Pastor Brandon

11/10/2025

I grew up watching conservative church folks treat gay teenagers like spiritual defects.

Like they were lepers instead of beloved image-bearers.

Like cruelty to them was God's command - not a sin.

And when you grow up marinated in that conservative, church-culture mindset, it sticks.

It lodges itself into your spiritual DNA.
You can escape the building, but the building doesn’t always escape you.

Then Jesus started undoing me.
Not the "church-culture" version of Jesus - but the Jesus who resisted and challenged church-culture absent of love.

I replaced the church culture who said to avoid "the secular crowd" with the Jesus who touched the “unclean,” ate with the outcasts, defended the shamed, and broke every boundary that religious people used to build walls.

He brought me people—family, friends, coworkers—beautiful souls who happened to be LGBTQ+.

And then it got even closer to home.

Several years ago, my daughter—now an adult—came out to me.
At the time, I was a pastor at a large multi-site church in the Phoenix area.

The question was never,
"Will I love and accept my daughter?"
That answer was instant.
Unquestioned. Obvious.

The real questions were sharper.
"Will my church accept her?"
"Will this cost me my pastoral role?"
"Will it cost me any future role at this church?"

Those were not paranoid fears.
Every question turned out to be legitimate.

And the fact that I even had to ask them reveals the sickness I’m talking about.

I continue to meet hundreds of beautiful, kind, LGBTQ+ people who were kicked out of Christian homes.

They were met with silence, suitcases, slammed doors, and the coldness of parents trained to protect their image more than their child.

Some were told “don’t come back until you’re straight.”
Others just found their belongings in trash bags on the porch.

And the message landed louder than any sermon:
“If you’re not like us, you can’t be with us.”

Too many of these teens and young adults spent time being homeless, hungry, and some even abusing substances.

Many of them now see the Church not as a pathway to Him, but as the barrier that pushed them into the wilderness in the first place.

This was proudly done by the same buttoned-up churchgoing parents who once checked these same kids into Sunday school service.

Tell me—show me—any chapter where Jesus blessed a parent for abandoning their own child.

Show me a single red-letter sentence where Christ applauded rejection, cruelty, or exile.

You won’t find it. Because it does not exist.

This isn’t a societal crisis; it’s a Church-created wound.

And pastors need to stop being cowards and challenge their congregations—not explain it away or justify exclusion in fear being labeled "woke" by congregation members.

Because I’ve learned this:
Love that prioritizes reputation over relationship isn’t love—it’s religious pride dressed up for Sunday.

“Woe to you… you are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of the bones of the dead.” — Jesus (Matthew 23:27)

11/10/2025

from Cremer

11/05/2025

Nine days.
That’s how long I’ve been decimated by COVID.
No energy. No voice. Isolated.
No spark from the Holy Spirit that usually fuels me to post.

And in the quiet—when my strength was gone—the Enemy whispered louder.
Doubt. Fear. Uselessness.
“Just quit.”

That’s how the wilderness works.
It’s not always sand and snakes.
Sometimes it’s four walls and a fever.

I thought about Moses in exile.
Elijah under the broom tree.
Jesus in the desert—weak, hungry, tempted by the devil himself.

The wilderness sometimes rebuilds you even as it breaks you.

During my last night of quarantine, I watched "Evan Almighty."
It hit me hard.
Because I realized—I’ve lived most of my life praying for RESULTS.
And God has usually just handed me OPPORTUNITIES.

Opportunities that don’t look like blessings.
They look like fear, self-doubt, or loss.
They look like rejection, loneliness, or waiting.
They look like a lot of work.

And just like Jesus in the desert, that’s when Satan loves to offer the easy way out.
A confident, false voice within you that says, “You aren’t the person to do this.”

Since Evan Almighty was loosely about Noah’s Ark, I thought about Noah—the real one.

Scripture shows that God gave Noah exhaustingly specific blueprints for the ark, down to the type of wood and the number of cubits.

But you know what He didn’t give him?
A rudder. Or a map.
Or a destination.
Because Noah wasn’t meant to steer.
Only to trust. To act.
Even during ridicule.

This ministry’s the same way.
I didn’t plan it. I don’t control it.
I just keep saying yes, even when I want to say no.

No strategic plan. No influencer goals.
No revenue streams. No annual goals.
No clue what tomorrow’s post will even be about.
Just a pastor, a keyboard and an opportunity to say "yes."

It’s scary. It’s uncomfortable. Sometimes it feels insane.
Personal relationships have been strained.
I often ask myself why I do this.
But then I see God steering this boat—
in every message I receive about how He’s working,
in every heart that reconnects with Jesus,
in every person rejected by the Church who still finds grace and love in Him through this community.

I’m so glad God invited me aboard.
This opportunity.

So if you’re praying for courage, patience, faith or for God's purpose in your life— don’t sit back and look for results.

