Back in the fall of 2023, I took a job as a youth pastor here in Georgia. Now, I knew I was called to ministry, but I hadn’t exactly sat down with God and gotten the full job description. It’s almost a running joke, okay, more of an unspoken truth, that most pastors start in youth ministry, like some kind of hazing ritual. So when they asked me to take the job, I jumped in headfirst.
But this story? It’s not about how I started. It’s about how I left.
When I signed on, we agreed I’d do six months. No problem. But as the six-month mark approached, the pastor started hinting at bigger plans, talking about me eventually stepping in to take over because he was getting older and dealing with some health issues. And let me tell you, I was over the moon. I saw things in that church that needed fixing, and I thought, “One day, I can make a real difference here.” It seemed like the church was ready for change and growth. At least… I thought they were.
This was an older congregation, the kind of church where, at almost 40, my wife and I were considered the young adults. Out of the small handful of us under 60, there was one young single mother, newly saved, showing up every Sunday with her little girl. She was doing her best, trying to keep her daughter occupied with snacks and toys, when, cue dramatic music…a tragic event occurred.
An energy drink spilled.
Now, normal people might say, “No big deal, it’s clear, she cleaned it up, end of story.” But no. Someone on the board of trustees saw this as a capital offense. Instead of just addressing it like a decent human being, they fired off a scathing email, not just to staff, not just to leadership, but to the entire church body. And not just the current members, but past members too. Full-blown public shaming, all over an accident.
I was furious. First off, she’s a single mom, a brand-new Christian, trying her best. Secondly, that is NOT how the Bible says we should handle conflict. So I thought, “This is my moment. I’m going to step up, show the pastor that I care about people, and make sure we’re actually following biblical principles.”
I sent an email to the pastor and the trustee responsible, bringing it back to Scripture. I reminded them that this is not how we’re supposed to treat each other, and I pleaded with them to think about this young mother. What message are we sending about God if we take one small accident and crucify her over it?
Now, I wasn’t surprised by the trustee’s response. She basically said, “Doesn’t matter what her intentions were, rules are rules, and we won’t tolerate rule-breakers in this church.”
I stood there, waiting for the pastor to unleash both barrels on this nonsense. Surely, he’d shut it down. Surely, he’d stand up for what’s right.
And then… silence.
So I questioned him and asked what was going on. His response?
“Well… she’s the boss.” WHAT!
That’s right, our fearless leader, the one whose job is literally to preach the Word and lead with integrity, rolled over because the head of the trustees signs his paycheck. At that moment, I knew my time there was done.
I wrote my resignation email, not to the whole congregation, because I, actually have some common sense, but to the leadership. I thanked them for my time and making it clear that I couldn’t ignore what had happened. My six months were up, and I was out.
Fast forward to… oh, about a week ago. Beginning of February 2025.
I posted something simple, just a statement I stand by 100%: Whew, buddy. You would’ve thought I slapped a hornet’s nest with a two-by-four.
One side came swinging. The other side split into two camps, one that ran for the hills and one that stood for truth. And smack in the middle of that battlefield? My dear, loving sister.
(Shameless plug: She’s got a podcast called Blooming in a Cage, go look it up, it’s solid.)
My older sister is the kind of person every guy should have in his corner; loyal, fierce, and not afraid to throw hands if needed. We’ve been close off and on over the years, though mostly on, and we’ve got a solid sibling love language, “Nerd.” “Loser.” “Turd.” You know, the usual heartfelt terms of endearment. Now, my sister, won’t fight for me, because she knows I can handle my own battles. But if one of Us Gantts is in a brawl, we are jumping in. And let me tell you, we fight like the third monkey trying to get on the ark… and brother it’s starting to rain.
The comment section became a warzone. Bodies were dropping left and right. And what’s wild? Most of these people weren’t even being talked about, but they sure felt convicted enough to start throwing punches.
One of the loudest voices came from someone my sister had counted as a friend for years. Her friend has called herself a Christian for years, at least on paper. But when my post hit a little too close to home, she didn’t like how it made her feel. Funny how the best way to prove a statement like “A Christian walking in the Spirit will offend a Christian who isn’t” is to get offended by it. Thanks for proving my point.
