a revolution.

It all begins at Pentecost. Fire comes down—not on a temple or altar, but on people. And suddenly, ordinary men and women become the intersection between heaven and earth. This new temple isn’t made of bricks but of surrendered lives. And the first thing we notice is how they live: they love each other differently. They give generously. They speak boldly. And every time the Holy Spirit fills them, it spills out into community. We are leaky vessels—and we need to keep being filled.

That’s where the collision begins. The values of the Kingdom confront the assumptions of the world. And what unfolds in Acts still names the shape of true discipleship today—captured in four convictions that keep turning the world upside down.

Jesus at the Centre

Everything begins with Jesus. Not as a moral coach or comforting presence, but as Lord. His lordship extends into every corner of life—not just Sunday mornings or a tenth of your income. He’s not here to help you find life in yourself. He is life. And if He’s not Lord of all, we’ve missed the point.

This shift is not theoretical. In a world where the self is king, bowing to Jesus is disruptive. It reorders priorities, relationships, finances, and allegiances. The early church didn’t just add Jesus to their lives. They gave Him control.

They met together in Solomon’s Colonnade—hundreds of them. This was no quiet house gathering. This was the first megachurch, standing in the shadow of the temple. And from their perspective, the old temple had done its job. Its purpose was to point to Jesus. Now the people themselves were the temple, filled with the Spirit, gathered around the risen Messiah.

Sent on Mission

When Jesus is Lord, you don’t just sit still. You’re sent. Mission is not reserved for trained professionals or overseas workers. Every disciple is called. Every person has a part in God’s story of healing and hope.

The church in Acts stepped into public spaces. They healed, they taught, and they disrupted power with love. When authorities told them to stop, they responded simply: “We must obey God rather than any human authority.” That’s not rebellion. That’s the shape of freedom.

This mission was more than words. The church became a place of healing. People brought their friends and family—not because they understood everything, but because they saw something real. Sin causes dis-ease. It fragments and isolates. But the church—when it’s living from the values of Jesus—brings wholeness. Hope. Life. That’s how it’s meant to be.

And that’s how the angel describes it when the disciples are miraculously freed from jail: “Go and give the people this message of life.” That’s the heart of it. Not control. Not shame. Life.

A Counter-Cultural Community

Community in Acts isn’t safe or tidy. It’s not people who all look and sound the same. It’s messy, uncomfortable, and radically beautiful.

“They felt that what they owned was not their own.” That line still offends modern ears. It sounds like socialism. But this isn’t a political theory—it’s a spiritual reality. If Jesus is Lord, then nothing is ours. Not our time, not our possessions, not our preferences. Everything gets laid down in love.

That’s not just symbolic. Some sold fields and laid the money at the apostles’ feet. And that’s not just a story from back then—it’s a challenge to how we brush over Scripture that feels uncomfortable. We tell ourselves tithing is enough, but the New Testament describes a different kind of surrender.

There’s a reason that kind of community stands out. It’s not normal. “How do you people like each other?” outsiders asked. And that was Jesus’ prayer in John 17: “That they may be one, Father, as You and I are one… so that the world may believe.”

But community takes work. When Greek-speaking widows were being overlooked, the church didn’t split. They named the problem and appointed wise, Spirit-filled leaders to make sure no one got left behind. Interestingly, all those leaders had Greek names. The early church didn’t just welcome difference—it empowered it.

We still need those kinds of leaders—boundary riders, whose job is people. As churches grow, we need more and more people looking out for the edges, making sure no one is forgotten. Community like this doesn’t happen by accident.

Freedom with Responsibility

Real freedom isn’t doing whatever you want. It’s being accountable before Jesus. Not even pastors or governments are responsible for your faith. You are. This is deeply embedded in the church of Acts—and in good leadership.

When the authorities wanted to silence the movement, one wise voice stood up: Gamaliel. Instead of forcing compliance, he said, “Let’s see if this is from God. If it is, you won’t be able to stop it.” That’s spiritual maturity. You don’t manipulate or control. You let reality do the teaching.

There comes a point where you don’t get to be in charge of someone else’s learning. That’s a lesson many parents know well: Reality has to do the teaching.

But freedom also means responsibility. And that’s where the story of Ananias and Sapphira hits hard. They wanted influence without surrender. They wanted to look generous while keeping their backup plan. They lied—not because they had to, but because they wanted the benefits of faith without the cost.

And God takes that seriously.

“Why have you let Satan fill your heart?” Peter asks. These were church people. They knew the language. They were in the room. But they let themselves become the centre instead of Jesus.

A church of people whose eyes are on themselves is not a church. The defining characteristics of the church are an ultimate allegiance to Jesus, a love for one another, and a commitment to people outside the church in mission. A bunch of people out for themselves? That’s just a shopping centre.

God wasn’t about to let selfishness become the foundation of His church. And still today, that warning stands. There are all kinds of sermons that tell you why you don’t need to take these things too seriously. Even a whole approach to faith that says Jesus wants to make you rich and powerful.

That’s crap. Sorry. That’s not the gospel. That’s a cancer in the body of Christ.

And still the revolution grows.

The apostles are flogged—violently, publicly—and they leave rejoicing that they were counted worthy to suffer for Jesus. That kind of response is foreign to us. We’ve grown up in a culture where suffering is the worst possible thing. But in the Bible, discipleship means taking up your cross.

Some people suffer because they’re foolish—rude, arrogant, or obsessed with being right. That’s not persecution. That’s just the consequences of ego.

But there are also heroes—people who love when hate is the norm, who speak truth when lies are the norm, who choose community when self-interest is the norm. And when they suffer, it’s worth it.

If loving someone no one else will love is going to cost you something, it’s worth it.

And the message they carried—the message we still carry—is this: Jesus is Messiah. Jesus is Lord. It’s not about us. The gospel is for us, but it’s not about us. It’s about Him. They gathered daily in the temple and from house to house, repeating that truth. Not because it made them safe, but because it made them alive.

Christianity is not safe.

It never was. It was—and still is—a revolution.

Not of violence or domination, but of surrender, healing, generosity, truth, community, and hope. A revolution where Jesus is Lord and we are not. Where the church becomes a living witness to a different way to be human.

And as the story turns toward Stephen, we’ll see again what that revolution sometimes costs.

But may we be the kind of church the world can’t ignore.

Not because we’re loud.

But because we really love Jesus.

And it really makes a difference.