Look for the opportunity God puts in front of you.
That still, small voice stirring in you to "do something."
Take those uncomfortable steps.
Dare to appear a little crazy to others.
Fight through your self-doubt.

God's answers sometimes remind me of ordering IKEA furniture.
You’ll often get what you asked for—but it comes with a journey of building, making mistakes, doubting yourself, and (let’s be honest) repenting for a few unsavory words of frustration.

And often, like me, God doesn’t even tell you the destination.
He just takes the rudder and invites you onboard.

As the saying goes, "God does not call the qualified. He qualifies those He calls."

Now get onboard for whatever God has waiting for you.

Opportunity awaits.

11/04/2025

Sometimes loving others will make you unpopular.

I have several social circles. Many of them faith-based.
Fellow pastors. Ministry partners. Church friends.

And when the topic of LGBTQ people comes up,
I’m often the lone voice speaking for them.

And in some of those Christian circles?
My words about as popular as flatulence in an elevator.

But here’s what I’ve learned—
It’s not my job to accept or reject anyone.
To "affirm" or "not affirm" anyone.
It’s not my job to sit in God’s chair
and decide who’s “in” or “out.”

My job is to love.
My job is to reflect Jesus so clearly
that people who’ve only known rejection
finally see what His love and grace look like in real life.

Because rejection kills.
Literally.

Nearly half of LGBTQ youth seriously consider su***de.
I've sat, cried and prayed with many of them.

But when just ONE adult offers acceptance,
that risk of su***de drops by almost 40%.

One person. One heart.
One moment of kindness that says,
“It's not my job to judge you. It's my job to love you. And you matter.”

And yet somehow,
we’ve turned the command to love
into a debate about theology.

Jesus didn’t say,
“Love your neighbor—once they agree with your interpretation of Leviticus.”

He said, “Love your neighbor.” Period.
(Matthew 22:39)

This isn’t about politics.
It’s not even about religion.
It’s about people.
People made in the image of God.

People who’ve heard “God hates you”
more times than “God loves you.”

Because when religion draws lines, Jesus crosses them.
(Mark 2:15-17, John 8:1-11, Luke 19:1-10)

And when we hide behind unBiblical clichés like
“love the sinner, hate the sin,”
we usually end up hating the sinner
while ignoring our own sin.
(Matthew 7:3-5)

If your version of faith needs someone to feel unworthy
so you can feel righteous,
it’s not faith in Jesus—it’s faith in yourself.
Faith in your opinions. Your fears. Your superiority.
Faith in your traditions. Your social identity.

That kind of faith ignores the teachings and commands of the very Christ our religion is named after.

Turns out, loving people enough to keep them alive isn’t “woke.”

It’s Pro-Life. 🤯

***de

11/04/2025

11/02/2025

Oh my gosh, Becky. Look at their "buts."
They're so... big. 😳

God’s love doesn’t come with a “but.”

Not “God loves you, but…”
Not “Jesus forgives you, but…”
Not even “We welcome everyone, but…”

Let’s be honest—too many of us spend a little too much time staring at other people’s buts.

That whole “love the sinner, hate the sin” line?
Not in the Bible.
Sounds deep, but it’s really just an unscriptural loophole for loving people conditionally.

Jesus didn’t hand out disclaimers—He handed out love and grace.

And that love and grace drew people to Him long before they understood all the rules.

It was relationship first. Love first.
Repentance didn’t earn His love; His love inspired repentance.

He didn’t rewrite the rules—He fulfilled them.
He covered our sinful buts.
He replaced religion with relationship.

Jesus never told us to love others by showing them our big ol’ buts.

He told us to love them the way He loves us.

So maybe this week, we perform a little spiritual surgery— a full-on butectomy.

Let’s love like Jesus did:
No disclaimers.
No detours.
No excuses.
No buts.

So here’s the challenge—whose "but" do you need to stop staring at this week so you can finally love them the way God does?

10/31/2025

Today is the last day millions of Americans will have access to SNAP — the food assistance that keeps families from going hungry. So, Reverend Cremer's thoughts hit hard today.

This is real.
These are your neighbors - not a faceless crowd.
And it doesn't have to be like this.

The average SNAP household is barely two people.
Most are single parents with kids, or seniors living alone.
They’re already choosing between rent and food.
And starting tomorrow… the choice becomes even more difficult.

This may not affect you.
You may not be worried about where your next meal will come from.
But it doesn't have to happen to you for it to matter to you.

Meanwhile, those with the power to prevent this will eat well.

All the while, declaring that we are a "Christian Nation" while flat out ignoring the teachings of Christ.

“For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat… whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me.” — Matthew 25:35, 40

10/30/2025

“Love the sinner, hate the sin” isn’t in the Bible.
Some just pretend it is.