It escalated fast. Next thing you know, she’s accusing us of verbally attacking her kids, what was funny because the only one that mentioned them was her. Meanwhile, my sister, who’s always been the one to pick her up after she played stupid games and won stupid prizes, suddenly “was never there.” Funny how memory gets selective when conviction kicks in. But here’s the thing, my sister never once made it personal. She didn’t take the bait. She just kept singing about God’s goodness and preaching the truth, no matter the fallout.
And that’s the thing, isn’t it? The truth will always separate those who want to walk in it from those who don’t.
When we think of hospitality, we usually picture warm meals, open doors, and maybe a pitcher of sweet tea. But in Judges 5, hospitality takes on a much sharper edge, literally. Deborah and Barak are belting out their victory song, celebrating Israel’s triumph over the Canaanites, and tucked inside this lyrical retelling are some unmistakable themes of welcome, refuge, and community support. Just… maybe not in the way we’d expect.
Let’s talk about Jael, the tent-dwelling MVP of unconventional hospitality. In verses 24-27, Deborah gives her a standing ovation, calling her “most blessed of women in tents.” And why? Because Jael welcomed Sisera, the enemy commander, into her tent, gave him some milk, and then, while he was snoozing, drove a tent peg through his skull. Not exactly the “bless your heart, have another biscuit” kind of hosting, but it got the job done.
Jael’s actions remind us that hospitality isn’t just about making a guest feel at home, it’s about serving the greater good. Sometimes, showing up for God’s plan means stepping out of our comfort zone (though, preferably without the DIY cranial remodeling).
Deborah’s song doesn’t just praise individuals, it lifts up the whole team. In verses 2-9, we see a roll call of leaders and volunteers who put skin in the game. They didn’t wait for someone else to handle the problem; they locked arms and got to work.
Hospitality isn’t just about setting a nice table, it’s about showing up, rolling up your sleeves, and making sure the community is taken care of. It’s about doing life together, standing side by side, and saying, “We’ve got each other’s backs.”
The entire chapter of Judges 5 is one big praise session. Deborah and Barak aren’t just telling a war story, they’re making sure God gets all the credit. Their worship is a form of hospitality, an open invitation for God to dwell among His people.
Real hospitality isn’t just about making room at our tables, it’s about making room in our lives for God. It’s about pausing to remember His goodness, lifting our voices in gratitude, and making sure He’s always at the center of the celebration.
At the end of the song, Deborah takes a moment to call out the tribes that didn’t show up to the fight (verses 15-18). It’s a not-so-gentle reminder that hospitality isn’t just about inviting people in, it’s about standing for what’s right. True hospitality means making space for justice, for righteousness, for the things that honor God. It’s about aligning ourselves with the right cause, even when it’s inconvenient, even when it costs us something.
So what do we learn from Judges 5? That hospitality isn’t just about cozy invitations and good manners. Sometimes, it’s about courage. Sometimes, it’s about standing up for what’s right. And sometimes, as Jael showed us, it’s about doing what needs to be done for the sake of the bigger picture.
Deborah’s song reminds us that real hospitality weaves together justice, gratitude, and community. It’s about welcoming, supporting, and showing up, for God, for one another, and for whatever mission He’s placed in front of us. When Deborah is singing, she isn’t just praising God, or Jael, but everyone who did the hard thing, who spoke up, who took action when it was needed. Too often, people step up and take a stand for what’s right, speak out, take an unpopular stance, or align themselves with someone defending the truth. And what happens, instead of support, they face opposition, not just from the world but from the church…..THE CHURCH, too. Now, you might be thinking, Not me! I don’t do that! I would never! But here’s the hard truth, if you see someone, “doing the hard thing” and you could stand with them but choose to stay silent, you’re part of the opposition. It takes boldness, a willing heart, and maybe, just maybe, a well-placed tent peg.
Hospitality isn’t just about setting a table, it’s about standing for what’s right, even when it costs you. When I walked away from that youth pastor position, it wasn’t just about a spilled energy drink or a power-hungry trustee; it was about refusing to let the church become a place where shame outweighed grace. And I wasn’t the only one in that fight. My sister and I may throw insults like “nerd” and “turd” for fun, but when it comes to truth, we stand shoulder to shoulder. That’s exactly what Blooming in a Cage is about, choosing to grow in faith even when the environment is suffocating. Like Jael in Judges 5, sometimes standing for what’s right means offering shelter, and sometimes it means taking a hammer to the things that don’t belong. My sister and I both know that hospitality isn’t about comfort, it’s about courage. And if you’ve ever had to take a stand, you’re not alone.
Stay Salty.