It sounds spiritual.
It feels righteous.
But it’s not something Jesus ever said.

In fact, it’s one of those phrases Christians quote when we want to sound holy without actually being holy.

Because let’s be honest—
the “hate the sin” part always seems to get in the way of the “love the sinner” part.

We love that phrase because it gives us permission.
Permission to judge.
Permission to label.
Permission to love with an asterisk.

It’s a way of saying, “Of course I love you, but…”
and everything after that but usually sounds nothing like Jesus.

Jesus didn’t say “Love the sinner, hate the sin.”
He said, “Do not judge.”
He said, “Love your neighbor.”
He said, “By this everyone will know that you are My disciples, if you love one another.” (John 13:35)

When we “love the sinner, hate the sin,” we’re not just calling out sin — we’re often calling into question someone’s worth.

As if loving others comes with fine print.
As if God’s love needs our approval first.

News flash: It doesn’t.

The only sin Jesus ever seemed to “hate” was hypocrisy — the religious kind that built walls between God and people.

And the only sinners He ever scolded were the ones who thought they weren’t sinners at all.

So for those obsessed with pointing out sin—
maybe start with your own.
Jesus said to take the plank out of your own eye first.

If you really want to hate sin, hate your own.

Imagine a world where every follower of Jesus simply… loved.

No loopholes.
No theological disclaimers.
No culture-war camouflage.

Just love.
Real, inconvenient, unconditional love.

Because when we stand before God someday,
He’s not going to ask how effectively we “hated sin.”

He’s going to ask how faithfully we loved people.

And “I was busy judging them for You” won’t hold up as an answer.

If our love doesn’t look like Jesus,
it might not be love at all.

✝️

10/29/2025

When you wear a Jesus hat and use a slur on live TV… you’re not repping Jesus. You’re mocking Him.

I’m currently quarantined with COVID.
Every bone hurts. Every nerve feels like it’s on fire.
I haven’t had a minute of true sleep in days.
This is the sickest I’ve ever been in my life.

So this morning, I try catching up on the news for a distraction.

Big mistake.

There’s Kid Rock on Jesse Watters Primetime.
He puts on a COVID mask and says he’s dressing up for Halloween “like a r-word.”

Watters laughs.
No correction. No pause.
Just laughs hysterically.

And there it is—the Jesus hat.
Front and center.

Kid Rock isn’t just representing himself.
He’s repping Jesus.
While mocking people and throwing political jabs.

You can’t wear His name and weaponize your words.
You can’t claim His cross while crucifying compassion.

The first followers of Jesus didn’t turn His name into branding or slogans.

They lived it out through their actions—showing mercy, healing the broken, loving the rejected, and defending the forgotten.

So maybe I’m extra sensitive right now.
When it comes to COVID, maybe I’ve lost my sense of humor.

But I think my bigger pain is seeing that Jesus hat—and being reminded how often people wear His name while acting nothing like Him.

And that breaks something in me.
Because the world doesn’t need more people repping Jesus.

It needs more people reflecting Him.

“If anyone claims to live in Him, they must walk as Jesus did.” — 1 John 2:6

If you’re going to wear the Jesus hat,
make sure your heart—and your mouth—are wearing Him too.

10/27/2025

The Pharisees drew lines. Jesus crossed them.

When the Pharisees dragged a woman caught in adultery to Jesus,
they thought the line was clear.

She’s guilty. She’s unworthy. She’s out.

But Jesus knelt in the dirt with HER, not with THEM.
He stood on the other side of their line and said,
“Let the one without sin throw the first stone.”

No stones flew that day.

When Peter pulled out his sword to protect Jesus in Gethsemane,
he was drawing a line between “us” and “them.”

Jesus rebuked him and healed the enemy’s ear.
Translation: the people you want to fight are the people He came to love.

When the disciples tried to keep the children away,
Jesus got indignant—angry—and said,
“Let the little children come to me.”

Another line erased.

And when He shared dinner with tax collectors like Matthew and Zacchaeus,
the religious crowd grumbled,
“This man eats with sinners.”

They saw scandal. Jesus saw salvation.
He didn’t protect His reputation—He pursued their redemption.

Over and over, the Gospels show that every time religion, tradition or pride draws a line,
Jesus steps across it.

He eats with sinners (Luke 15).
He touches lepers (Mark 1).
He talks with Samaritans (John 4).
He blesses the poor, the meek, the persecuted (Matthew 5).

When religion excludes, Jesus includes.
When the crowd walks away, Jesus walks toward.
He moved into the mess, not around it.
He sat at tables some of today’s church would boycott.
He loved people some pew-dwellers still cross the street to avoid.

So if your faith has you constantly building fences,
you might be worshiping the fence more than the Jesus who tears it down.

The question isn’t: “Who’s on my side of the line?”
The question is: “Am I on His?”